Chapter 5 The Pregnancy Dilemma

# Chapter 5: The Pregnancy Dilemma

Three weeks passed in a dangerous dance of public pretense and private passion. By day, I maintained my cover as the diligent maid, gathering intelligence on Margot's operations. By night, I slipped into Gideon's arms, finding in his embrace a respite from the mounting tension.

We were careful—meeting in his hidden sanctuary or secluded corners of the vast estate where security cameras had convenient blind spots. Our relationship evolved rapidly, fueled by the shared danger and the intensity of our mission.

"You're distracted," Gideon observed one evening as we reviewed financial records in his basement sanctuary.

I looked up from the documents I'd been staring at without really seeing. "Just tired."

He studied me with those perceptive blue eyes that seemed to see through every defense. "It's more than that. You've been different for days now."

He wasn't wrong. For nearly a week, I'd been fighting waves of nausea each morning, dismissing it as stress. But as other symptoms appeared—tender breasts, unusual fatigue, a missed period—a suspicion had taken root that I couldn't ignore.

"Harper." Gideon's voice softened as he moved to kneel before me, taking my hands in his. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

The concern in his eyes nearly undid me. This wasn't supposed to happen—not the affair, not the feelings that had developed, and certainly not the possibility that now terrified me.

"I think..." My voice caught. "I think I might be pregnant."

The words hung in the air between us. Gideon's expression shifted from concern to shock, his hands tightening around mine.

"Are you certain?" he finally asked.

"No," I admitted. "But the signs are there."

He stood abruptly, pacing the small room. "We need to know for sure. I'll get a test."

"How? If anyone sees you buying a pregnancy test—"

"I'll handle it," he said firmly.

The next morning, I found a small paper bag tucked inside my cleaning supplies, containing two pregnancy tests. With trembling hands, I locked myself in my bathroom and followed the instructions.

Five minutes later, I stared at the unmistakable double line on both tests, my world tilting on its axis.

I was pregnant with Gideon Blackwood's child.

That evening, I showed him the tests. We sat in silence on the edge of his bed, the positive results between us like a third presence in the room.

"Say something," I finally whispered.

Gideon took my hand, his expression unreadable. "How do you feel about this?"

The question caught me off guard. I'd expected demands or solutions, not concern for my feelings.

"Terrified," I admitted. "This complicates everything. The mission, my obligation to your mother, our plan to expose the company..."

"Forget all that," he interrupted. "Just as yourself—this child, our child... do you want it?"

I hadn't allowed myself to consider that question, focusing instead on the practical complications. Now, forced to confront my deepest feelings, I realized the truth.

"Yes," I whispered. "Despite everything, yes."

Something shifted in Gideon's eyes—a softening, a certainty. He moved closer, one hand gently touching my still-flat stomach.

"Then we'll make it work," he said, his voice low and intense. "This child, Harper... it represents everything I've been fighting for. A new beginning. A chance to rebuild the Blackwood legacy into something honorable."

His words brought unexpected tears to my eyes. "But your mother—"

"Will never touch our child," he finished firmly. "I promise you that."

He pulled me into his arms, and for a moment, I allowed myself to believe that we could have this—a family, a future beyond the dangerous game we were playing.

Reality intruded the next morning in the form of Mrs. Peterson, who found me vomiting in the staff bathroom.

"Third morning this week," she observed, handing me a damp towel. "Do you need to see a doctor, dear?"

I shook my head, avoiding her knowing gaze. "Just a stomach bug."

"If you say so." Her tone made it clear she didn't believe me. "Though in my experience, 'stomach bugs' don't cause women to glow the way you have been lately."

Before I could respond, she patted my shoulder. "Your secret's safe with me, Harper. But be careful. This house isn't kind to secrets, especially ones that grow."

Her words stayed with me throughout the day as I went about my duties. By afternoon, I felt marginally better and was polishing silver in the dining room when Margot unexpectedly appeared.

"Harper, isn't it?" she said, her voice cool and measured.

I straightened immediately. "Yes, Mrs. Blackwood."

She circled me slowly, like a predator assessing its prey. "You've been with us for... what is it now, nearly two months?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And how are you finding your position?"

The question seemed innocent, but nothing about Margot Blackwood was innocent. "Very satisfactory, ma'am."

"Indeed." She stopped directly in front of me. "And your... other duties? The ones I specifically assigned you?"

My heart raced. "Ongoing, ma'am. I'll have a full report for you soon."

"See that you do." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I've noticed you've been unwell recently. Nothing serious, I hope?"

The pointed question sent ice through my veins. "Just a minor bug, Mrs. Blackwood. Nothing to worry about."

"Good." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "We value health in this household. Very much."

After she left, I texted Gideon: "Your mother knows something. We need to talk."

That evening, Gideon and I met in the garden gazebo, far from the house and its many ears. The night was unusually warm for early autumn, the air heavy with the scent of late roses.

"She's suspicious," I said without preamble. "She mentioned my illness specifically."

Gideon's jaw tightened. "What exactly did she say?"

I repeated the conversation verbatim. When I finished, he was silent for a long moment, his expression darkening.

"We need to accelerate our timeline," he finally said. "We have enough evidence to approach the board members individually. I've already spoken with two who I believe will support us."

"And if they don't?"

"Then we go public." His voice was resolute. "Either way, we need to move before my mother realizes exactly what's happening—both with the company and with us."

I placed a protective hand over my stomach. "Do you think she would actually harm—"

"Yes." The single word contained years of painful knowledge. "My mother eliminates threats, Harper. And a grandchild she doesn't control, born to a woman who betrayed her? That would be the ultimate threat to her power."

The blunt assessment chilled me. "Then what do we do?"

"We stick to the plan, but faster." He took my hands in his. "And we prepare for the worst while hoping for the best."

We spent the next hour refining our strategy, deciding which board members to approach first and what evidence would be most compelling. As we talked, I felt a growing sense of purpose replacing my earlier fear. This wasn't just about exposing corruption anymore—it was about protecting our future, our child.

As we prepared to return to the house separately, Gideon pulled me close, his hand resting protectively over mine on my stomach.

"This child," he said softly, "represents our victory, Harper. No matter what happens, remember that."

The following morning, I woke feeling unusually well—the nausea that had plagued me seemed to have subsided. I dressed quickly and headed to the kitchen to help with breakfast preparation.

Eliza was already there, kneading dough for fresh bread. "You're looking better today," she observed.

"Feeling better too," I replied, reaching for apples to slice.

"Good, because the mistress wants all hands on deck. Some important guests arriving for lunch. Very hush-hush."

My ears perked up. "Any idea who?"

"Board members, I think. Mrs. Peterson is in a state about it—says it was arranged just last night."

A chill ran down my spine. Board members, called suddenly? This could be Margot making her own preemptive move.

I needed to warn Gideon, but he was already gone for his morning run—a routine he never varied. I would have to wait until he returned.

The morning passed in a flurry of preparation. By eleven, the formal dining room was immaculate, set for six people with the finest china and crystal. I was arranging flowers in the center of the table when Margot entered, accompanied by Dr. Whitman.

"Perfect," she said, surveying the room. "Harper, you'll serve lunch personally. No other staff."

The request was unusual—typically, James or one of the more senior staff would serve important guests.

"Of course, Mrs. Blackwood."

She gestured for me to follow her into the hallway, away from the dining room. Once alone, her demeanor changed completely, the social mask dropping away to reveal cold calculation.

"I know exactly what you've been doing," she said, her voice low but dangerous. "Both in terms of your investigation and your... extracurricular activities with my son."

My blood froze, but years of training kept my expression neutral. "I'm afraid I don't understand, ma'am."

"Don't insult my intelligence." Her eyes narrowed. "You think I don't have my own surveillance? That I wouldn't notice when security cameras mysteriously loop or when my son's bedroom door closes at unusual hours?"

I remained silent, mind racing for a way out of this confrontation.

"Here's what's going to happen," Margot continued. "You will serve lunch, you will smile, and afterward, you will accompany Dr. Whitman to his clinic for a simple procedure."

"Procedure?" I echoed, though I already knew with sickening certainty what she meant.

"To remove that inconvenient little problem growing inside you." Her voice was clinical, detached. "Really, Harper, did you think I would allow some infiltrator to bear a Blackwood heir? To threaten everything I've built?"

Rage and protective instinct surged through me. "You can't force me to—"

"I can and I will." She stepped closer. "Or have you forgotten our arrangement? Your sister's continued treatment, her access to medication that only my company produces? Such a shame if her supply were suddenly... discontinued."

The threat struck me like a physical blow. My sister's life or my unborn child's—an impossible choice.

"You're a monster," I whispered.

"I'm a survivor," she corrected coldly. "And survivors eliminate threats." She checked her watch. "The guests will arrive soon. Compose yourself and do your job."

She turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and don't bother trying to warn Gideon. He's been... detained on an urgent business matter in the city. He won't be back until this evening. By then, it will all be over."

As she walked away, I leaned against the wall, fighting nausea that had nothing to do with pregnancy. I had hours at most before I would be forced to Whitman's clinic. I needed to find a way out, to reach Gideon somehow.

My hand moved protectively to my stomach. "I'll protect you," I whispered to the tiny life within. "Whatever it takes."