Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The part where Kate was being fucked by her boss after a board meeting definitely wasn't in her job description when she signed her contract.

It was a mistake, and Kate knew it. She definitely shouldn't be there, bent over Anthony Bridgerton's desk while he took her with a brutal urgency. It was supposed to be just another routine meeting, but when she dared to question him—challenge his decisions in front of Agatha Danbury—he had followed her into the empty office, and, well, it was obvious where things would end up. They were turning all that pent-up anger into something physical, filthy, and so utterly wrong.

"You never learn, do you, Sharma?" His voice came out as a low growl in her ear as he yanked her skirt up, exposing her bare thighs. "Did you really have to be that petulant in public?"

The cold edge of the desk pressed into her skin, and Kate shivered as Anthony tore her panties away.

"You're an arrogant bastard, you know that?" she hissed back, but even as she said it, a traitorous moan escaped her lips when he slid two fingers inside her, curling them just right to hit the spot he knew would make her shudder. Her back arched, her eyes rolling back.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. I guess you like being punished, is that it?” He withdrew his fingers, spreading her wetness over her folds before thrusting them back inside.

“I don’t...” She tried to protest, but God, his fingers were working her so expertly she had no strength to argue.

“Liar,” he muttered, his eyes darkening with pleasure as he watched her face contort. “You just wanted my attention, didn’t you?”

Kate laughed, even as her legs began to tremble. “And what about you?” she panted, her eyes rolling back in pleasure as he intensified his movements. “You’re the one who can’t resist fucking me every time I prove I’m far more capable than you.”

He only responded with a crooked smile before pressing her harder against the desk, his fingers slipping out of her just so he could hurriedly unbutton his trousers. “You’re an insufferable know-it-all, but your saving grace is being so damn beautiful.”

She was ready to retort, but he entered her so roughly that she gasped—his hands sliding under her to squeeze her breasts as Kate’s eyes rolled back. He was so big, and in that position, it was so uncomfortable that she couldn’t fathom why the pain was making her so wet.

None of the men before him had ever dared to fuck her like this, call her names, be so crude—but he did it without hesitation, right from the start. And God help her, but she loved it. 

Usually, he’d take the time to prepare her, to ease her into taking him, but today was not one of those days. Anthony was growling into her ear. “I wanted to fuck you the moment I saw you in that skirt,” he panted. “Wanted you on your knees in that boardroom, right in front of everyone. You would’ve let me, wouldn’t you? My little slut.”

“I’m not... yours,” she tried to protest through the haze of pleasure. It was so hard to take him like this, so rough and deep, that she had no strength to think of anything else as he pounded into her, his hips slamming against her ass in a relentless rhythm.

“That's alright, sweetheart.” He leaned over her to kiss her. “It can be our little secret,” he whispered against her lips, all while continuing to fuck her.

Kate tried to resist, tried to stay in control, but the way he filled her, the way he knew exactly where to touch to drive her to the edge, was tearing her apart. With no choice left, she rested her face against the desk, letting the sensation flood her body as he gripped her tighter, keeping her exactly where he wanted.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back. “Look at me while I fuck you, Kate. I want to see the expression on your face when you come.”

At least he seemed just as wrecked as she was.

She hated how her body betrayed her, how desperately she wished she didn’t enjoy this so much—and yet, how she craved that moment. When he slid a hand between her legs, his fingers finding her clit with precise strokes, she knew she was done for.

“You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?” he taunted, his voice dripping with cruel pleasure. “Say you’re mine.”

“I... I am,” she whispered, as he drove even deeper, until she shattered around him. He didn’t stop, kept fucking her, prolonging her climax until she was sobbing with pleasure.

“Fuck,” he groaned, practically collapsing over her back as he came inside her. “You’re so tight, I—” He kept moving, even as his own orgasm faded, just to draw hers out longer, ripping more involuntary moans from her lips.

When he finally slowed, Kate was spent, her legs trembling. He released her with a final slap on her ass, a satisfied smile on his lips as he adjusted himself.

She stayed there, trying to catch her breath, while he straightened his shirt. It didn’t take long for him to help her off the desk and get her dressed. They were always — she had learned by now — much quieter after sex. It was a bit strange to have so much intimacy with someone she didn’t like and definitely shouldn’t be sleeping with.

“You okay?” he asked after helping her clean up, as they walked together toward the elevator.

“Perfect,” she replied.

“Got any plans for the weekend?”

Kate didn’t bother to look at him as she pressed the elevator button and then reached for her phone in her bag.

“I’ve got Pilates early tomorrow and need to do my laundry over the weekend, a real party,” she replied, sarcasm lacing her tone.

“No one could ever accuse you of being fun.”

“Looks like we finally have something in common, then.”

“My weekend’s already off to a pretty fun start, I’d say,” he remarked, throwing her a dirty look.

Her nostrils flared, brows furrowed. Asshole , she thought.

_________________________________________________________________________

Kate stared at the bathroom mirror; she looked the same, yet the knot in her stomach refused to ease.

After weeks of ignoring the signs, blaming it all on the stress of endless meetings and suffocating deadlines that Anthony Bridgerton kept piling on her, the moment of truth had finally arrived. Her period was late. One, two weeks...

But when she walked into the break room earlier, only to have her stomach churn so violently that she had to rush to the bathroom… well… it was now impossible to ignore.

“Shit,” she whispered, her hands shaking as she rummaged through her bag. The pregnancy test she’d bought just minutes earlier at the pharmacy downstairs felt like it weighed a ton. She couldn’t put it off any longer; she had to know now.

She read the instructions on the back of the box, her heart pounding in her ears, and double-checked that the door was truly locked. “Come on, Kate. Be practical. This isn’t something you can run from.” She took a deep breath and tore open the packaging, her sweaty fingers slipping over the plastic.

When she was done, she placed the test on the sink and backed away from it, as if it were a snake ready to strike. Time seemed to drag as she paced back and forth, waiting for the result. Patience had never been one of her virtues.

And then, there it was. That damn plus sign. Pink, glowing like a neon light in a dark room.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck...” Kate whispered, running a hand through her hair as panic washed over her. She gripped the edge of the sink to steady herself, the world around her starting to spin.

She laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. It was more of a desperate sob. Is this how my life ends?”

Kate closed her eyes, trying to take a deep breath, but it felt like no air was reaching her lungs. “Okay, okay… you’ve dealt with worse, Kate. Come on…” she muttered to herself, trying to pull it together. “But seriously… a baby?”

She looked at her reflection in the mirror again, trying to summon the composure she prided herself on in the office. But she was panicking! Because, for the first time in a long while, she had no idea what to do next.

With one last furious glance at the test, she wrapped it tightly in toilet paper before tossing it into the bathroom trash, squaring her shoulders. “Alright, Kate. Time to get back to your desk and pretend everything is perfectly fine. As if you didn’t just find out you’re pregnant with your boss’s baby.”

_________________________________________________________________________

Sharma was especially delicious today. Anthony nearly growled in frustration, trapped at that cocktail party on the company terrace, surrounded by investors, employees, and board members. Everyone expected the CEO of Bridgerton Holdings to be the charming, charismatic host, but he was on the verge of losing control—all because of her.

All her skirts were a calculated strategy to drive him mad, he was sure of it.

He forced a mechanical smile as Fife and Cho made some joke about something irrelevant, but his eyes kept drifting back to Kate, who seemed engrossed in an animated conversation with other architects. He should have been paying attention to the chatter around him, but his mind was stuck on her—on the way the fabric of her skirt clung to her curves and the way her lips moved as she spoke.

His eyes tracked her like a predator watching its prey. The black turtleneck she wore highlighted every line of her body, and he could swear he caught the outline of a lacy bra through the thin fabric.

He was certain that if he lifted her skirt, he’d find matching black panties underneath. One thing he'd learned during his time with Kate was that her lingerie always matched her outfits perfectly.

For a moment, he allowed himself to sink into the fantasy. He imagined himself lifting that skirt, pushing aside that thin piece of lace, and plunging his cock into that hot, wet pussy. She’d moan into his ear, lips parted as he fucked her hard, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her bra to squeeze those perfect breasts he so loved to bite.

She had the most delicious breasts he'd ever tasted, always so perky and firm, and she whimpered in a way that drove him mad whenever he took them into his mouth.

God, he wanted to devour her right there, make it clear to everyone that she was his, that no one else could even think of touching her.

Which was fucking stupid, of course.

She didn’t even like him, and he sure as hell didn’t like her. Besides, he wasn’t looking for a relationship—God knows how badly things had gone with Siena. And even if he were, it certainly wouldn’t be with Kate Sharma, of all people. She was his subordinate, the most infuriating employee he’d ever had to deal with.

But, fuck, he loved fucking her. Maybe it was because she was the picture of perfection to everyone else—always unyielding, so controlled, so in charge of every aspect of her life. He loved seeing her fall apart because of him, loved being the one to draw out those moans that made her impenetrable facade crumble. He’d never felt this turned on by anyone before, but he’d never admit that—not to her, not even to himself.

And then there was the damn issue of her being his employee. He was her boss, the CEO, and that was a line he knew he shouldn’t cross… again.

Except he had already crossed that line, not once, but multiple times. In the office, in locked meeting rooms, on business trips. Each of their encounters was an ethical disaster waiting to happen, but the feeling of being inside her, hearing those muffled moans as she tried not to scream his name… fuck, it made every risk worth it.

“Bridgerton, are you with us?” Agatha Danbury’s authoritative voice jolted him back to reality with a thud. He quickly turned to face her, masking just how distracted he had been.

When had Agatha gotten so close to him?

“Of course, Agatha,” he lied, forcing a smile as he tried to push the image of Kate out of his mind. “I was just… reflecting on what you said.”

Agatha narrowed her eyes, clearly not buying it. Before she could press him with more questions, Victoria Fairfax appeared, a glass of champagne in hand, effortlessly interrupting their conversation.

“This hotel project in Marbella is absolutely fabulous,” Victoria said, casually leaning on Anthony’s arm, a seductive smile on her lips.

Victoria Fairfax was an old acquaintance of Anthony’s. He had studied at Oxford with her older brother; they had been teammates on the polo team. Victoria and Anthony had shared a brief fling during their university summers—a convenient, harmless distraction.

The Fairfax family, much like the Bridgertons, came from a long line of old money with a penchant for spending. Anthony had always found Victoria a bit dull and predictable, but she was pleasant enough company to help ease the tension of the moment.

“You’ve always had a talent for picking the best projects, Anthony,” Victoria continued, fluttering her lashes as her hand lingered on his arm.

“Thank you, Vic.” He returned her smile with practiced charm, maintaining the facade of a polished and sophisticated CEO, even as his body and mind were consumed by a desire that was eating him alive.

Kate Sharma was ruining his day.

Chapter Text

Of course, there was a statuesque blonde hanging off Anthony Bridgerton’s arm. How predictable of him. Always acting exactly how everyone expected him to — including Kate. When this... thing between them started, it was only natural that she did a bit of research about his life. She wasn’t the kind of woman to get involved with someone without knowing exactly what she was stepping into.

She had already read a few things before. Her sister, Edwina, went through an obsessive phase with the Bridgerton family, devouring any news about their seemingly endless and perfect brood. Every Bridgerton was ridiculously wealthy, and some of them had no shame in flaunting their fortune for everyone to see on social media.

Anthony had a brother — Kate couldn’t say exactly which one, because, honestly, they all looked like carbon copies of each other — who loved showing off his luxury vacations and somehow managed to make money out of it. What do they say again? Oh, right — money attracts money. Kate could practically feel her eyes rolling to the back of her skull just thinking about it.

But the point is: she knew a bit about Anthony Bridgerton before she started working for him, and she knew even more after the two of them started sleeping together. After all, she’d spent hours — not that she was proud of it, of course — digging up everything she could about him online.

It all started innocently enough, with a basic Google search of his name. But all she found was dull—articles about Bridgerton Holdings’ business ventures, charity events, and speeches at market seminars. As boring as he liked to present himself in public, she thought. However, digging just a little deeper brought her to the tabloids, and that’s when things got... interesting. Scandals with pop singers, dating models, and even rumors that he had been the reason behind an Olympic athlete’s breakup. And so on, etc., etc., etc.

And even though not all of those women were blonde socialites like the girl hanging off his arm on that terrace, one thing was certain: none of them looked anything like Kate.

Which brought her to the key point: she wasn’t surprised. This was exactly the kind of behavior she expected from him, and one of the many reasons she didn’t like Anthony Bridgerton. Because he was the kind of man who made her feel inadequate, even though, rationally, she knew there was absolutely nothing wrong with her.

But, of course, that didn’t stop her from wasting hours of her life falling down a bottomless rabbit hole of online research, trying to figure out what the hell all those women saw in him. Maybe it was the old family fortune, or the title he’d inherited — yes, she had to double-check to make sure that “Viscount” was still an actual thing in this day and age. Or maybe it was that damn smug smile that made her knees weak, even when all she wanted was to slap it off his face.

Not that she was jealous. No, that would be... pathetic. And Kate Sharma was definitely not pathetic. She was practical, rational, grounded. Except now, she was pregnant with her arrogant, overbearing boss’s baby, who also happened to be a member of the aristocracy. What would her ancestors say about her?

She was sure that her completely disproportionate reaction to seeing Anthony laughing and whispering with that random blonde had a perfectly logical explanation: hormones. After all, she was carrying a part of him inside her, and it was clearly messing with her emotions, making her feel things she would never otherwise feel. It’s not jealousy, she insisted, feeling the familiar tightness in her stomach. It’s just a side effect of the pregnancy.

She blew her nose before facing her reflection in the mirror. There was no denying it — anyone with a pair of eyes would see that she’d been crying. Great, just what she needed, she thought, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Unfortunately, running away wasn’t an option. She was stuck at that damn cocktail party, forced to smile and answer enthusiastic questions about the Marabella revitalization project.

Breathe, Sharma. You’ve survived worse , she told herself, trying to ignore the bitter taste in her mouth. She just hoped no one would notice that she’d spent the last fifteen minutes on her knees in the bathroom, hugging the toilet bowl as her lunch made a dramatic reappearance.

With trembling hands, she opened her makeup bag and did the best she could with some concealer and powder. A touch of blush to fake a bit of health.

It was pure luck that, upon returning to the terrace, the first person to approach her was Cordelia Petridge — the marketing analyst who, thankfully, was so obsessed with herself she wouldn’t have noticed if Kate had a sign hanging around her neck saying, “I’m about to throw up.” Cordelia was, as usual, caught up in a detailed monologue about her own problems, her endless therapy sessions, and her existential crises.

Perfect , Kate thought, as she pretended to listen and nodded at the appropriate moments. With a bit of luck, she might just be able to get through the rest of the afternoon hidden behind Cordelia’s incessant whining, without anyone — especially Anthony — realizing she was on the verge of a breakdown.

It was pure luck that the small complication — the same one now growing inside her and throwing her life into chaos — had given her a brief reprieve. For one fleeting moment, her body had stopped rebelling against her, allowing her to make it through the rest of the afternoon without needing to run to the bathroom again. And it was almost possible to forget that her body was no longer entirely her own.

But that fragile sense of control evaporated the moment a large, very familiar hand touched her elbow. She knew those hands all too well — large, veined, with long fingers that knew exactly how to... don’t think about that. But it was impossible. He had rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt to the middle of his forearm, exposing tanned skin and veins that seemed to pulse, practically begging to be licked.

God, what the hell is wrong with me? Kate thought, trying to avert her gaze. But she couldn’t stop herself from imagining those fingers sliding between her thighs, gripping her flesh, forcing her legs apart for him. Or, worse, the way he used those same fingers to hold her by the hips, digging his knuckles into her skin as he took her from behind.

She blinked, trying to pull herself together, and turned to face him, her cheeks flushed and her palms damp. But the moment her eyes met his, there it was — that damn smug smile plastered across his lips.

“Excuse me, but I’m going to steal my architect for a moment,” he said, apologizing to the group around her in his best charming-boss pose. The way he claimed her, as if she were an extension of his will, made her grind her teeth . Fuck, he’s so unbearably irritating.

He didn’t wait for her to acknowledge him before his hand landed on her elbow, steering her away. Kate didn’t pull back—doing so would only give him an excuse to tighten his grip, to remind her who held the upper hand. But the way his fingers lingered, firm but deliberate, sent a jolt of irritation—and something far worse—crawling under her skin.

“Are you alright?” he asked once they were out of earshot, his voice dipping into that low, intimate tone that made it impossible to focus on anything else. “You disappeared for a while, and I was counting on you to make this insufferable evening... less dull.”

Kate lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet his gaze even as she felt her pulse quicken. “If you’re that bored, Bridgerton, maybe your new friend can keep you entertained.” Her tone was sharp, but her hands fisted at her sides, betraying the effort it took to hold her ground.

His smile widened, slow and deliberate, as though her defiance amused him. “She could try,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving hers. “But let’s not pretend, Sharma. You’ve always been the best at... holding my attention.”

She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to look away as his gaze dipped, trailing down her body with infuriating leisure. 

“Unfortunately for you,” Kate said, crossing her arms in front of her chest in a defensive gesture, “we’re surrounded by colleagues. And unlike you, some of us actually care about keeping things professional.”

Anthony’s head tilted slightly, his expression shifting into something darker, something more dangerous. “Professional?” he repeated, his voice low and edged with amusement. “That’s a bold word coming from you. Tell me, Sharma, how professional was it last week when you were on your knees in my office? Or does that only count when the door’s locked?”

Her face burned, a mix of humiliation and anger rising to the surface. She opened her mouth to respond, but his smirk deepened, cutting her off before she could retort.

“Don’t look so offended,” he continued, leaning closer, his breath warm against her skin. “You’re the one who keeps breaking the rules, not me.”

Kate took a step back, but his hand was already at the small of her back, firm enough to remind her of his presence. The heat of his touch burned through the thin fabric of her blouse , making her hyperaware of how easily he could close the distance between them if he wanted to.

“Maybe I should start being more selective,” she shot back, her voice sharper now, like she was trying to carve space between them. “About who I let waste my time.”

Anthony chuckled, low and deep, the sound reverberating through her chest. He leaned closer, the scent of his cologne—sharp and spicy—curling around her like a trap. “Is that what this is? A waste of time?” His hand slid just slightly lower on her back, his fingertips brushing the curve of her hip. “Your body seems to think otherwise.”

Kate forced herself to smile, sweet and venomous. “Well, from where I’m standing, it’s clear your new friend didn’t want to go home with you,” she said, her words dripping with mock pity. “And for once, I’m not in the mood to sneak off to some dark corner with you. Not with half the board watching.”

Anthony’s smirk didn’t falter; it only grew sharper. He stepped even closer, the space between them nearly nonexistent now. His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Sharma. And neither does pretending you don’t want this.”

Kate laughed, short and biting. “Your ego is so inflated, I’m surprised you can even fit in this room.” Her eyes flicked downward again, deliberately lingering this time. “Compensating for something, Bridgerton?”

His smile didn’t falter. If anything, her words only seemed to amuse him. “We both know that’s not true,” he said, his voice calm, almost condescending. “Or have you forgotten all the times you begged me to stop because it was... too much for you to handle?”

Her breath hitched, and she hated how quickly her body reacted to his words, the heat pooling low in her stomach despite the rage burning in her chest. “You’re disgusting,” she hissed, her voice trembling with barely contained fury.

“Maybe,” he said, his tone almost casual as he straightened, adjusting his cuffs like they hadn’t just been toeing the line of indecency in the middle of a party. “But you don’t seem to mind when it’s just the two of us.”

He paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make her squirm. Then, with a slow, infuriatingly confident smile, he added, “I’ll text you my address. My place has... excellent privacy.”

Kate’s fists clenched at her sides as she watched him turn and walk away, every step radiating smugness. 

She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way her body hummed with frustration and desire, and came to one definitive conclusion: 

Anthony Bridgerton was unbearable.

_________________________________________________________________________

He didn’t need to send her a single message.

Later that day, he had her bent over his desk, fucking her wide open without reservation. He was gentle on his own terms, but firm, leaving bruises on her perfect dark skin. And he would kiss every single one of them when he was done — because they were his, just like she was.

He reduced her to shivers and moans, the sounds she made fueling every thrust he gave her.

“Anthony, yes. Please.” Her voice, shaky and pleading, was muffled by his hand, covering her mouth. He chuckled low in her ear, the heat of his breath brushing her skin, delighted by the way she gave in. He loved fucking Kate, but especially like this — when she surrendered to his power, when she allowed him to take complete control.

After saying goodbye to her on the terrace, Anthony had gone back to his office. He had a few documents to sign, one or two emails to review, and then every intention of going home and waiting for her there. But then, she showed up.

Kate entered the room, closing the door behind her with a definitive click. The sound made Anthony lift his eyes from the papers on the desk, watching her cross the space like a storm barely contained. Even without saying a word, he knew something was wrong with her.

He wanted to ask, but that wasn’t the kind of relationship they had.

So he pulled her into his lap without a word. She didn’t resist, her legs sliding on either side of the chair as she straddled him.

He kissed her the way he’d wanted to all day. Invading her mouth, demanding, as his hands slid over her skin, pulling her blouse off and revealing a delicate black lace bra that traced flowers in its fine fabric. The straps were thin and firm, supporting the delicious weight of her breasts. Through the lace, he could see her nipples already hardened, pressing against the fabric, teasing him.

Anthony pulled back just to look. He always liked to look. Kate, half-naked, was a sight he could admire for hours.

“Did you know I could see your bra through your blouse today?” he asked, his hands moving firmly to her breasts, squeezing them over the thin fabric, his thumbs teasing her nipples through the lace. He could feel her reaction—the way her body arched slightly, seeking more contact.

Kate bit her lip, the sound of the moan that escaped echoing in the silence of the room. That small, involuntary submission was something that always drove him insane. She was always sensitive to his touch, especially there.

“Maybe you’re hallucinating,” she replied, her voice breathy, unable to hide her excitement. She began to grind against him, her hips moving slowly, as if seeking her release even through the fabric of his pants separating them.

“You think too much about my breasts,” she murmured sarcastically, though her breathing was uneven, her chest rising and falling against his hands.

“If you don’t want me thinking about them...” he said as he slid the thin straps of her bra down her shoulders, his fingertips brushing her warm skin. The black lace, with a flower delicately embroidered at the center, still adorned her breasts—a tasteful piece, like everything Kate wore. “...don’t wear transparent clothes to work, for fuck’s sake.”

When the bra finally fell away, Anthony let out a low sound, almost a growl, as he took in the sight of her fully exposed. He couldn’t resist and lowered his mouth to the first, his lips and teeth capturing the stiff peak.
He bit down, in the way he knew would make her moan and whimper against his neck, the way that would leave marks.

“I don’t want you to be gentle,” she whispered. It was a request, and he knew it. They might not be close in any real sense, but he knew her—knew her body, knew exactly when she wanted him to make her forget everything.

“And what if I want to be very gentle with you, baby, huh?” he teased, his lips brushing against the peak of her breast, his warm breath making her body shudder. “What if I want to treat you like a princess? Do you think you’d like that?”
He began placing slow kisses around her breast, touching her just enough to tease.

“No.” Kate yanked his hair hard, forcing him to look at her. Her whiskey-colored eyes were blazing, challenging him, and her breath came out in short gasps. “I want you to be rough with me.”

“That’s my girl,” he replied, standing from the chair. She slid off his lap with the movement, her feet barely finding their balance before he spun her with precision and pushed her against the desk. In an instant, she was bent over, her palms flat on the cold surface, her body obeying his every movement without resistance.

He stood still for a moment, just looking at her in that position — her arched back, her breathing quickened, her face partially hidden by her hair. She was exactly where he wanted her, exactly how he wanted her.

“You love this, don’t you?” he asked, almost mocking, as he unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants down. His cock had been hard from the moment she walked into the room. “Letting me take complete control of you.”

He pulled her skirt up, revealing a tiny pair of black lace panties. He paused for a moment, letting his eyes trail over the damp fabric clinging to her. The control he usually prided himself on was slipping fast.

“Fuck, Sharma,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire as he ran his thumb along the center of the lace, pressing lightly against the wetness. “You’ve been like this all day, huh? You need to work on that attitude and just ask for what you want,” he said, unable to resist slapping her ass hard enough to make her jolt.

Kate raised her head, tossing her hair to the side as she glanced back at him over her shoulder, her eyes shining with anger.

“If I wanted to ask, I would have, Bridgerton,” she shot back, her voice firm but breathless. “You’re not that special.”

He loved it when she fought back, even if it was just with her words. “Doesn’t look like it,” he retorted, his fingers gripping the edge of her panties and pulling them down. “Soaking wet like this, I think your body’s telling me something else.”

Not giving her another second to respond, he grabbed her hips with both hands.

“Let’s see if you still think I’m not special, Sharma,” he murmured, positioning himself against her.

He tried to push into her in one go, feeling the pressure against her tight entrance. She was wet, but he was big and thick, and she usually needed more preparation.

But she had asked to be treated roughly, so…

“Anthony—” Kate whimpered at the intrusion, her entire body tense as he tried to fill her.

He paused, watching her for a moment as he felt her entrance pulse around him, too tight for him to push in completely. He pulled back slightly and—feeling her body tense even further—spat on his fingers before sliding them over her pussy, spreading the wetness around the entrance where his head was nestled.

“Fuck, baby, come on—” he murmured, as he used his hands to spread her cheeks, exposing her completely. He spat again, the sound echoing through the heavy silence of the room, and used his fingers to spread the viscous liquid.

Kate closed her eyes as she felt his fingers working over her. The heat of his touch and the added pressure made her relax, a low moan slipping from her lips.

“You still think I’m overcompensating, Sharma?” he taunted, his voice rough, before pushing again. This time, he filled her inch by inch.

“It hurts,” she mumbled in a whiny tone.

Anthony almost wanted to stop, almost wanted to prepare her better. But this was what she wanted, and he always knew how to give Kate exactly what she needed. So he leaned over her, pushing in slowly but firmly, until he was fully inside.

“Relax, baby,” he murmured, his hands sliding from her waist to her shoulders, holding her in place. “You can take it. You always do.”

He watched as her body reacted, the muscles in her back tense for a moment before starting to loosen, as if she were forcing herself to take everything he gave her. Her hips made a small movement against him—involuntary, almost like a request for more—and it made him smile. She could be stubborn, but her body never lied to him.

“That’s it,” he said, almost in admiration, his hips starting to move at a slow but relentless rhythm. “Good girl.”

His pelvis slapped against her ass repeatedly, each thrust driving him deeper, pulling sounds from her that he knew she’d never made for anyone else. Her warm, silken heat made him lose control, her body pulling at him as if it wanted him deeper, harder. He leaned over her, his mouth open as it rested against her nape, his teeth grazing her delicate skin as he increased his pace, each of her moans stoking his greed.

"Please, please, please," she begged, the words slipping out in a breathless plea, a sight he knew he would never forget. Anthony looked at her face, turned to the side, her wide, dilated eyes filled with a mix of pleasure and desperation, casting a glance over her shoulder that seemed to beg for more, even though she was clearly at her limit.

She clenched around him, her entire body trembling, a sharp cry escaping her lips as he kept fucking her at an unrelenting pace. He felt her legs start to give out, so he slid his arm around her waist, holding her firmly against him, inhaling the side of her neck. Kate had a scent—warm, faintly salty—that felt intoxicating as he felt her pussy clench even tighter around his cock, as though trying to keep him from leaving.

Anthony ignored the pleas coming from her mouth, focusing only on her body. Making a complete mess of her, thrusting with recklessness and abandon, pushing her inch by inch back to the edge. Everything was overwhelming—the heat, the sounds, the way she gave herself to him completely.

“You feel so good,” he muttered, cutting off any last bit of resistance as his free hand slid to one of her breasts, his fingers pinching her nipple as he used his knee to nudge her legs farther apart, keeping her open against the desk.

“Anthony, please,” she began to beg again, clenching even tighter around him, and he knew she was about to come. She was always like this: trying to resist, but giving in with her whole body and soul at the perfect moment.

“Oh, baby, already? Good girl.”

Her orgasm hit fast, like an explosion. He felt her body contort, the strength of her contractions wrapping around him, but he didn’t stop. He needed more. He needed her.

“Anthony,” she whimpered, her body limp and exhausted as he rubbed his thumb against her clit, pulling more uncontrollable spasms from her. The sound of her voice, so broken, made him burn with a mix of possession and obsession.

“I… I can’t… I can’t come again…”

“You can and you will,” he growled, his voice low and unyielding.

“No…”

He slid his mouth to her face, leaning at an awkward angle to capture her lips in a kiss. “You don’t know what you need, sweetheart,” he whispered against her lips. “But I do. You’re going to come again because I say so, baby.”

“I can’t…”

“You’re such a good little slut for me, I know you can,” he replied, slamming into her with a particularly forceful thrust.

And she tried. Kate never disappointed him. It didn’t take long before he had her whining and begging for more again. He loved watching her give in to her most primal, raw desires, and he loved even more being the only one capable of pulling that out of her.

He placed his hands around her throat—not to hurt her, but to show her what he was doing: how he was fucking her, just the way she’d asked him to.

“Say you love this, baby,” he commanded, his voice low and almost unhinged, as he kept pushing her beyond her limits.

“I love…” she murmured, her entire body trembling. “I love this…”

She came again, with a scream so sharp and desperate that he felt his entire body respond, as if it were being pulled along with her. Her shudders drove him insane, making every fiber of his body tingle. She unraveled him completely, stripping him of any shred of logic or self-control.

Every thrust grew rougher, more desperate. Her moans were tinged with something that almost sounded like pain, but it only pushed him further.

He pressed his lips to hers as he came, as deep inside her as he could get, his entire body trembling alongside hers. The feeling of losing himself in her was so violent that, for a moment, he forgot everything—except Kate. He felt her walls tightening around him, her body limp and moaning as she cried into his mouth, stealing the breath from his lungs.

He stayed there for a few moments before pulling out of her slowly, his body still pulsing as he felt the last spasms of hers gripping him. With firm hands on her waist, he helped her straighten up, turning her to face him.

Her eyes were half-open, her face marked by exhaustion and surrender. Anthony looked at her skin—the bruises on her thighs, the redness around her waist, the marks he had left. Without a word, he leaned down and began following the trail of those marks with his mouth. His lips found every little blemish, trailing down her thighs and up the curve of her waist, the kisses light, almost reverent.

When he was finished, he opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a cloth handkerchief. Unhurried, he began to clean her with care, his fingers gliding over her skin in a manner both practical and possessive. She didn’t say anything, just remained there, leaning against the desk, her eyes closed as he tended to her—just another ritual they both knew all too well.

Once they had cleaned up the mess and straightened their clothes, the two left the office as if nothing had happened. Well, that was another thing about Kate—no matter how intense or devastating their encounters were, she always managed to pull herself together within seconds. He found it both irritating and fascinating at the same time.

Not that he allowed himself to dwell on it.

They walked together to the elevator in silence. He pressed the button for the parking level, the numbers on the panel glowing as they descended to the garage. Anthony glanced at her briefly; she seemed distracted, her thoughts somewhere far away.

“Do you want me to send the revised blueprints along with the investor queries report, or would you rather we review them with the team first?” she finally broke the silence, always returning to work like clockwork.

Anthony ran a hand along his jaw as he considered. “Send it directly. We don’t have time for revisions, and you know the investors don’t care about the process—they just want an answer.”

Kate nodded, pulling her phone out of her bag to jot something down. “Alright. I’ll consolidate everything tonight and send it to you before noon tomorrow.”

Anthony didn’t respond immediately. His eyes lingered on her lips for a moment—full and well-shaped, now slightly swollen and red from the way he’d kissed her earlier. Something almost primal stirred inside him, but he quickly looked away, his jaw tightening slightly. It wasn’t the time.

The soft ding announced they had arrived at the garage. The elevator doors slid open, revealing the dimly lit, almost empty parking lot.

They walked out in silence, their footsteps echoing across the concrete floor. Anthony was already heading toward his Aston Martin DB11, unlocking the car with a light tap of the key fob. He was just about to open the door when her voice stopped him from behind.

“Anthony?”

He froze instantly, turning to face her. His eyebrows arched, his expression curious. She rarely used his name like that—unless they were in the middle of fucking—and never in that slightly hesitant tone.

“Yes?”

Kate took a deep breath, crossing her arms over her chest. For a moment, he thought she was going to continue talking about the project or some other work-related matter. But then, with the same cutting calmness she always carried, she blindsided him:

“I’m pregnant.”

Chapter Text

For a moment, he didn’t process it. The words hung in the air, disconnected, as if they had been spoken by someone else. He heard their echo in his head, spinning and spinning, until they finally settled in his chest like a physical blow.

"You—" His voice failed him, his throat dry, tight. He cleared his throat, trying to sound steadier, but he couldn’t manage it. "What did you just say?"

"I'm pregnant," she repeated, more firmly this time, but still without looking directly at him. She sniffled softly, one hand rising to push her hair back, the curls falling again over her face as if refusing to be tamed.

He felt his ears buzzing, as if he were underwater. His gaze instinctively dropped to her abdomen, and the world seemed to stop. Kate. Pregnant. With his child.

The first thing he felt was fear. Not ordinary fear, but that visceral, primal kind. The smell of blood invaded his mind—a ghost from old memories. He was eighteen again, his mother was screaming, the metallic smell in the car as he drove to the hospital, the doctor talking to him about the risks of death, him sitting in the emergency room waiting to find out if he was about to become an orphan. It all came rushing back like an avalanche. He could barely breathe. I’m going to lose her. I’m going to lose Kate. I’m going to lose everything.
And yet, in the middle of the panic, something else took root. A feeling so intense he didn’t know how to name it. Kate. Full. With my child. The thought consumed him, raw and untamed.

“And you had me bend you over a table, as if—” He cut the sentence off, his voice hoarse. He took a step toward her, still dazed, one of his hands finding its way to her abdomen, resting there carefully, as if she were made of glass. His other hand rose to her face, his fingers lightly tangling in her curls as he forced her to look at him. “I wouldn’t have... I would never—”

"I'm not sick, Bridgerton," she cut him off, irritated. Her voice came back with the strength he knew so well, that sharp tone that always kept him on edge.

He let out a short laugh, incredulous, almost hysterical, but he didn’t step back. Instead, his fingers slid along the side of her face, as if he needed to make sure she was real. “This is—fuck, Sharma, do you have any idea what this means?”

“Of course I know what this means,” she replied, her eyes meeting his, defying any notion of weakness he might project onto her. “It means I’m pregnant with my boss’s child, a man who has enough money to turn any mistake of mine into a damned tabloid headline.” She stepped back, her arms falling to her sides, her fingers clenching into fists before opening again.

“It means that no matter what I say or do, they’ll point at me and whisper that I trapped you. That I used this baby—” the words came fast, sharp, almost like an accusation “—as a golden ticket to secure a comfortable life. And the worst part,” she paused for a moment, her breathing slightly uneven, “is that deep down, I know you’re thinking the same thing.”

"Kate." Her name left his lips like a warning, and it made her stop immediately. He stepped closer again, his hands firm on her shoulders, pulling her toward him. "Fuck, Sharma, you’re the only person in this goddamn world that I know wouldn’t do something like that." He didn’t give her time to respond, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her forehead—brief but firm. "And do you really think I’d just stand by and let anyone say any shit about you? About us?"

He pulled her even closer, the heat between them suffocating, like a fever burning under his skin, but he couldn’t step away. Not when she was this close, this vulnerable, and every instinct he had was screaming to protect her, to keep her there, within his reach.

“It’s not that simple, Bridgerton. You don’t control every—”

Before she could finish the sentence, the cold, mechanical sound of the elevator door opening echoed through the garage.

Kate stepped back as if burned, her eyes wide as her arms dropped to her sides, her fingers tense. Anthony didn’t let go of her immediately, but his posture stiffened, his sharp gaze turning toward the figure emerging from the elevator.

Michael Hughes, one of the managers from the finance department, walked calmly out of the elevator, his footsteps echoing on the concrete floor. Hughes cast a curious glance at the two of them, his brow furrowing for a brief moment before smoothing into a neutral expression of acknowledgment. "Bridgerton. Sharma." He gave a nod before continuing toward his car without stopping.

"I need to go," Kate said suddenly, already turning toward the Mini Cooper parked a few meters away.

"Wait," Anthony said, reaching out to grab her wrist.

She stopped, reluctantly, and turned her face to him, her long hair spilling over her shoulders in that way that always seemed to provoke him. "We can’t stay in the middle of the garage; people will talk."

Anthony let out a heavy sigh, and without letting go of her wrist, he stepped closer, placing his other hand on the small of her back. "Get in the car," he said, nodding toward the Aston Martin.

"What?"

"We need to talk," he replied bluntly, with that tone that brooked no argument. "And you’re right, this isn’t the place for it."

"I have my own car. I can’t just leave it here." Her stubbornness was almost tangible, but he had expected no less from her.

"I’ll take care of it," he said. "I’ll have one of the drivers bring it to your apartment. That’s not important right now."

Kate seemed to hesitate for a few more seconds, and he thought he might have another battle on his hands with her, but something in his expression made her relent. Without saying another word, she got into the car. Anthony closed the door behind her, his heart still pounding at a frantic pace as he moved to the driver’s side.

He slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door, the space suddenly feeling far too small for the two of them.

Anthony let out a tense sigh, running a hand through his hair as he tried to force his thoughts into order. He started the engine, the deep, powerful rumble of the Aston Martin breaking the oppressive silence.

He glanced at Kate beside him, watching as she fastened her seatbelt. The small click of the buckle sounded like a relief to his ears, yet he instinctively reached over to check it—a reflexive gesture.

"Is your seatbelt secure?" he forced himself to ask, keeping his eyes on her for a moment longer than he probably should have.

"Yes," she replied flatly, adjusting it herself as if to drive the point home.

He nodded, even though it didn’t ease the knot growing in his chest.

He fastened his own seatbelt, adjusted the mirrors, and carefully maneuvered the car out of the garage, both hands gripping the steering wheel firmly.

"Is the air conditioning okay?" he asked suddenly.

Kate turned her gaze from the window to look at him for a moment, her large brown eyes seeming almost perplexed. "It’s fine. It’s great," she replied, her tone carrying more confusion than irritation.

He nodded again, his fingers tightening around the wheel as he drove. The car was utterly silent, save for the soft hum of the engine and the occasional distant sounds of traffic. Anthony kept glancing at her, even if only out of the corner of his eye, trying to catch every little detail—the way she seemed uncomfortable, the way her hands were now clasped in her lap, her fingers interlacing, tightening, relaxing, and then tightening again.

He reached out, almost without thinking, and placed his hand on her thigh. He wanted her to relax, and he also needed the physical contact to quiet the storm in his mind. The softness of her skin made him take a deep breath, an effort to steady himself.

She looked at his hand, then at him, her expression unreadable. She didn’t say anything, but he felt something in the way she seemed to shiver slightly at the touch.

He didn’t ask if she was okay again. He didn’t ask anything. He just drove—slow, deliberate—stealing the occasional glance at her, his worry barely concealed.

"You know," Kate finally said, breaking the silence, "you haven’t asked me anything about... I thought you’d at least ask how this happened."

Anthony kept his eyes on the road, but the faintest curve of a smile—more reflex than genuine—touched his lips. "I know how it happened," he replied, his tone laced with a dry humor. "We had sex without a condom."

She rolled her eyes, the sound of an exasperated breath filling the car. "Well, I told you that you didn’t need to worry..."

He didn’t respond immediately, but her comment brought memories rushing back with almost brutal clarity. They had, in fact, had that conversation months ago, during a business trip to Marbella. He’d been the one to bring it up first, almost offhandedly, admitting that it was what he wanted—he wanted to come inside her.

At the time, he had been prepared for a sharp response or an immediate refusal, but instead, she surprised him. Straddling him in the hotel bathtub, the steam rising around them, she had whispered in his ear that she wanted it too—she wanted him to come inside her. He could still hear the huskiness in her voice, the way her body tightened around his when she said it.

And, well, he had never been good at denying her what she wanted.

Afterward, she had casually asked if he was "clean" or if she should be worried. He told her the truth—he never slept with anyone without a condom. What he deliberately left out was that he hadn’t been sleeping with anyone other than her. He didn’t want to give the wrong impression.

She didn’t seem to care. In response, he had asked if she was seeing anyone, and Kate replied with that sharp irony of hers, "I don’t have time for that. But if I did, I’d use protection."

That had been enough for them to let it go. Anthony trusted that Kate knew what she was doing—she even had an alarm on her phone to remind her to take the pill. Honestly, it wasn’t something that crossed his mind much.

"I know no method is 100% effective," he said, catching her biting her lip out of the corner of his eye, looking tense. He gripped the steering wheel tighter but decided to press on. "I’ve already said it, Kate. I don’t think this was some kind of scheme of yours."

"My stepmother got sick, and my sister couldn’t help, so... I had to juggle work and taking care of her," she said quickly. "I think I only missed a couple of days..."

He pressed his hand firmly against her thigh.

"Kate," he interrupted her. "I don’t need an explanation."

"But I want to give one," she replied stubbornly, turning her head to look at him.

He let out a small huff of frustration, his jaw tightening. "Kate, I don’t want to hear you overanalyzing this and justifying yourself to me, as if we’re not both responsible for it."

"I know we’re both responsible," she replied, irritated.

"Glad we agree on something, then."

"Great."

When they arrived at his building, Anthony guided her through the lobby to the elevator and then into his apartment. He didn’t say anything as she took off her shoes at the entrance, placing them side by side with an annoyingly meticulous care. He watched as she stepped barefoot into the space, her brown eyes scanning every corner of the room with that familiar evaluative look he knew all too well.

She was judging. He could see it in the subtle arch of her eyebrows, in the way her gaze lingered on each piece of furniture.

"I thought you’d live in something more... old-fashioned," she remarked as she continued her inspection.

"I wanted something close to my family’s house," he responded, shrugging before motioning to the space around them. "And this is a Bridgerton Holdings building, so it made sense."

Without waiting for her reaction, he went straight to the bar cart in the corner of the room. He needed some alcohol—something to help with the knot tightening in his throat ever since she’d told him she was pregnant. "Do you want a drink? Juice, water, tea?"

"Nothing, thank you."

"I’ll get you a glass of water anyway," he said, gesturing to the sofas. "You can sit down."

She didn’t move. Instead, she followed him into the kitchen. "You can never follow instructions, can you?" he asked without looking back.

She ignored the jab, her eyes once again scanning the space with the same critical attention as before. "This place feels uninhabited," she commented casually. "I’d say it looks more like a showroom. There’s nothing out of place."

"I have a cleaning staff," he said, annoyed, already knowing how that would sound to her before he even finished the sentence. "And also Mrs. Hampton, who organizes everything. She does the grocery shopping..."

"You have a housekeeper?" Her question was accompanied by an ironic smile.

"She’s not a housekeeper," he countered, frowning. "She’s more like a secretary who—"

"Manages your household?" she interrupted. "That’s basically a housekeeper. And you live alone, so it’s weird."

Anthony stopped what he was doing to look at her. "How do you know I live alone?" He placed the glass of water in her hands, noticing how her fingers tensed around it.

"God, we don’t know anything about each other, do we? For all I know, you’ve got a girlfriend waiting for you somewhere—"

"I don’t have a girlfriend," he cut in quickly, the automatic defensiveness clear in his voice. He pushed the glass of water toward her, wordlessly insisting that she drink. "And you’re right, I live alone. But my siblings come over as if they live here. I don’t know if you know this, but I have seven of them, and more than half are disorganized ogres. That’s why Mrs. Hampton manages the house."

"I know about your siblings," Kate said, taking a small sip of water. He watched her movements, the way her lips touched the edge of the glass, as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. "By the way, just so you know, I’m not naming my kids in alphabetical order."

"How many kids do you plan on having with me?" he asked, a small, teasing smile on his face.

"This was a one-time thing, Bridgerton," she replied, placing the glass on the counter. "Don’t get any ideas."

Without arguing, he guided her back to the living room. And finally, she relented, sitting down on the couch with an almost imperceptible sigh that betrayed how much she needed it.

Anthony couldn’t help but smile to himself. Kate Sharma—always stubborn, always infuriating, and incapable of following any suggestion that wasn’t her own idea.

He didn’t sit next to her. Instead, he took the coffee table in front of her, where he could see her better. Kate had always been beautiful—stunning, really—but there was something almost unsettling about seeing her there, so at ease on his couch. As if, somehow, she belonged in that space, as if her perfection could fit into the messy, chaotic world he inhabited.

"How long have you known?" he asked, trying to mask the anxiety tightening his chest.

"About a week. I took the test at work, just to be sure. Then I went to the doctor to confirm." She paused before adding, "I’m entering my seventh week. I have an ultrasound scheduled for Wednesday."

"I can go with you—"

"You don’t need to."

"I’m going with you." He placed one of his hands on her thigh. Kate seemed so uncertain, so fragile, and he couldn’t ignore it. He should have pushed harder to find out what was wrong when she walked into his office earlier today.

He should have realized it a week ago, when she took the test alone, in some random bathroom just a few feet away from where he was.

"So, are you willing to do this?" she asked, breaking through his thoughts.

There was a nervousness in her expression that he rarely saw in Kate. And as much as he wanted to say everything—that he would do anything for her, that he would never let her handle this alone—he knew he needed to choose his words carefully.

"Yes," he replied. "I’m willing to do this. Whatever it takes."

It hadn’t even crossed his mind that Kate might not want to keep the pregnancy. He knew her well enough to understand that she only shared this with him because she planned to keep it. He had no illusions about being able to change her mind about anything.

And he didn’t want to change her mind about this. No matter how confused and catastrophic he felt about the situation, no matter how incompetent he thought he was for the role of a father, he also wanted this with everything he had.

"I’m not going anywhere, Sharma," he said, holding her gaze.

"God, how are we going to do this? You don’t even like me, we can barely stand each other, I don’t even know you..."

"That’s not true." He found himself strangely defensive about their relationship. "You think we don’t know each other? Because I know you. I know you always show up early to meetings so you can grab the seat closest to the air conditioning. I know you fidget with your hands and start talking way too fast when you’re nervous. I know you always snack on dried fruit at your desk, even when you complain that it’s not a decent lunch. And I know you have a dog named Newton that you rescued from a shelter, and you couldn’t stop talking about it."

She said nothing, and, fuck, maybe he’d said too much, letting his obsession with her become way too obvious.

"We know each other well enough, and I do a hell of a lot more than tolerate you," he added. "And as incredible as the sex is—and it is incredible—nothing would make me keep coming back if I was just tolerating you."

"That’s because I tolerate your bullshit."

"That’s because you like what we do," he shot back.

"Oh, right. It’s the incredible sex that’s going to help us here?" she asked with irony.

"So you admit the sex is incredible?"

The glare she shot him should have shut him up, but he smiled, because irritating her was something he was far too good at.

"There are plenty of parents out there with way less connection than we have," he said as he stood and sat next to her on the couch, sliding an arm around her to pull her into a hug. "And we’ll find our way, Sharma. We’ll figure out how to make this work."

She seemed to accept his words as she leaned into him, her body giving in slowly, like she was on the verge of collapsing. Anthony didn’t even need to look at her face to know Kate was exhausted, but her quiet yawn came as the final confirmation.

"You need to rest," he said.

"I need a shower." Her words came out almost like a grumble. "I’ll call an Uber to go home."

"No." He didn’t let her pull away, his hand firm on her abdomen. "Stay here tonight. It’s more practical."

"I didn’t bring anything with me. I need a shower, and—" She hesitated, her dark eyes meeting his with a warning. "I’m not ready for another round of sex."

"That’s not why I’m asking you to stay." He stood, extending a hand to her. "I have spare toothbrushes for guests. Come on."

She hesitated but finally took his hand. Anthony guided her to the bathroom, her steps slow and dragging, which only reinforced his decision to insist that she stay. He had no ulterior motives, no hidden agenda. It just seemed inconceivable to let her out of his sight in that state.

He opened the door and adjusted the water temperature, listening to the strong stream as the steam began to rise. When he turned around, she was standing in the middle of the bathroom, arms crossed, her expression wary but too drained to argue.

Anthony walked up to her. "Raise your arms, Sharma."

She arched an eyebrow but held his gaze and obeyed, slowly lifting her arms. He pulled her shirt up, sliding the fabric along her arms until he had removed it completely.

"You said no sex," she reminded him.

"I’m just helping," he replied as he knelt to remove her skirt.

The sight of her legs momentarily stole his breath as he carefully slipped off her sandals. He lowered his head, letting his lips brush her soft skin with slow, gentle kisses, gradually moving upward. When he reached the curve of her thigh, he felt a slight shiver run through her body, and he paused, just for a moment, before sliding her thin panties down.

She removed her bra herself, letting it fall to the floor. And there she was—naked, in front of him, in his bathroom, carrying his child. He had to look away, his fingers clumsy as he unbuttoned his own shirt, the weight of the surreal situation pressing heavily on his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" she asked, sounding confused.

"Making sure you don’t pass out in the shower from exhaustion," he replied, shrugging off his shirt and setting it aside. "I’m going to help you. That’s all."

She looked like she wanted to protest, but instead, she sighed and headed for the shower. He looked away for a moment, giving her some privacy, but as she passed him, Anthony couldn’t help letting his eyes wander over her. The exhaustion was clear on her face, but she was still sexy as hell.

He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about that in this moment, but it was impossible not to notice.

She stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over her body. He followed, adjusting the stream to something gentler.

"Is this okay?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"It is," she replied, almost in a whisper, her eyes closed as she tilted her head back, letting the water soak her long, dark curls.

Anthony took the soap, his hands working carefully as he slid it along her back, each movement meticulous and controlled. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. But the silence was heavy, almost suffocating.

When he finished with her back, he knelt behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder at him, surprised but not protesting. He held her hips, pressing his forehead against the small of her back for a moment before he began kissing her skin.

He heard the breath escape her lips when his mouth found the inside of her thigh, and the sound was like gasoline on a fire. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

"Anthony..." She tried to say something, but it was cut off by a moan that seemed torn from her.

"Shh," he murmured against her, her taste invading his senses as his hands held her firmly, guiding her. His tongue explored every inch of her perfect cunt, teasing and insisting, and he felt when her body began to yield—the slight arch of her hips, an almost shy movement against his mouth, like a small request that he answered without hesitation. 

She moaned and begged, her voice faltering, the disjointed words turning into a litany of pleas that only made him want more. He didn’t stop. On the contrary, he slowed his pace, but made each movement more precise, more calculated, teasing her with an almost cruel patience as he guided her to the peak.

And then she collapsed. A broken cry tore from her lips as the waves of her orgasm crashed over her, her legs giving out under the weight of the pleasure. Anthony held her firmly, his hands anchored on her hips, as she shook violently against him, her body surrendering completely to the sensation he had created.

He stood, pulling her into a tight embrace. She felt limp, fragile, her head resting against his chest as he carried her out of the shower.

He dried her off slowly, then found one of his shirts in the closet and dressed her in it, carefully fastening the buttons while she was practically asleep on her feet.

"Good night, Sharma," he murmured, her scent mixed with the smell of his shampoo filling his senses as her eyes began to close.

Even though he was exhausted, he knew sleep would be difficult. Not with her so close. Not with reality pulsing between them.

______________________________________

Kate didn’t know how to feel about the pregnancy. If she were completely honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she never imagined this could happen to her. Not because she didn’t want it, but because… well, because she was the way she was. Difficult. Stubborn. Inflexible. She knew that, and she also knew that most men didn’t know how to handle women like her.

That’s why she had never seriously considered the idea of a relationship long enough, serious enough, to include things like planned babies. She was practical, organized, someone who valued control in every area of her life—including the bedroom. An accidental pregnancy? That was something for disorganized, impulsive people—not her. She did everything right, took every precaution.

But then Anthony Bridgerton happened. And with him, his endless requests—whispered, shouted, pleaded—for permission to come inside her. And the worst part: with him also came the absurd, uncontrollable urge to let him do exactly that.

And now? Now she was pregnant. By a man she wasn’t in a relationship with.

She knew she could do this alone. She was perfectly capable. She always had been. She would defend, tooth and nail, any woman’s right to raise a child on her own, if that was the case. But did she want that? Did she want to do this without him?

Motherhood itself wasn’t a foreign concept to Kate. No, she had already played the role before, in a way. After her mother died when she was four and her father remarried, Kate found a second maternal figure in Mary. But when he died too, everything fell apart.

Mary was consumed by deep grief, a suffocating depression that forced Kate to step in and fill the void. There was no one else. She was only seventeen—just a month shy of eighteen—but suddenly, she was the one making breakfast, the one ensuring that Edwina, six years younger, got to school. She was the one helping with homework, protecting her from teasing, checking if her sister’s clothes were too small or if her gloves were warm enough for the winter.

Kate managed Edwina’s puberty, dealt with teenage dramas, gave awkward lectures about birth control and sexually transmitted infections. She encouraged her to prioritize her studies, to be strong, to build a life for herself.

Kate was a mother before she was even ready to be an adult.

And even now, with Edwina in college, the weight of responsibility still rested on her shoulders. It was Kate who paid the tuition, who made sure her sister had everything she needed. And that was why Kate worked more hours than anyone else at that office.

So, it wasn’t exactly the idea of being a mother that scared her. She already knew how to take care of someone. What terrified her was having to do it under her current circumstances. How would she balance work, caring for Edwina and Mary, and now... this?

These questions had occupied her mind from the moment she saw the positive result on the test. And they continued to torment her as she sat in the gynecologist’s office. Anthony was seated next to her, his expression rigid and serious. So serious, in fact, that she could see people around them sneaking wary, cautious glances at him.

Anthony had that effect of seeming intimidating, one he had never wielded against her. Still, her irritation with him had grown considerably since she announced her pregnancy to him.

She had expected him to react badly—maybe with shock, maybe by accusing her of trapping him. But, contrary to any scenario she had imagined, Anthony Bridgerton had become absurdly overprotective.

In the three days between the revelation and the appointment, he had shown up to work every day with fruit tea, muttering that he’d read it helped with nausea and was a good substitute for coffee, which, according to him, was strictly off-limits. He had bombarded her with suggestions for foods that were “better for the baby,” and Kate was almost certain he’d been reading medical articles during team meetings.

He also insisted that she shouldn’t carry anything heavy—not even her own bag. He was constantly checking if she had eaten, if she was comfortable, if she had drunk enough water. And while all of this had a genuine touch of care, it was done with the arrogance that came naturally to him, as if every act were an extension of his need for control.

It would almost be cute if it weren’t so unbearable.

Of course, it was better than him saying he wanted nothing to do with it and telling her to get a lawyer, but dealing with his overwhelming and obsessively attentive presence was still exhausting.

“Miss Sharma.”

She stood up, barely on her feet before his hand slid across her back to steady her. She wanted to yell at him for treating her like she was an invalid, but she held back. She followed the doctor, ignoring Anthony’s constant and protective presence at her side.

They shook hands, were instructed to sit, and politely followed the directions.

“Welcome, Kate. I see you’ve brought company today.” Dr. Melanie Marlow, with her calm and professional voice, offered a reassuring smile as she looked at the two of them. It was Kate’s second appointment. At the first, she’d come alone, of course, since she hadn’t told Anthony yet.

Kate had chosen Dr. Marlow after an exhaustive search for the best obstetricians in the city. She was happy with her choice—the woman had a calm and charming presence, almost peaceful, which helped Kate keep her nerves in check.

“Anthony Bridgerton,” he said seriously, his assessing gaze shifting from the doctor to the office, as if he were inspecting an investment. Kate could already predict the disaster about to unfold.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bridgerton,” the doctor replied, but he didn’t return her smile.

“Is your family from Bristol?” he asked abruptly, as though it were the kind of routine question one might ask a doctor.

“Excuse me?” Dr. Marlow looked momentarily confused.

“Bristol,” he repeated, slowly, as if she hadn’t understood the first time. “I saw you graduated from the University of Bristol, and well… Oxford has the best medical program in England, so I wondered if your choice had something to do with your family.”

Kate almost wanted to sink into her chair. Why did he have to be like this?

“Anthony!” she protested, shooting him a deadly glare before turning to the doctor. “I apologize for him.”

“It’s quite all right,” Dr. Marlow said with surprising patience. Then she turned to Anthony, still maintaining her polite smile. "I see we have an Oxford man here. But actually, my family is from Surrey. I chose Bristol because they have one of the top programs in integrative medicine and women’s health."

Kate caught a spark of irritation in the doctor’s eyes, which almost made her smile. “And that’s exactly why I chose Dr. Marlow,” she added, forcing a smile sweeter than she felt.

Anthony shrugged, as if unconvinced. “I see. I just want to make sure you’re getting the best.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “And you are… what to Kate?”

“Boss,” Kate answered quickly, savoring the brief moment of provocation, especially when she saw Anthony’s jaw tighten.

“Oh, you must be a very kind boss to accompany your employee to the doctor,” the doctor remarked.

“I’m the father of the baby.” His face was red, and the tension in his jaw made it clear he didn’t find the confusion amusing. Kate had to press her lips tightly together to keep from smiling too much.

“Ah, of course.” Dr. Marlow smiled. “My sincerest apologies. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“It’s fine,” Kate said quickly, trying to diffuse the awkward moment.

“All right, Kate,” the doctor said, regaining her composure. “If you could change into the gown behind that door, we can start the ultrasound.”

Kate nodded and followed the instructions. As she changed, she was acutely aware of Anthony’s constant presence at the back of the room, which made everything feel even stranger. When she returned and lay down on the exam table, he silently moved closer.

Dr. Marlow lifted the fabric covering Kate’s abdomen and spread the cool gel over her skin. “It’s a bit cold,” she warned, and that’s when Anthony stepped closer without hesitation, taking Kate’s hand and giving it a firm squeeze.

Kate glanced at him, almost ready to protest, but the way he was staring at the screen made her pause. He looked genuinely focused, even nervous.

The doctor began the exam, moving the transducer across her abdomen, and then, suddenly, a sound filled the room.

Heartbeats. Strong, fast, unmistakable.

The baby’s heart.

Kate felt something inside her break and, at the same time, piece itself back together. It was such a simple sound, yet so incredibly powerful that it seemed to reverberate through her entire body. Her chest tightened, and her eyes began to sting with tears before she could even process what was happening.

It was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.

The tears began to stream down her cheeks uncontrollably, and she didn’t try to wipe them away. She didn’t try to hold them back. All she could do was stare at the screen where the doctor pointed to something tiny, something that now seemed so immense.

That was her baby’s heart. Her baby’s heart.

How was it possible to feel so much love, so much, in such a short amount of time? She didn’t know. She only knew that she did—overwhelmingly so, as if her skin couldn’t contain everything she felt inside.

She blinked, but the tears kept coming. One of them slipped down the corner of her eye and disappeared into the pillow beneath her head. For the first time since the positive test result, Kate didn’t feel fear or uncertainty. She felt something completely different.

I can do this.

The doctor was still explaining something, but Kate barely heard her. The only thing that mattered in that moment was that sound.

And she realized that, despite all the complications, all the doubts, and the chaos that came with Anthony Bridgerton, she wanted this.

She wanted it so much it hurt.

It was Anthony who brought her back to reality. His hand tightened around hers, and Kate turned to look at him. His face still looked rigid, his jaw clenched, as if he were struggling to keep control. But his eyes…

His eyes were filled with tears.

She blinked, surprised, as she watched him swallow hard, his damp eyelashes glistening under the clinical light of the room. He looked at her with an intensity that made her hold her breath.

“It’s our baby,” he said.

She saw the almost imperceptible movement of his throat as he tried to swallow his emotions. His hand still gripped hers tightly, as if he were afraid to let go. Then, suddenly, he lifted his free hand and ran it over his face, as if trying to hide the tears that had escaped—but it was too late. She had already seen them.

“It’s really real, isn’t it?” he murmured, almost to himself.

Kate felt another wave of emotion course through her. Not because he seemed surprised, but because he seemed… vulnerable, somehow. Less the imposing, arrogant man she knew so well. Anthony Bridgerton—the overconfident boss, the man who seemed to have control over everything and everyone—was completely disarmed by that sound.

“It’s real,” she answered softly.

Chapter Text

A few months earlier.

He didn’t think Kate Sharma would change his life.

Not the moment he first saw her. Not when Agatha Danbury introduced her as the new architect of Bridgerton Holdings.

Anthony didn’t think she would have any impact on his life.

But he remembers the day he met her.

He remembers the exact moment she walked into the meeting room while he was already seated at the head of the table—impatient, irritated, wishing he were anywhere else. He remembers the rustling of her clothing as she crossed the room with precise poise, the way her dark eyes swept over the space without hesitation.

And he remembers the uncomfortable sensation that spread through his chest when he looked at her face.

Because Agatha had to be fucking with him.

Kate Sharma was unreal.

He didn’t know her name yet, but he knew—instinctively—that she was trouble.

She was dressed in black, a dramatic yet elegant ensemble of a blazer and flowing silk, revealing both too much and almost nothing at the same time. A hint of skin here, a slit there, a shadow cast in just the right place, making it impossible not to look. Her long, dark hair caught the warm light, gleaming like ink.

He should have looked away.

He didn’t.

He could say it was because he wanted to assess her, to judge her before even hearing her voice. But the truth was, there was something magnetic about her. Something about her impeccable posture, the calculated way she moved, that unsettled him.

When Agatha said her name and she extended her hand to him, Anthony shook it. Her skin was warm, soft. And he held on for a second longer than he needed to.

It wasn’t on purpose.

But he didn’t let go right away, either.

“Mr. Bridgerton.” Her voice was steady. No hesitation. No forced sweetness.

His mouth went dry.

“Miss Sharma.”

She took a seat at the table, setting a tablet in front of her, crossing her long legs with effortless elegance—and he knew the hour would drag on.

He adjusted himself in his chair, leaning back slowly as he ran a hand along his jaw, feeling the roughness of his unshaven stubble.

His eyes slid to Kate once more, as if testing themselves, as if trying to confirm that this—the pulsing discomfort under his skin—wasn’t real.

But it was.

He shifted his gaze to the papers in front of him, pretending to read them.

And he remained silent.

She started speaking. She talked about her previous experiences, outlined her approaches, spoke about environmental preservation, sustainability, suggested solutions. Her articulation was impeccable, her confidence unshakable.

He didn’t try to test her.

He didn’t challenge any of her ideas.

He simply ignored her.

His eyes drifted to his tablet. He asked no questions, made no comments, gave no indication that he was listening.

And yet, every single word she said stuck in his mind.

That bothered him.

He didn’t like the way his body reacted to her presence. He didn’t like how his attention latched onto the smallest details—how his gaze lingered on her eyes, how he imagined the texture of her hair, how her perfume, a perfect blend of floral and warmth, stayed with him longer than it should.

He didn’t think Kate Sharma would change his life.

But that day, when she stood up to leave and hesitated for just a moment, giving him one last look—as if studying him the same way he had studied her...

He should have known.

Of course, the clashes between them didn’t take long to arise. Somehow, Kate seemed to know that he didn’t approve of her hiring.

The first argument happened over a conservation area at a resort in the Dominican Republic—he didn’t remember the details, only the furious expression on her face as she defended the preservation of the green space.

Then came the design project that aimed to preserve historic tiles in Bogotá, which was rejected in favor of a more modern proposal. On another occasion, it was a building in Lisbon, where she insisted the original structure should be maintained, while he prioritized optimizing the space.

And more recently, a dispute over the use of sustainable materials in a hotel in Cape Town.

None of these arguments had been as explosive as Kate probably wished. She couldn’t yell at him, no matter how obvious it was that she wanted to.

Then something changed during a trip to Barcelona, when she was trying to convince him to invest in a revitalization project in Valparaíso. She spoke with such enthusiasm, with such passion, that he found himself watching her in silence. The sunlight illuminated her face, bringing out the golden hues in her brown eyes.

— What? — she asked when she realized he was watching her without saying a word.

He hesitated for a moment before answering, and when he did, it was with the only truth that came to his mind:

— You’re very beautiful.

Kate blinked, surprised.

He realized his mistake immediately and composed himself, resuming the conversation as if he hadn’t just crossed a line that should never have been crossed.

_________________________________________________________________________

"You used our entire savings?"

Kate’s voice came out lower than she intended, almost breathless, as her eyes remained fixed on the computer screen. The balance in the bank account looked like a grotesque mistake. An impossible number.

"I used all of MY savings." Edwina’s voice cut through the silence like a razor—sharp, indignant, heavy with resentment. "The savings that were deposited by our grandparents and that you never told me existed."

Kate closed her eyes for a second, pressing her fingers against her temples. She could feel the headache creeping up her neck, throbbing, threatening to suffocate her.

"Edwina, that money was for your education."

"And I used it for my education!" Her sister shot back without hesitation. "My internship in New York is part of my training. Or do you think I should have turned down the opportunity of a lifetime because of a plan that didn’t even include me?"

Kate opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The weight of Edwina’s words sank into her, pressing her even deeper into her seat.

"This goes beyond planning," she finally managed to say, her voice more tired than angry. "Part of that money was for Mom too. You couldn’t just take it all without thinking about her."

"And how was I supposed to know that, Kate?" Edwina’s tone wavered between frustration and pain. "How could I have known anything when you hide everything from me? How can I plan my own life when you never let me be part of it?"

Kate felt a knot form in her throat.

"My grandparents were clear, Kate," Edwina continued. "The money was MINE. Not yours. Not Mom’s. And I never had access to it until now. Do you know how that makes me feel? All this time, you kept telling me they were horrible people, that they never helped us, that they left us alone..."

Kate took a deep breath, trying to find patience where there was only exhaustion. "They didn’t help when we really needed it, Edwina."

"But—"

"They never did anything for us when Dad died." Kate’s voice wavered, but she forced herself to continue. "They didn’t help pay the bills, they didn’t help support Mom when she got sick. The only thing they did was cover part of your college tuition, and even that wasn’t enough. Mom’s treatment was never a priority for them. You don’t understand because you were too young."

The silence on the other end of the line was cutting.

"I don’t understand why you chose to keep me in the dark," Edwina continued, her voice wavering between hurt and indignation. "If you had asked, I would have given you that money. You didn’t have to take it."

Kate felt a tightness in her chest, frustration rising like a knot burning in her throat.

Edwina spoke as if she had stolen that money. As if she had embezzled funds that, in reality, had been the only thing keeping their family from sinking completely. She wanted to scream, to make her understand that the Sheffields’ money was never a generous gift—just an overdue handout.

They never helped when Mary got sick. They never paid a single cent for the treatments, the doctor’s appointments, the medication. The money they sent for Edwina covered part of her university tuition, but not housing, not food, not the generous allowance her sister enjoyed without ever questioning it. So much of that had come from Kate’s work.

Maybe she had made a mistake in hiding their family’s financial reality. Maybe she had protected Edwina too much. But seeing the way her sister was reacting now, Kate wasn’t sure she was mature enough to handle the truth.

The call ended three minutes later, but the bitter taste remained.

Kate dropped her phone onto the table and rested her forehead against the cool wood, letting out a frustrated groan. Her eyes burned, her head throbbed, and exhaustion spread through her body like a weight too heavy to bear.

But she couldn’t afford to fall apart now.

She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and forced herself to stand. She needed to get back to the meeting. They were finalizing the last details for the acquisition of a winery in South Africa and its integration into the project she was involved in.

But when she entered the conference room, she found only Anthony Bridgerton.

He was closing his laptop, slipping it into his leather briefcase with the same methodical precision he seemed to apply to everything in life. He was already on his feet, about to leave.

Shit. Had she really taken that long?

He looked up at her, his expression closed off, assessing her carefully.

"Sharma? What are you still doing here?"

"I was in the meeting." Kate tilted her head slightly, studying him with barely concealed disbelief. Had he really not noticed her presence in the room the entire time?

"You got a call. We assumed it was something serious and moved on without you," Anthony replied in his usual bored tone, not even bothering to look at her directly.

Kate clenched her jaw. "But I was going to present an additional winery option in the same region. It could be a better alternative for what we want to offer in the complex."

Anthony finally lifted his eyes to her, but his expression remained unreadable. "Then you should have stayed in the meeting." He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt before grabbing his briefcase. "Anyway, if the idea is good, send it to Fife. He’ll review it, and if it’s worth it, he can pass it on to me."

The dismissal was obvious.

And maybe, if Kate weren’t already on edge after her argument with Edwina, she would have just swallowed her frustration and let it go. Maybe she would have ignored the arrogant tone, the indifferent way he treated her work, her presence.

But today, she didn’t want to let it go.

Ever since she was hired, it had been clear that he didn’t like her.

On the first day, Anthony Bridgerton hadn’t even bothered to hide his boredom when Agatha Danbury introduced her as the company’s new architect. Over the following weeks, he never addressed her directly, but his disapproval was obvious—he dismissed her ideas with infuriating ease, without even discussing their merits. It was as if he wanted to constantly remind her that, despite her competence, he had the power to decide what moved forward and what died there.

And until now, Kate had accepted it in silence. Because he was Anthony Bridgerton. His name was on the building. He was her boss’s boss.

She was a sensible person. She needed to pay the bills, support Mary and Edwina. She couldn’t just tell him to go to hell without risking everything she had worked for.

Landing this job at Bridgerton Holdings had been absurdly lucky. Agatha Danbury had recommended her, and the salary was excellent. The career plan was solid. The health insurance… well, it was the kind of benefit that made all the difference when your mother needed expensive medical treatments.

So, Kate forced herself to ignore it.

Ignore the fact that her boss was a massive asshole.

A lot of people had asshole bosses.

But, fuck, that didn’t make dealing with that man any easier.

It just so happened that, on top of everything else, there was a small inconvenience when it came to Anthony Bridgerton. Something Kate didn’t even know how to name.

Because, yes, he clearly didn’t like her. And she didn’t like him. So why the hell was he impossible to ignore? Why did the air always feel thinner, heavier, charged with something dense, electric, whenever they were in the same room?

Maybe it was the way he always seemed tense, always restrained, with that ever-present crease between his brows. Or his perpetually sour mood. None of it should have been attractive. But, fuck, somehow, it was.

And the worst part? The more unbearable he was—in meetings, in his curt emails, in the superior way he sipped whiskey and smoked cigars with investors like the smug bastard he was—the more Kate wanted to sit on his face.

So, yeah, there was something deeply wrong with her. Something that made her avoid Anthony Bridgerton whenever possible, before she made a stupid mistake. Before she became the kind of woman who ruined her own career over a fuck.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to focus on the conversation.

"My presentation would have happened earlier if you hadn’t spent half the time talking about the year’s positive results—which, by the way, we all already received by email and are plastered on every damn panel in the company."

The silence that followed was brutal.

She felt the weight of his gaze. And then she realized she might have crossed a line.

He could fire her right then and there.

Anthony didn’t say anything immediately. He just stood there, staring at her with an unreadable expression. Then, in that deep, irritatingly calm voice, he asked:

"You’re more aggressive than usual. What happened?"

Kate bit her tongue, her body still buzzing with pent-up anger.

"Nothing that concerns you."

"Always so hostile." His gaze narrowed, a trace of irritation seeping into his voice. "I’m just trying to be nice. Come on."

Kate frowned. "What?"

"Come have a drink with me. You look like you need one, and we can toast to the end of another unbearable day."

She hesitated.

It was a terrible idea.

But in the end, she grabbed her folder and followed him to his office.

Anthony’s office was exactly as she had imagined—spacious, organized, meticulously arranged. Not a single paper out of place, not a pen left forgotten on the desk.

He picked up a bottle of whiskey and poured two drinks, sliding one of the glasses toward her without a word.

Kate took it but didn’t drink. "Is this a habit of yours? Bringing your employees to drink in your office after hours?"

"There aren’t many people I enjoy sharing a drink with." He shrugged. "So I’d say no."

She narrowed her eyes. "You don’t have to pretend to like me."

Anthony took a sip of his whiskey, his gaze fixed on her. "Do I look like someone who doesn’t like you, Sharma?"

The question threw her off for a second.

The silence stretched between them, dense and electric. Kate held his gaze, pretending her skin wasn’t tingling, pretending her heart wasn’t beating faster.

Slowly, she brought the glass to her lips and finally took a sip. The liquid burned down her throat, but not as much as Anthony’s gaze on her.

"Yes. That’s exactly what you look like."

He smirked, but there was no humor in it. Only something sharp. "You almost sound disappointed."

He took a step closer.

"Do you want me to like you, Sharma?"

Kate set the glass down on his desk, harder than necessary.

"I don’t care what you or anyone else here thinks of me." Her words were sharp, but then, in an almost imperceptible movement, she took a step toward him too.

"I don’t think that’s true."

They were even closer now. Anthony didn’t touch her right away, but the way his gaze slowly traced her face, as if mapping every detail, made Kate feel the weight of their proximity.

Then, his hand lifted to her jaw, his touch warm and firm but unhurried. "I think you like to be appreciated."

His voice dropped to something low, almost intimate. Something that made her hold her breath without realizing it.

Kate should step away. She knew that.

But she stayed right where she was, motionless, her muscles tense as his thumb slowly dragged along her chin. Anthony’s dark eyes roamed over her face as if daring her to deny what was happening between them.

"If you’re waiting for me to fall at your feet just because you finally decided to look at me properly, you’re going to be disappointed, Bridgerton."

Anthony let out a small smile—not of amusement, but of acknowledgment. As if he had expected nothing less from her.

"Sharma, we’ve been circling this for months."

He tilted his head slightly, his lips hovering dangerously close to hers. Not enough to touch, but just enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath against her skin.

The hand that had been holding her jaw slowly slid along the side of her neck, his fingers tracing a slow path to her nape.

"You know it. I know it. So let’s stop pretending we’re not exactly where we’re supposed to be."

Kate wet her lips.

He followed the movement. His eyes dropped, darkening, as if the mere thought of tasting them distracted him for a second.

This was madness.

This was insane.

This was inevitable.

"This is a terrible idea," she said, without conviction.

"Yes." He leaned in a little more, his mouth so close to hers that a single deep breath would make them touch. "But you want it."

She should deny it. She should laugh in his face and walk out of the room with her head held high.

But she didn’t.

The air between them grew heavy, charged with something she refused to name. His breath was warm against her skin, measured and controlled, and he didn’t move. He didn’t force anything. He just waited.

And somehow, that made her feel in control.

Kate took a deep breath and lifted her chin, her nape still firm under his hand. "I’m not going to risk my job."

Anthony’s smile was slow, almost lazy.

"You won’t have to."

She narrowed her eyes. "Oh, yeah? And why would I trust you?"

"Because I want you." His hand remained steady at her nape, but the other slid slowly to her waist, his fingers pressing lightly through the thin fabric of her blouse. "And because you want me too. And we’re both grown enough to set the rules."

"Rules," she repeated, trying to ignore the heat spreading through her body at his touch.

Anthony held her gaze, patient. "No complications."

"Great. I wasn’t expecting flowers and breakfast in bed, anyway."

He let out a low sound that might have been a laugh, but it wasn’t exactly amused.

Kate couldn’t tell if that irritated her or turned her on.

But then he moved a little closer, his fingers tightening around her waist as his thumb slowly brushed over the bare skin between the hem of her blouse and the waistband of her skirt. A minimal touch, almost innocent—but one that sent a shiver down her spine.

Anthony tilted his head, and for a moment, the silence between them was almost unbearable. He wanted her to agree. He wanted her to take the first step.

She bit her lip in anticipation, not realizing she had done it until his gaze dropped, tracking the movement like a predator watching its prey.

Kate took a deep breath. "This can only happen once."

The way Anthony smiled made something in her spine arch.

"Of course, Sharma."

She didn’t know which of them was lying more.

But when he pulled her in by the nape of her neck and claimed her mouth—when his lips met hers with cutting precision, no hesitation, no time to think—she decided she didn’t give a damn.

He tasted like whiskey and something darker. The weight of his body against hers, the way his tongue demanded answers, how he pressed her against the wooden desk, her body arching in automatic response—everything about him made her lose control.

And she liked that.

She liked the way he held her waist, his fingers digging into her delicate skin, his touch warm and possessive. She liked the way he guided her without saying a word, as if he knew she would follow.

Kate didn’t realize he was guiding her to the couch until she felt the cool leather against her back.

Anthony remained standing for a moment, watching her with dark eyes, his hands gliding along the line of her blouse to the silk buttons, which came undone one by one under his skilled fingers.

He leaned over her, his mouth seeking her exposed skin, his warm lips contrasting with the chill of the couch beneath her body.

And then, slowly, he moved lower—kneeling before her, his hands sliding up her thighs until they found the hem of her skirt.

But when his fingers tugged her skirt up, folding it at her waist, and his mouth followed the path down to her thighs, there was no patience in his breath.

He tilted his head, his lips brushing against her thigh as his hands slowly slid down to her knees.

"Open for me," he ordered.

Kate hesitated for only a second—just long enough to see the way his eyes darkened. And when she obeyed, parting her legs, he let out a low, satisfied groan, his hands gliding up the sides of her thighs, holding her open.

And then his mouth was between her thighs.

His warm tongue slid over the damp fabric of her panties, a light touch that made her breath falter—before he did it again, slower, firmer, until she let out a shaky sigh.

His fingers pulled her to the edge of the couch, and before she could form a coherent thought, Anthony pushed the lace aside and tasted her bare skin for the first time.

Kate choked on a moan, her head falling back against the couch.

He didn’t tease. He didn’t wait. He just dove in—sucking, licking, fucking her with his mouth with no hesitation, no mercy.

His hands kept her in place, his movements designed to unravel her.

His tongue pressed against her clit, tracing slow circles before he sucked hard enough to tear a gasp of pleasure from her throat.

She arched, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Anthony…"

He growled against her skin, the vibration running through her, holding her steady as he pulled her even deeper into his mouth.

"So wet," he murmured, sliding two fingers inside her while he kept sucking. "For me."

She shuddered, a sob trapped in her throat.

His movements were precise, unhurried, but intense. He held her open as if she were his, as if there were no room for doubt.

The pressure built, every lick, every suck, every glide of his fingers pushing her closer to the edge.

Kate moaned loudly when his tongue circled exactly where she needed.

"Come," he ordered, his voice low, rough—a command so certain it was impossible to resist.

And she did.

Her body arched, tension snapping in a violent wave, her legs trembling around him.

Anthony held her hips as she unraveled, his mouth never leaving her skin, drinking in every drop of pleasure as if he wanted to consume her whole.

Only when the spasms faded did he pull away, moving up her body, pressing his weight against hers.

His lips were wet when he kissed her again.

Kate tasted herself on his mouth and knew, with absolute certainty, that whatever this was between them—it wouldn’t end here.

_________________________________________________________________________

Now.

Kate had dinner plans with her friends that night, so Anthony decided to call Simon and make sure he had a decent drink—and, more importantly, a distraction. The last place he wanted to be was sitting at home, thinking about all the things that could go wrong while Kate was away from him.

He had been doing his best to stay in control since the day they heard their child’s heartbeat in that exam room. He knew Kate was fed up with his overprotectiveness—it was obvious in the way she rolled her eyes or clenched her hands along her body whenever he made a comment about her diet or sleeping hours.

Or, as in their last argument, the fact that she was still taking the subway.

Either way, now he was at Oswald’s with Simon and Benedict. The bar, discreetly luxurious, boasted plush leather armchairs and dark wood-paneled walls, illuminated by the amber glow of expensive chandeliers. It was sophisticated enough to ensure privacy, but not so dull that a man had to pretend to be there just for networking.

Benedict had been a last-minute addition. He rarely joined Anthony and Simon on these occasions, but that night, he had shown up at his brother’s apartment door just before he was about to leave. Now, he was here, blending into their brooding mood in a way that didn’t quite suit him. Benedict was always lighter, almost carefree—youthful and refreshing, while Anthony and Simon were serious and quiet.

And it was precisely because of Benedict that everything went wrong.

When Anthony went to the bathroom, he didn’t think twice about leaving his things on the table. He told Benedict he could grab his card to pay the bill and headed to the restroom without another concern.

He simply forgot that he had been walking around with a photo of Kate’s ultrasound tucked inside his wallet.

When Anthony returned, they were still seated at the table—but something was off. If their stunned expressions weren’t enough to tell him what had happened, the sight of Benedict holding the ultrasound photo between his fingers, as if it were evidence of a crime, certainly was.

"Why do you have an ultrasound of someone named ‘Sharma. K’ in your wallet?" Benedict asked, his voice louder than necessary, as if he wanted the entire bar to hear.

Fuck.

Anthony felt his stomach twist. He looked at Simon, hoping for some sort of reaction, but his friend was already ahead of him, his eyes narrowing in a look Anthony knew all too well—the one that said, You fucked up again, didn’t you?

"Please tell me you didn’t get Kate Sharma pregnant," Simon said.

Anthony swallowed hard. "How do you know Kate?"

"Who’s Kate?" Benedict asked at the same time, looking completely lost.

Simon let out an exasperated sigh, as if their stupidity was causing him physical pain. "I’ve known Kate for years because of Agatha." He leaned back in his chair. "And that’s how I know she works for you. So, once again, tell me that you, you fucking bastard, didn’t get Kate pregnant while she’s your employee."

Anthony heard the dumb sound of surprise Benedict made with his mouth, but his attention was entirely on Simon—and the anger starting to boil inside him.

Of course Simon would assume the worst. Anyone would. But the fact that his words were dangerously close to the truth only made Anthony’s fury burn hotter.

"You don’t know shit," he shot back, his jaw tight.

"What I do know," Simon retorted without hesitation, "is that you’re a fucking hypocrite."

Anthony felt his fingers curl into a fist before he even realized what he was doing, already ready to swing at him—when Benedict stepped between them, hands raised in a peace gesture, the same lazy smile on his face as always.

"Gentlemen, why don’t you both relax, huh?" Benedict said, giving Anthony’s shoulder a light shake. "So it’s true, then? You’re going to be a father? Should I congratulate you or—?"

"Congratulate?" Simon practically spat the word at Ben, incredulous. "If I find out Kate was pressured in any way—"

The accusation felt like a punch to the gut.

"I would never do that," he snapped. "This isn’t the ideal situation, but I never pressured her into anything. Not into staying with me, not into keeping the pregnancy. And yes," he turned to Benedict, "you should congratulate me. We’re both happy, despite everything."

Benedict’s face lit up like he had just won the lottery. "Well then, congratulations, big brother! One more Bridgerton in the world—that calls for another round, doesn’t it?" He waved over the waiter, completely ignoring the tension still lingering between Anthony and Simon.

"Yes, nothing but reasons to celebrate," Anthony said dryly.

"I’m going to be an uncle," Benedict went on, his enthusiasm almost childlike. Before Anthony could stop him, he grabbed his face with both hands and planted an exaggerated kiss on his forehead. "Mom is going to lose her mind."

"You are already an uncle," Simon pointed out, taking a sip of his drink. "And your mother will be nothing compared to Agatha—or the hell you’re about to go through with the legal department and the board when they find out you violated, at the very least, a hundred company rules and knocked up an employee. The press is going to have a field day with this."

"None of that is going to happen," Anthony cut in, rubbing a hand along his jaw as he sat back down. "There’s a reason we haven’t told people yet. We’re figuring out how to handle it."

Simon raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Handle it how? Marriage?" He looked genuinely baffled. "Anthony, for God’s sake, I know Kate. She’s not like those girls you get involved with—the ones who would settle for whatever shitty excuse of a relationship you’re willing to offer."

Anthony’s jaw clenched.

"You don’t know anything about my relationship with Kate," Anthony shot back, his nostrils flaring, as if he were trying to keep the fury inside him from boiling over. He knew Simon was right—he’d be the first to admit he wasn’t good enough for Kate. His emotional constipation was unsatisfying for her. Kate deserved someone who was a hundred percent available to love her, and it wouldn’t take long for her to realize he was lacking, just like his family always thought he was.

"If you’re married, then any idiot can pull it off."

"Good luck with that," Simon replied with a smirk, raising his whiskey glass toward Anthony as if making an imaginary toast. His expression was one of disbelief, like he could already see the disaster coming.

_________________________________________________________________________

Kate knew she had made a mistake the moment she walked back into the room.

Alice and Sophie stopped what they were doing instantly, both of their eyes locking onto her. The warm glow of the bedside lamp made her reflection in the vanity mirror look even paler, and the slightly smudged mascara—applied by Alice just minutes ago—only emphasized the fact that she had probably just thrown up.

She tried to smile.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" Alice was the first to ask, her brow furrowed, her sharp eyes scanning every detail of Kate’s face. Alice had always been like that—observant to the point of irritation. Ever since college, when they had shared a tiny apartment, Alice had always noticed when Kate stayed up all night studying or got so stressed that she forgot to eat.

"Yeah," Kate answered too quickly, forcing a smile and sitting back down in front of the mirror. "I think I ate something earlier that didn’t sit well with me."

"But you barely touched your food," Alice said, not looking convinced.

Kate opened her mouth to respond, but Sophie spoke first, narrowing her eyes at her with a look Kate knew all too well. She had known that look since she was ten years old when she arrived in England and was thrown into a new school without knowing a single person. Sophie had been the first to talk to her, the first to pull her into a group of kids without asking any questions. And from that moment on, getting rid of her had been impossible.

And Sophie was still the same—she noticed everything but let Kate decide what she wanted to share.

She shook her head and grabbed a brush, starting to fix Kate’s hair. "Let it go, Alice. She already said she’s fine. If I had to spend the night with millionaires kissing each other’s asses at a fundraiser, I’d feel sick too."

Kate laughed, grateful for the brief reprieve. "That just means I get to leave earlier without guilt," she said, gesturing for Alice to continue her makeup. "So, less interrogation and more concealer, please."

But inside, the anxiety was still there.

She had committed to attending the Bridgerton Holdings Fundraiser weeks ago, but now, just the thought of facing so many scrutinizing gazes made her stomach turn.

Alice huffed but picked up the brush again. "I still think there’s something off about you. You don’t seem like yourself."

Kate avoided her gaze in the mirror, feeling her stomach tighten.

"I hate your job," Alice went on. "You’re way too talented to be stuck in that toxic environment, completely undervalued by that pack of suit-wearing assholes."

"That, I have to agree with," Sophie added, pinning a section of Kate’s hair in place.

Kate sighed. "It’s not that bad."

"Oh, please." Alice scoffed. "I know Anthony Bridgerton. That elitist, arrogant despot who’s making your life a living hell. I hope you sue him when you quit."

Kate blinked.

The irony of it hit her like a punch.

"All the Bridgertons are kind of assholes," Sophie agreed, sectioning off another strand of Kate’s hair. Then, lowering her voice slightly, as if sharing a secret, she added, "Anthony Bridgerton kind of scares me. I worked as a waitress at an event at his house once, and he has this… energy. Like, the kind of guy you respect, but definitely don’t want to cross."

Kate closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath.

She was not in the mood for this.

Not today. Not when she was already anxious about the party. Not when her nausea kept creeping back at the most inconvenient moments. And definitely not when hearing Sophie and Alice badmouth Anthony irritated her in a way she was not willing to examine right now.

Without even thinking, the words just slipped out:

"I'm pregnant."

Alice dropped the brush onto the vanity with a dull thud.

Sophie, who had been fixing Kate’s hair, froze mid-motion, her eyes wide. "You’re what ?"

"Pregnant," Kate repeated, trying to keep her composure as they both stared at her like she had lost her mind.

Alice blinked, opened her mouth, closed it again, then tried once more. It was the first time in Kate’s life that she had ever seen her speechless.

"You..." Alice started, her voice hesitant. "Are you seeing someone?"

Kate dropped her gaze to her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. Shame spread hot through her body before she finally mumbled:

"Not exactly."

Sophie and Alice exchanged looks, then turned back to her at the same time.

"Kate..." Sophie crossed her arms. "Explain."

"Maybe I’ve occasionally been sleeping with my boss," she admitted all at once, as if ripping the band-aid off would make it hurt less.

Silence.

Then, two identical expressions of pure shock.

"But it was fine," Kate rushed to add, as if she needed to justify herself. "I mean, it was just sex, there was nothing... weird. Maybe a little weird. But not in the way you’re thinking!" She raised her hands, as if she could already see the insane conclusions Alice and Sophie were about to jump to.

The two of them were still silent.

Kate sighed and ran her hands over her face. "So, Mary got sick, and Edwina couldn’t help, and work was a mess, I had insane deadlines, and..." She hesitated, then let out a short, humorless laugh. "And, well, sex was a way to relieve stress. And I forgot to take the pill for a few days. And apparently, I can’t have anything good without catastrophic consequences, so—"

She looked up at them.

"—I’m pregnant."

"Just so I’m clear," Sophie began, still holding a section of Kate’s hair between her fingers, "when you say boss … do you mean like, your department head? Or the boss? Like, the owner of the whole damn thing, Anthony Bridgerton?"

Kate closed her eyes for a second, bracing for their reaction. "Bridgerton."

Alice let out an indignant, "Son of a bitch," beside her.

Sophie’s eyes widened, like she needed a moment to process. "Ohhh." She blinked slowly. "Well… and are we happy about the pregnancy?"

Kate felt her stomach tighten, but not from anxiety—this time, it was different. Ever since she had heard the baby’s heartbeat for the first time, something inside her had simply… changed. Yes, there was uncertainty, there was fear, but happiness was there too.

"Yes," she said, and it was the purest truth.

Sophie broke into a smile and immediately got up to hug her.

"Wait." Alice raised a hand, her expression still full of confusion. "You already told him?"

Kate nodded. "Yes…"

"You told him before telling me?" Alice exclaimed, looking deeply offended. "Kate, that man has one of the biggest fortunes in the country, his family is ridiculously influential, and you didn’t even talk to a lawyer before telling him?"

"Alice," Sophie cut in, shooting her a warning look. "I know your lawyer brain always thinks of worst-case scenarios, but maybe we can trust Kate’s judgment on this one?"

"Sophie, you, more than anyone, should know how important it is for her to protect herself and this child," Alice shot back. "It’s not like the Bridgertons have the best track record when it comes to out-of-wedlock pregnancies. Do you guys remember the whole Marina Thompson and Colin Bridgerton situation?"

"The babies weren’t even his," Sophie pointed out.

"Yes, but it was someone close to the family who leaked it to the press, and that girl was thrown into a public firestorm. And if my memory serves me right, Anthony Bridgerton was one of the people who opposed their relationship." Alice raised an eyebrow. "I just think Kate should be doing more to protect herself than simply ‘trusting’ him."

Kate bit her lip. She understood Alice’s concern. In the beginning, she had been just as afraid. But, against all her expectations, Anthony had not only accepted the pregnancy but had also become almost irritatingly protective.

"I know his track record isn’t perfect," she admitted, "but he hasn’t done anything to make me believe he doesn’t have good intentions."

Sophie gave her a curious look. "So… he’s been decent?"

Kate hesitated for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "He’s been… attentive."

Alice huffed. "Attentive?"

"Very."

Sophie narrowed her eyes. "Very… as in ‘worried about you,’ or very… as in ‘he wants to sleep with you again’?"

Kate looked away and took a sip of the water beside her.

"Oh my God." Sophie covered her mouth with her hands. "You’re still sleeping with him."

Alice groaned in exasperation. "Kathani!"

"I know, I know," Kate said, scratching the back of her neck and deliberately avoiding her friends’ eyes. "But I promise we’re on good terms and setting boundaries."

Alice didn’t look convinced in the slightest. "Have you two talked about co-parenting? Child support? About his name being on the baby’s birth certificate?"

"Alice." Sophie sighed, shooting her a warning look before Kate could answer. "I think Kate just wants to vent. How about we save the legal discussions for when she actually asks for help or when it actually becomes a problem?"

Alice rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed by their lack of urgency, but held back. "I don’t want to interfere, I’m just worried."

Kate let out a sigh. She knew Alice had a point. And knowing Sophie as well as she did, she was sure Sophie thought the same—she was just more subtle about it.

"We haven’t specifically talked about child support or legal documents yet, but…" She took a deep breath. "He said I could count on him. And honestly, I’m not using this baby to get money or anything like that."

"Of course not," Alice replied immediately, her expression softening a little. She raised a hand and lightly ran her fingers over Kate’s face—a silent gesture of comfort. "But your child has rights, and you need to be protected."

"Speaking of which…" Sophie tilted her head to the side. "Do you really think it’s a good idea to go to this party tonight, Kate?"

Kate looked between the two of them, already anticipating their resistance. "I will talk to him about the legal matters, okay?" she assured Alice before turning to Sophie. "And yes, I RSVP’d to this party months ago. Agatha expects me to be there. I won’t stay long anyway, and we’re being discreet in public."

Her friends didn’t look convinced, but they didn’t press the issue any further. Which, deep down, only made her stomach twist even more.

_________________________________________________________________________

Kate knew that attending this event would be stressful.

The ballroom was flawless, decorated with dazzling chandeliers and floral arrangements strategically placed to appear luxurious without being excessive. The bar served champagne and whiskey with labels so expensive they seemed chosen more to impress than to be actually enjoyed.

The Bridgerton family was out in full force—perfectly composed, effortlessly conversing with investors and politicians like people who had always belonged to the highest social circles.

Kate, on the other hand, had taken refuge at a secluded table with a few colleagues, half-listening to conversations about projects and office gossip. She tried to smile at the right moments, but her attention kept slipping back to Anthony.

But, inevitably, her gaze sought Anthony.

It was strange to see him like that—the perfect host, moving through the ballroom with the confidence of a man who knew this was his domain. He shook hands, exchanged formal pleasantries, offered calculated smiles. And the women, of course, seemed especially captivated.

Kate watched as one of them leaned toward him, her hand resting lightly on his arm, an effortless smile on her lips, eyelashes fluttering with surgical precision.

She tried not to grip her silverware harder than she should while cutting the meat on her plate.

Tried not to imagine what that woman was saying.

Tried not to notice how at ease Anthony was, how effortlessly he moved through the crowd with innate charm, how absurdly attractive he was when he did that.

But what really bothered her wasn’t other women touching him. It was knowing that Anthony Bridgerton was used to it. Used to being wanted. Used to being admired. And that, at the end of the night, he could choose whoever he wanted.

And Kate hated the feeling that stirred inside her.

But it was worse when he took the microphone.

Anthony positioned himself at the center of the ballroom for his opening speech, and the moment he started speaking—his voice deep, measured, captivating—Kate felt something tighten inside her.

That damn man.

He made it look easy. As if he had been born to command crowded rooms and hold the attention of anyone listening.

Including her.

And maybe it was the hormones. Maybe it was the fact that, despite feeling jealous of him, she was also ridiculously turned on. Which, honestly, was unfair. He had no business looking that seductive while thanking event donors, mentioning fundraising numbers, and talking about social responsibility. It was statistics, for God’s sake. It shouldn’t be sexy.

But it was.

Kate tore her gaze away from him and forced herself to focus on her conversation with Thomas Dorset, an architect she had worked with before joining Bridgerton Holdings. He was handsome and friendly, though Kate sometimes found him a bit dull—but right now, anything that could pull her away from the torment of watching Bridgerton in all his glory would help.

"So, you were telling me about your last trip, right?" Kate asked with a practiced smile.

Thomas grinned, excited. "India. I spent weeks studying the architecture of Rajasthan. The palaces, the temples… it’s fascinating how every detail has meaning. You must have been, of course."

"Rajasthan? I actually never had the chance. It must have been incredible," she said, reaching out gracefully and picking up a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray, her fingers gliding around the thin stem of the crystal.

"It was, and you’d love it. Especially Jaipur—the Hawa Mahal looks like a painting come to life." He took a sip of his drink and tilted his head slightly, studying her. "You know, you should go."

Kate was about to say it wasn’t as simple as it sounded, that her expenses didn’t allow for a trip to India, but her thoughts were interrupted by the weight of a gaze fixed on her.

She knew it was Bridgerton.

He was standing near the bar, holding a glass of whiskey, his eyes locked onto her with an expression that screamed pure territoriality.

Oh. So he was paying attention.

Two can play this game, Mr. Bridgerton.

Kate turned to Thomas with a smile just a little too wide and let out a laugh that was slightly over the top.

Thomas blinked, confused.

"You are absolutely right," Kate laughed again, lightly touching his arm, even though he hadn’t said anything remotely funny. "I could listen to you talk about your travels for hours , Thomas."

Thomas frowned. "Uh, thanks, Kate. I thought I might be boring you with my stories."

"Of course not!" She kept laughing, fluttering her long eyelashes and leaning slightly forward. "And that whole thing about the temples? Fascinating. So… so interesting."

Thomas looked at her like he was trying to figure out whether she was drunk or if she genuinely found him that engaging.

She knew it was childish.

But who cares?

If Anthony Bridgerton could put on a show for the entire room, then she could have a little fun too.

She ran her fingers along her own neck, tossing her hair over one shoulder, and caught—just in the corner of her eye—when Anthony narrowed his gaze and took a sip of his whiskey in a way that looked like barely contained violence.

"So, Kate," Thomas continued, still a little uncertain. "I really think you should check out some of the projects I’m working on right now. A drink to talk about it would be great. Are you free this week?"

Before Kate could respond, she felt a firm hand slide around her waist.

The touch was casual enough to seem innocent, but possessive enough to say everything without a single word.

"Dorset," Anthony’s voice came deep and controlled beside her. "Good to see you here."

Thomas, clearly unaware of the tension in the air, shook Anthony’s hand with ease. "Likewise, Bridgerton. Your company put together an impeccable event."

"We do what we can." Anthony’s smile was polite, but his eyes were locked on her—and his hand was still there, firm on her waist.

Kate barely had time to react before he slid his other hand to hers, taking the champagne glass with a movement so natural it seemed like part of the conversation. Before she could protest, he had already placed the drink on the table beside them, as if it were the most obvious thing to do.

Kate shot him an incredulous look. She wasn’t going to drink it, but no one needed to know that. Holding the glass was just part of the social performance, something he, of all people, should understand.

Thomas cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable. "Kate and I were talking about my last trip," he explained, glancing between the two of them with curiosity. "And I was saying we should go out for a drink sometime to continue the conversation."

Anthony’s jaw tightened.

Kate felt a purely wicked wave of satisfaction.

"No," Anthony replied simply, not even bothering to pretend to be polite.

Thomas blinked, now completely confused. "No?"

Anthony ignored the question, and before Kate could say anything else, he was already pulling her by the wrist.

"Excuse us, Dorset," he said without even looking back, guiding Kate out of the ballroom before she could protest.

"Anthony!" Kate exclaimed, trying to free herself. "What the hell are you doing?"

He didn’t answer. He just kept walking, his firm strides echoing through the empty hallway.

Kate felt her heart race.

He dragged her down a side corridor, passing carved wooden doors, until he finally opened one and pulled her inside.

The room was quiet, lit only by a lamp in the corner, with a conference table, a corner sofa, and a bookshelf filled with books.

"Anthony," Kate started, irritated, "what the hell are you doing?"

"Me?" He closed the door behind them and leaned against it, crossing his arms. "I think the real question is: what the hell are you doing?"

"What are you talking about?" She feigned innocence.

"Dorset." Anthony’s jaw was clenched, his eyes burning. "Laughing at his jokes, touching his arm… Were you trying to make me jealous?"

She stared at him indignantly, her breath coming fast, the movement pressing her swollen breasts even more against the tight fabric of her dress.

Anthony’s gaze dropped to the soft curve of exposed skin above her neckline before snapping back to her face, and something inside him broke.

She knew she had provoked the beast.

"Maybe," she murmured. "Maybe I actually found his conversation interesting."

Anthony let out a short, humorless laugh. "Interesting?" He stepped closer, one hand sliding over her body until it rested on her abdomen, warm against the silk fabric. "Does he know you’re carrying my child?"

"That doesn’t make me your property."

"I don’t want you near him." He ignored what she said.

"I’m surprised you even noticed, considering there was always a different woman vying for your attention."

Kate knew she was being petty, but if he thought he had the right to complain, then so did she.

Anthony narrowed his eyes, then smirked—that damn smug smile of his.

"You’re jealous, Sharma."

"Of course not!" she answered way too quickly, her voice a little higher than it should have been.

Liar.

Anthony tilted his head, his eyes lazily dragging over her body, as if he could see right through the lie.

"You have nothing to worry about, darling. Since the moment you walked into that ballroom," he murmured, his deep, husky voice brushing against the skin of her neck, "I haven’t been able to think about anything but you."

"It doesn’t matter who comes near me, who tries to get my attention." He lifted his hand slowly, his fingers tracing a path over her shoulder before sliding down, deliberately grazing the side of her breasts.

Kate held her breath, the warm, overly intimate touch sending a wave of heat straight to her core. Her breasts were more sensitive than usual, swollen, heavy, and his almost subtle caress was cruelly precise.

Anthony noticed.

His thumb brushed lightly over the tight fabric, a barely-there touch—yet it set her on fire.

"I only see you," he murmured.

Her eyes burned into his, defiant. "Then why did you seem so comfortable with all of them touching you?"

Anthony’s expression darkened into something dangerous and delicious.

"Funny," he murmured, his hand sliding down to grip her waist firmly, pulling her closer. "I was thinking the exact same thing about you and Dorset."

The air rushed from Kate’s lungs.

"Tell me," he demanded, his mouth hovering temptingly close to hers, his warm breath brushing against her skin. "Were you trying to make me jealous?"

She wet her lips.

"Maybe."

His jaw tensed.

"You did."

His mouth crashed onto hers in a hungry kiss, stealing her breath, devouring every last shred of hesitation she might have had.

Anthony’s fingers tightened around her waist, yanking her against him, the solid heat of his body pressing into hers—hot, possessive.

Kate moaned against his lips, feeling herself melt.

He guided her toward the sofa, giving her a gentle push that sent her falling onto the soft cushions. But before she could even think about protesting, he was already on top of her—big, warm, his presence overwhelming.

His knees sank into the sofa, slotting between her thighs, and his hand slid over the fabric of her skirt, slowly pushing it up as his mouth trailed down the line of her jaw, down her neck, until he reached the soft curve of her breasts.

He stopped there.

Kate’s breath hitched for a second as Anthony brushed his thumb over the thin fabric, feeling their full weight, the hardened peaks beneath the silk.

Then, with agonizing slowness, he slid his fingers along the straps of her dress, pushing them down her shoulders, slow and deliberate, until the fabric slipped from her skin, exposing her to the cool air of the room.

Her breasts spilled free—high, full, her nipples tight with anticipation.

Anthony dragged his thumb lazily over one, watching with a satisfied gleam in his eyes as Kate gasped, her back arching in response.

"Always so responsive…" he murmured, his voice low, thick with desire, as his fingers explored her new fullness with something close to reverence.

Kate bit her lip, trying not to completely surrender to the way he was touching her. But it was useless—when Anthony dipped his head and took her nipple into his mouth, the pulsing heat in her belly spread through every inch of her body.

She arched her back, pushing her breasts into him, and Anthony smiled against her skin, clearly enjoying how much more sensitive she was now.

"Be quiet," he ordered, his voice low and lazy, like he was savoring every second.

"Fuck you," she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders.

He let out a quiet laugh. "I’m trying, Sharma."

Anthony then grabbed her skirt, yanking it up to her waist, and slid his broad palm over her thighs until he found her soaked panties.

He stopped there, feeling just how wet she was, and let out a deep sound of approval.

"Is this from your little conversation with Dorset?"

Kate rolled her eyes, even as she squirmed beneath him. "You know it’s not."

With two fingers, he pushed her panties to the side and dragged his fingertip against her slick entrance. Pure provocation.

Kate gasped.

"I need you. Now," he murmured against her mouth, his eyes burning with near-feverish need, and then, without warning, he pushed two fingers inside her.

She moaned loudly, gripping his hair as her body took the hot invasion.

Anthony’s movements were slow, more careful than usual, but still relentless.

"Say it’s for me, then," he whispered, his fingers pressing deeper, sliding inside her in a slow, torturous rhythm. "Say you’ve been thinking about this all night, just like I have."

"Anthony," Kate moaned, her thighs tightening around his hips, trying to pull him closer, trying to make him stop teasing her. "It’s all for you."

"Good." He bit her collarbone softly, then pulled back just enough to unbutton his own pants.

"Turn to me," he ordered, his voice tense, filled with something that bordered on worship.

Kate obeyed, shifting slightly, and Anthony gripped her hips, adjusting her against him.

She felt the tip of him sliding against her entrance—teasing, testing her patience.

The air thickened, her body tensing in anticipation.

Anthony ran his hand down her thigh, lifting it slightly before finally pushing in.

Slow.

Deep.

Precise.

Filling her inch by inch until there was no space left between them.

Kate gasped, her fingers clenching tightly into the fabric of the sofa as she felt every inch of him sinking inside her.

"Fuck, Kate," Anthony growled, pressing his face into the curve of her neck, his breath hot and uneven against her skin. "Always so perfect for me… you fit so fucking well."

He held himself back for a second, taking a deep breath against the skin of her neck, as if he needed to control himself.

Kate felt it.

Felt how he gripped her waist with more care, how his movements carried just a little more reverence than before.

And maybe, if it were someone else, she would have found it romantic.

But she knew Anthony.

She knew he was holding back.

And she didn’t want him to hold back.

She pushed herself up slightly on her elbows, tilting her head back to look at him.

"Don’t treat me like I’m going to break," she whispered.

His eyes darkened.

"I’m not—"

"You are." She rolled her hips against him slowly, feeling how hard he was fighting to keep control. "Fuck me like before."

Anthony shut his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Then he gripped her waist tighter and smirked.

"You want this?"

"Yes."

"Then hold on, Sharma."

And then he started to move.

His thrusts grew firmer, stronger, a little less restrained, until all Kate could do was grip his shoulders and try to hold on as he drove her straight over the edge.

She could hear her own moans mingling with his, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, his heat covering every inch of her body.

And then, when he slid a hand between her legs and touched her clit, it was too much.

Kate arched her back, a raw moan escaping her throat as the wave of pleasure consumed her whole.

Anthony kept his face buried in the curve of her neck, groaning against her skin as the pulsing tightness around him dragged him to his own end.

With a low growl, he spilled inside her, his hips pressing hard against hers one last time before finally going still, breathless, his body flush against hers.

For a moment, everything was silent except for the sound of their ragged breathing.

Then, Anthony moved, pressing lazy kisses along her shoulder, trailing up to the curve of her jaw.

"I need to get back to the party," he murmured against her skin, his voice still thick with pleasure.

Kate closed her eyes for a second, trying to gather herself, but every inch of her body screamed that getting up from that sofa was not an option.

"I’m completely done for," she admitted, turning to face him.

Anthony smirked, his fingers lazily trailing down her thigh before pulling away, as if he already knew.

"That’s fine. The driver can take you to my apartment," he said, adjusting his shirt with an air of shameless satisfaction. "I’ll see you at home in half an hour, tops."

At home. His home.

Kate felt her heart stutter for a second. There was something about the casual way he said it that made everything feel more serious than it should.

But she didn’t want to think about that right now.

"Alright," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral as she smoothed down her dress. "See you later."

Anthony cupped her chin and pressed one last kiss against her lips.

Chapter Text

Anthony should have been paying attention to the meeting.

He should have been listening carefully to the performance reports, taking notes, planning strategies for the next quarter. But instead, he could only think about her.

To the rest of the world, Kate looked the same — flawless, composed, untouchable. But Anthony noticed every small change, every detail of the pregnancy that no one else seemed to catch.

And God, it was impossible to ignore.

That morning, she walked into the meeting a tailored two-piece set that had no business being that tight. The thin fabric clung to her curves in a way that felt deliberate — though he knew it wasn’t.
Her breasts — the first clear sign of the pregnancy — looked fuller, heavier against the fabric, her nipples faintly visible, suggesting she wasn’t wearing a bra.

It didn’t help that she had spent almost the entire week avoiding him.

After a weekend at his apartment, Kate had returned on Monday acting as if nothing had happened between them. As if she hadn’t lain naked in his bed. As if he hadn’t spent hours exploring every inch of her skin.

And now it was already Friday.

Five days.

Five damn days of her avoiding him.

Five days of growing frustration.

Not that she had done it so directly that he could even complain — she still replied to his messages, but only the ones strictly about the baby and her health. Any other topic was completely ignored.

Honestly, he had no idea what he had done wrong to make her now sit there, across the conference table, looking completely immune to anything related to him.

“The numbers for the second semester show a steady 7% growth, although sector performance—”

“This is completely useless.”

Anthony’s sharp comment cut off Ambrose, his data analyst, and silence fell over the room instantly.

Every eye turned to him.

He caught Kate’s gaze, too.

But she backed down.

“You really think a 7% growth is acceptable?” he continued, his voice sharp. “The sector is performing at over 10%, and we’re out here celebrating mediocrity?”

The man cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “Well, considering the economic conditions—”

“Spare me.” Anthony dragged a hand down his face, impatient. “If we’re investing this much in new marketing strategies, I want to see actual results. What we’re doing isn’t enough.”

Silence.

He could feel the tension in the air, but he didn’t care.

Fuck, he needed to end this meeting before he said something that would actually make someone cry.

He snapped the report folder shut. “You have until the end of the day to come up with a better plan. You’re dismissed.”

No one hesitated. One by one, the team gathered their papers and left, clearly relieved to be out of his line of fire.

He stayed seated, needing a moment to breathe, to release the throbbing tension in his body before even trying to move.

As she walked out of the room, Kate didn’t look at him.

Perfect.

He headed back to his office and let out a long sigh as he closed the door behind him.

The silence was welcome.

He loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, and ran a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the semi pressing against his pants.

It was ridiculous to be this turned on, like some horny teenager, just because she’d been in the same room.

He was almost convinced he could get through the rest of the day without any more torment.

Until he heard the knock at the door.

He straightened immediately. “Come in.”

Kate walked in, looking completely unfazed by his irritation.

Anthony raised an eyebrow, suspicious. “Sharma.”

“Are you planning to make the whole department cry in the bathroom?” she asked dryly, closing the door behind her.

“The only thing I expected was commitment,” he replied, watching her cross the room. He knew she had something else in mind if she’d come all the way there.

“Maggie said you rejected three budgets this week without even asking for revisions. You just looked at them and said, ‘Do it again.’”

He crossed his arms, unbothered.

“Polly’s been stressed ever since you canceled the team meeting. She’s convinced you’re about to fire the entire sales department.”

Anthony turned his chair to face her as Kate stepped closer.

“And I heard you walked out of a lunch with Daniel Harter without giving any explanation.”

“He was an idiot,” Anthony shot back, grumpy.

“That’s never stopped you from being charming to potential investors.”

She took another step forward, their knees almost touching. “Why are you so stressed out?”

The question irritated him more than it should have.

“Why don’t you answer me first? Why have you been ignoring me all week?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you. What are you talking about? We’ve been texting almost every day.”

“That’s just me checking in on how you two are doing,” he replied, grumpy, knowing she was dodging. “Don’t treat me like an idiot.”

“I’m not doing that...”

“What do you want? Right now?” he asked, patience thinning fast.

“God, do you have to be so rude?”

“Sharma, why don’t you stop stalling and just tell me what you need?”

Kate smiled slowly, leaning a little further over the desk, her fingers lazily tracing a circle on the wood surface, like she was considering something. Her gaze drifted to him — to his mouth, then lower — like she was measuring the exact effect she was having.

“You know, Bridgerton,” — her voice was soft, teasing — “it’s hard seeing you this tense. Makes me wonder if I shouldn’t offer you a bit of... relief.”

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly, and Anthony’s eyes narrowed.

He felt the uncomfortable tightness in his pants, that damn heat crawling under his skin.

“I could make that sacrifice for the sake of my coworkers,” she whispered, her voice dropping to something almost intimate — the kind of whisper that made his spine go rigid. “If it’ll help you relax.”

He let out a short, low, dark laugh.

“You’re such a fucking brat.”

His hand went straight to her thigh, fingers gripping where the hem of her dress ended.

“You think you can keep me waiting for an entire week and then just show up like nothing happened?”

“You want me to leave?”

“Don’t be so full of yourself.”

Anthony pulled her closer — and that was all the encouragement she needed to climb onto his lap.

The heat of her pussy pressed against his cock — even with both of them still clothed — and he let out a low, guttural sound.

“Are you going to let me help you?” she asked, using that sweet voice that always disarmed him.

Anthony slid his fingers through her hair, pulling it back to reveal her face for him to devour.

“I’m not good at telling you no.”

Kate went for his belt first, then tugged down the zipper.

She looked desperate for it — desperate for his cock — and he helped her, pushing both his pants and boxers down.

She looked at him — hard and heavy between them — and before she touched him, she brought her palm to her mouth and slowly licked it.

Fuck. He could come just watching that.

When her hand started moving, Anthony closed his eyes.

The air grew heavier.

Every fiber of his body focused on her touch, on the way Kate’s fingers slid over him — confident, like they knew exactly what they were doing.

“This what you needed?” she murmured against his ear, her hand wrapping firmly around the base of him. “Is that why you’ve been acting like such an asshole to everyone?”

His hips moved instinctively against her palm.

“You that starved for attention?” Her tone was sweet, but the words were poison. “Poor little rich boy.”

“I’m not a boy,” he managed through gritted teeth.

She tightened her grip, dragging her thumb over his slick tip, and he shuddered.

“Oh, I think you’re my good boy.”

“Fuck, Sharma,” he groaned, his voice low and rough.

She laughed softly against his skin.

“Shh,” Kate whispered, leaning in, her lips brushing over his in pure provocation. “We wouldn’t want anyone hearing you beg.”

“Kate.”

He growled her name, low and rough — but it came out more like a plea than a warning.

His hand shot up to the back of her neck, yanking her into a fierce kiss, his teeth catching her lower lip before sucking it into his mouth. His tongue slid between her lips, tasting her, claiming her, devouring her.

Kate moaned into his mouth, and Anthony felt the sound travel straight down — throbbing all the way to the tip of his cock.

He wasn’t going to last.

Fuck, he didn’t want to come like this. Not just from her hand, not sitting in his damn office chair like some desperate teenager.

But Kate clearly didn’t give a damn what he wanted.

She picked up the pace, her strokes growing faster, more purposeful — perfectly aimed to unravel him.

“Gonna be a good boy for me?” she teased, her eyes glittering. “Gonna come in my hand?”

“Kate,” he gasped.

“That’s it,” she purred, digging her other hand into his shoulders for leverage. “Come for me, Anthony.”

And that’s exactly what he did.

Pleasure slammed into him like a fucking freight train — hard, hot, and uncontrollable.

He growled against her neck as he came, his orgasm ripping through him, thick and messy, spilling over her fingers, soaking his pants, sticky and hot.

Kate gave a satisfied little laugh, then lifted her hand to her mouth and licked her fingers — slow, deliberate, dirty.

Anthony watched, spent, still trying to catch his breath.

And then, unable to stop himself, he pulled her into a sloppy, deep kiss, needing to taste himself on her tongue, to drag out the moment just a little longer.

But eventually, she pulled back.

“Fuck, Sharma,” he muttered, head dropping back against the chair. “You ruined my pants.”

Kate slid off his lap, standing between his legs with zero hint of remorse.

“I know you’ve got spare clothes in here.”

Anthony ran his hands down his face, trying to regain control over his body before lifting his eyes to her.

The satisfied smile on her face was downright delicious to watch.

He slid his hands along the sides of her thighs, moving upward until he was gripping her waist, pulling her back in close.

“Are you ready to tell me what’s wrong?” His voice had already regained its usual steadiness. “Why have you been avoiding me all week?”

Kate looked away.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” she said — but the answer came too fast to be convincing.

“Don’t lie to me, Sharma.”

She let out a frustrated sigh and tried to step back, but he held her waist firmly. Not to hurt — just to stop her from running.

“I just...” she hesitated, biting her lower lip. “I thought it would be easier this way.”

“Easier for who?”

Kate didn’t respond right away.

Anthony waited, watching every microexpression on her face — patient, but unrelenting.

“For both of us,” she finally said. “I just... thought keeping our distance would help. That it would keep us focused.”

He scoffed. “Focused? Kate, I haven’t been able to think about anything but you all fucking week.”

She closed her eyes for a second, and Anthony saw the weight of what he’d just said settle on her.

“I don’t want this to make things more complicated,” Kate murmured.

“It already is complicated,” he shot back.

She looked up at him then, and he saw the conflict in her eyes.

“Kate,” he said, voice quieter now. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, she did.

He ran his thumbs gently across the bare skin just above her waistline, lifting her shirt a little more before leaning in to press small kisses to her stomach.

“We agreed we were going to make this work together, didn’t we?”

Kate nodded slowly, her big brown eyes filled with uncertainty.

“Then you can’t just pretend I don’t exist when we’re in the same room.”

“I wasn’t ready for everyone to find out.”

“I’m not asking for us to make an official announcement, Sharma.”

“And also...” She hesitated, swallowing hard. “We’ve spent two weekends together. If we don’t set boundaries, things are going to get messy between us.”

“You’re right,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t stop me from wanting you.”

Kate held his gaze for a moment before shaking her head.

“Not everything is about what you want.” She slipped out of his touch, stepping back.

Anthony clenched his jaw.

“Oh, we’re pretending again that this isn’t what you want too?” he asked, sarcasm laced with frustration. “You’re the one who came to me, Sharma.”

“Which was obviously a mistake.” Her voice was low, but the words were sharp.

And then, before he could say anything else, Kate spun on her heel and walked out of the office, shutting the door behind her.

Anthony didn’t stop her. He just dragged his tongue along his teeth, letting out an exasperated sigh as he leaned back in his chair.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Kate walked into her office and closed the door behind her with a sigh.

This had been a terrible idea.

She’d done so well all week avoiding Anthony, sticking strictly to the essentials.
Yes, she was taking her vitamins.
Yes, she’d seen the organic lunch he left for her.
Yes, her appointment with Dr. Marlow was on their shared calendar.

But beyond that, she’d managed to keep her distance.

Until today.

All her resistance crumbled the moment she walked into the conference room and felt his eyes locked on her.

His intensity burned across the distance, and she could practically hear the frustration and irritation he didn’t even bother to hide.

Still, she should’ve stayed focused. She could have ignored it. Could’ve taken a deep breath and moved on.

But somehow — and she would blame nothing but the pregnancy hormones — being stuck in a room with him for forty minutes had been enough to make her body react in ways her mind did not approve of.

She would never say it out loud, but the fact that he was a complete asshole turned her on.

It was a flaw. A perversion. A personality defect she refused to examine too closely.

But something in her lit up every time he acted like an impatient tyrant, like it was her personal mission to put him in his place.

And Anthony didn’t make it easier.

While he looked at everyone as if they were incompetent — and God, that should’ve been unbearable —

All Kate could think about was how fucking good he looked being that authoritative.

The way the muscles in his forearms tensed when he slowly rolled up his sleeves, like he was about to verbally destroy someone.

The tight set of his jaw. The line between his brows. That dark, lethal look in his eyes.

It had been too much for her.

So yes, she’d fucked it all up by going to his office.

And, as always, Anthony had found a way to mess with her head — to make her too aware of everything.

Of him. Of herself. Of the ridiculous situation they were in.

Now, sitting at her desk, Kate tried to focus on the work in front of her, but it was useless.

Her body was still buzzing, her thoughts scattered, and the only thing that made any sense was the urgent need to calm herself down.

Maybe tea would help.

With steady steps, Kate walked down the hallway, keeping her posture straight, determined not to show any discomfort.

As she neared the break room, she spotted Delilah Sutherland and Carmela Rossetti standing by the counter, deep in an animated conversation.

“He just ended the meeting and told us to come back with new projections,” Carmela was saying, shaking her head. “I have no idea what crawled up his ass this week, but I wouldn’t want to be the one dealing with him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Delilah replied with a mysterious smile. “I just came out of his office, and he was nothing but sweet.”

Kate paused in the doorway.

Carmela let out a laugh. “Well, then he must really like you, because I don’t think Anthony Bridgerton’s ever been sweet a day in his life.”

Kate felt a tight, uncomfortable twist in her stomach at the comment.

“Well, maybe he just sees me as more capable.” Delilah gave a smug little shrug. “I think I might be starting to take up space in his head.”

“Seriously? You think you’ve got a shot with him?” Carmela asked, skeptical.

“I didn’t say that!” Delilah looked mildly offended.

“Good. Because it’d be really fucking stupid to think he’d go for someone on his staff. And even if he did — do you honestly think you’d still be seen as a serious professional after that?”

Kate’s stomach twisted harder.

For a second, she thought about turning around and walking away.

But instead, she walked into the break room, headed straight for the electric kettle, and offered both women a polite smile.

They fell silent immediately.

Delilah blushed slightly, like she’d been caught saying something she shouldn’t have.

Kate pretended not to notice, keeping the smile on her face, though the nausea in her stomach only worsened.

She wasn’t sure if it was the morning sickness, the strong smell of coffee, or the suggestion that Anthony had been acting differently because of another woman.

It was stupid. She knew he wasn’t. The chances of Delilah being full of herself were high.

But still, somehow, just the idea of it... made her stomach churn.

She shut her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

She needed to get out of there before she threw up in front of them.

Without saying a word, Kate turned on her heel and hurried straight to the bathroom, shoving the door open a little harder than necessary.

The scent of coffee and perfume faded behind her — but it didn’t help.

One deep breath was all it took for her stomach to revolt.

She rushed into the first open stall and barely had time to drop to her knees before the first wave of nausea hit her full force.

Her body convulsed as she clutched the edge of the toilet, gagging as the hot, bitter liquid surged up her throat.

The bile burned, her muscles spasming uncontrollably, and she coughed between heaves, gasping for air.

But it wasn’t over.

Another violent wave crashed through her, and she doubled over again, palms flat against the cold tile floor just to stay grounded.

She had no idea how much time passed.

Sweat slid down her temples, and her entire body trembled.

When the spasms finally began to fade, Kate slumped against the cool wall of the stall, breathing hard.

Her eyes stung. Her throat was raw. And all she wanted was to lie down on that disgusting floor and sleep.

It must have been at least twenty minutes of pure hell, and she didn’t think she had anything left to throw up.

Swallowing dryly, she pressed a hand to her lower belly.

“Little one,” she whispered, voice shaky, “can you maybe chill out a bit?”

Sweat trickled down her neck, the backs of her knees, her spine.

The messy bun she had twisted up in a hurry was starting to fall apart, and her blouse was completely ruined.

She had no idea how she was supposed to walk out of there without everyone noticing the state she was in.

Fighting down another wave of nausea, she grabbed her phone.

She really didn’t want to do this.

But there was only one person who could help her right now.

Her fingers scrolled to his contact.

Kate: I’m in the third floor bathroom. I need a clean shirt.

The message was delivered.

Less than five minutes later, she heard footsteps outside the stall — and a firm knock.

“Kate?”

The concern in his voice was impossible to miss. “Can you open the door?”

She closed her eyes. “Leave the shirt on the sink.”

“Sharma, you don’t know me at all if you think I’m walking away before making sure you’re okay. Can you just save us both the argument?”

She let out a tired sigh. “You’re unbearable.”

Kate braced herself against the wall and managed to stand, then unlocked the stall door.

The moment he saw her, Anthony frowned, pulling her into him without hesitation.

“I’m gross,” she protested weakly, not really trying to push him away.

“I don’t care.”

He cupped her face in one hand, eyes scanning over every detail.

“You’re pale.”

“I feel like shit,” she admitted, not resisting as he started pulling her ruined blouse over her head.

She hated him seeing her like that — disheveled, vulnerable. She took pride in always looking put together. But he didn’t seem to care. He just slid one of his crisp, white shirts — smelling unmistakably like him — over her shoulders.

“You still look beautiful,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Then he stepped back slightly to take another look at her.

“How long have you been in here, Kate?”

“I don’t know.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying that, but didn’t press her. He simply sighed and began buttoning the shirt for her, his hands steady and methodical.

“We’re going home.”

“The workday isn’t even halfway over. I have a lot to do.”

“Lucky for you, I’m your boss, and I couldn’t care less about what you have to do right now.”

“You’re a tyrant,” she muttered. “And I thought we were setting boundaries.”

“I’m ignoring your protests when I find you collapsed on a bathroom floor.”

Kate closed her eyes for a moment. He could be the most frustrating man in the world, but... there was something dangerously comforting about being taken care of by him.

“This shirt is huge. I look ridiculous,” she said, raising her arms so he could see how much fabric hung off her — her arms so much smaller than his.

“It’s a good thing you’ve got that face,” he said, smirking. “You look good in anything. Now stop stalling — I’m taking you home.”

“People are going to notice you’re being soft on me,” she whined. “We can’t leave together.”

He closed his eyes like he was trying to hold on to his patience, then opened them again and cupped her face gently, thumbs brushing across her skin.

“Go to your office, grab your things, and meet me in the garage. Can you do that by yourself?”

She nodded.

It didn’t take long for her to return to her office, collect her things, and head down to the parking garage.

Anthony was leaning against the Aston Martin, tapping his fingers impatiently on the car’s hood.

The drive was quiet.

Kate didn’t protest when she realized he was driving her to his apartment.

Not when he adjusted the air conditioning to blow in her direction.

Not when he handed her a mint the moment they got in the car.

It was the small gestures — his quiet ways of taking care of her — that always broke her in the end.

She sighed, glancing over at him.

“Delilah thinks you like her.”

He frowned. “Who the hell is Delilah?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Delila Sutherland. From philanthropy. Blonde, short, shoulder-length hair, bangs… green eyes.”

“Oh. Sutherland’s daughter.” He made a noise of recognition. “Why does she think that?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

He let out a low chuckle. “You’re such an adorable little jealous thing, Sharma.”

The scent of his shirt wrapped around her must’ve messed with her senses, because Kate laughed too.

“She said you were sweet to her.” Kate made a sound of pure mockery.

“That’s probably because she walked into my office five minutes after you gave me an orgasm today,” he said, casting her a sideways glance. “Looks like your technique worked.”

Kate closed her eyes and shook her head.

God, she thought she might actually be falling for him.

Chapter Text

As soon as they stepped into the apartment, Anthony led Kate straight to the kitchen. She tried to protest — with that infuriating and sweet stubbornness he had already grown used to — saying she just wanted to lie down, but he simply ignored her.

“You’re going to sit here,” he said, pulling out one of the tall stools by the counter. “Now.”

She obeyed. Not because of his tone — he knew that — but because she was exhausted. Pale, eyes cast down, hands holding her stomach. He hated seeing her like that.

The first thing he did was cross the apartment and open all the windows. The air needed to circulate. The smell of the car, the office hallways, any trace of strong perfume — all of it had to go. When he returned to the kitchen, she was still there, quiet, her body leaning slightly forward.

He grabbed the cream crackers from the cupboard — the ones he had bought specifically for moments like this — placed a few in a bowl, and set them on the counter within her reach.

While she sat there, watching with little reaction, he was already reaching for the fresh ginger. The knife struck firmly against the cutting board, and the citrusy scent was already beginning to fill the air.

“I spoke to Dr Marlow,” he said, still focused on slicing the ginger into thin slivers. “She gave me a few recommendations. Ginger tea, fresh fruit, and rest.”

“You… called the doctor?”

“Yes, Sharma, I called. You were throwing up, locked in a company bathroom. I’m not going to ignore that just because you insist you’re ‘fine’.”

He set the water to boil and, without missing a beat, went to the fridge. He pulled out a washed green apple and a small bowl of grapes — cleaned, portioned. He’d washed them himself after reading a study about toxoplasmosis in pregnant women.

He sliced the apple with precision, the pieces forming a small fan on the white plate. Then he arranged the grapes neatly beside it.

“You don’t have to do all this, you know,” she murmured.

“I’m not doing anything special.”

For some reason he didn’t care to examine, he couldn’t stand hearing praise. And taking care of her — like this, in this state — wasn’t optional. It was the only thing keeping him sane. Seeing her looking so fragile in that bathroom had broken something in him.

He finished preparing the tea and placed everything on the counter in front of her.

“You need to eat a little and drink this before you try lying down. If you go to bed on an empty stomach, it’ll only get worse.”

Only then did he allow himself to really look at her.

Kate was wearing his shirt, the sleeves a little too long, her face still pale and worn. And still, she looked fucking beautiful.

“Thank you,” she said.

Anthony leaned against the sink, arms crossed. He wanted to touch her, pull her close, feel her strong heartbeat against his ear — but he respected her space. He simply watched her, in silence, as she bit into a slice of apple and took a sip of tea.

“See?” he said after a moment. “I’m excellent in domestic emergencies.”

She laughed — the sound loosened something inside him.

“You’re a tyrant.”

He smiled back, small, almost satisfied.

“Only because you’re unbelievably stubborn.”

“But seriously,” she said, taking another sip of tea and looking at him over the rim of the cup, “you’re ridiculously good at this.”

This time, his chest swelled with pride, as if he had actually done something right for her.

___________________________________________________________________________

She woke up in Anthony’s huge, comfortable bed. It took her a few seconds to remember where she was and why. She was feeling better, but the whole thing had left her sweaty and gross. So, after stretching and realizing she was alone, Kate made her way to the bathroom.

She would never get used to the heated floors and the massive marble countertops.

The first weekend she spent there, Anthony had given her a toothbrush — which still sat beside the right-hand cabinet door under the sink, along with a few other personal items of hers, as if they actually shared that bathroom.

She didn’t want to think about what it meant. 

She didn’t want to get used to being in his life like this. 

It was dangerous.

Still, she turned on the shower and stepped in, trying to wash away all the intrusive thoughts — thoughts about the moment she’d no longer be using that bathroom, about the years ahead where Anthony would still be part of her life, because they’d be tied together forever — but he’d be living it without her. There would be another woman sharing that bathroom with him, sleeping in his bed, being the one who held his attention.

And that was fine. She didn’t care, she told herself. She just really hoped she wouldn’t be around to see it.

When she returned to the bedroom, wrapped in an obscenely large and soft towel, there was nothing she could wear. So she made her way to his walk-in closet. Of course the shirts were arranged by colour — of course. That maniac. Not that there was much colour variety. It was mostly white, black, and two different shades of blue.

She pulled one out. Light blue. The fabric was soft beneath her fingers, and inside the collar, delicately stitched, was the label: Turnbull & Asser .

Of course, she thought. Of course he wears Turnbull & Asser.

When she turned the left cuff, she noticed something even more personal. Embroidered in navy blue, small and discreet, were the initials: A.B.

She ran her thumb over the letters, as if they might burn her skin. Custom. Made to measure. His.

She took it off the hanger and slipped it on. The cotton smelled clean, and somehow like him — and she hated how much that comforted her.

She walked down the quiet hallway, still barefoot, the cold wooden floor under her feet contrasting with the warmth of Anthony’s shirt on her body. The soft fabric fell halfway down her thighs, and she didn’t bother putting on underwear, even though she had a clean pair in her bag.

She wasn’t going to need it.

The apartment was quiet, except for the faint sound of typing coming from the office.

Kate hesitated for a second at the slightly open door, then pushed it with her fingers.

Anthony was there, hunched over his laptop, hair messy, shirt sleeves still rolled up. He looked focused on something, the crease between his brows deeply set. Absolutely delicious.

Kate leaned against the doorframe. “Scaring your employees by email now, are you?”

He looked up and cursed — “fuck.”

His eyes widened before slowly trailing down her body — from the uneven collar to her bare legs and the way her knees were pressed together.

His reaction was immediate. His jaw tightened. His fingers stilled on the keyboard.

“You’re wearing one of my shirts,” he said, still a little stunned — it seemed she had achieved exactly what she wanted.

“Very perceptive.” She stepped inside without bothering to close the door behind her. “I thought I could thank you for taking care of me. Properly.”

“And what exactly is the proper way, Sharma?” His voice came out low, rough, as he pushed the chair back from the desk, watching her approach.

“With great dedication, certainly.” She crossed the room in just a few steps, and climbed onto the desk — legs slightly parted, just enough for him to see she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“Jesus Christ, Kate,” he said, standing up and shoving the chair back, his eyes locked on her thighs. “You smell like me.”

“You have a really good soap,” she replied with a wicked smile, tugging him closer by the collar of his own shirt.

He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her until she was right at the edge of the desk, her legs instinctively parting to let him fit between them. She could feel how hard he was, even through his trousers.

“Are you feeling better?” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers for a moment, as if trying to hold himself back. But then Kate rolled her hips, grinding against his erection, teasing him without an ounce of shame.

“Never felt better.”

Anthony let out a guttural sound, like it physically hurt him, and his mouth found hers in a messy, desperate kiss. His hands slid up her sides beneath the shirt, searing against her bare skin as his tongue devoured her mouth.

There were no words to describe how fiercely she needed to feel him. The taste of him — Kate was sure she could waste away if he kept her waiting too long.

A pain bloomed deep inside her, and it weakened her voice.

His lips pulled back just enough to let her breathe.

“Please,” she whispered, pulling him back in.

His mouth dropped to her neck, hot and urgent. One of his hands held her waist firmly, guiding her even closer to the edge of the desk. The other yanked at the waistband of his trousers with rough impatience.

She heard the zipper come down with an almost obscene sound, and then felt the unmistakable heat of his cock against the inside of her thigh.

Anthony dragged the chair closer and sat down. He looked completely possessed now — eyes fixed on her like nothing else in the world existed but Kate. And she felt almost indecent sitting there, wearing his shirt with the top buttons undone, revealing just enough to hold his gaze captive.

His hands returned to her, sliding up her thighs until they gripped her hips — firm, strong — as if he meant to shape her with his fingers.

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice so low it vibrated straight between her legs.

Kate climbed onto his lap, one hand resting on his shoulder, the other wrapping around his cock — hard, throbbing, thick enough to make her stomach tighten in anticipation.

She sank down slowly.

The stretch stole her breath. He felt even bigger like this, deeper.

Pleasure rolled through her like a slow, heavy wave — deep and consuming.

She felt everything. Every inch of him, every throb, the heat, the way he filled every space inside her.

And his gaze — God, his gaze. Fixed on her like he was seeing something sacred.

His hands gripped her waist, guiding her, driving her insane even as he let her take the lead.

She started to move — slow at first, letting her body learn the rhythm, then firmer, more confident, feeling the friction, the weight, the exquisite drag of skin on skin.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh.The scent of sex thick in the air. The subtle creak of the chair with every motion she made.

His shirt slipped over her body with each movement — that unbearable contrast: fine, clean, expensive fabric against her sweaty skin, her tense, hungry, electric body.

She loved the way he reacted to her. How his eyes fluttered shut for a moment every time she rolled her hips slowly. How his fingers sank into her flesh without even noticing. How he lost that damn composure — the mask of cold control he wore at work, everywhere — melting because of her.

She leaned in, pressing her chest to his, their mouths barely touching, feeling Anthony’s heavy breath against her skin.

His hands slid under the shirt until they reached her breasts, thumbs drawing slow circles over her already sensitive nipples. She moaned, the sound escaping unfiltered, her hips dropping harder against him.

She was so wet. Slippery. And the sounds they made — the ragged moans, the rhythmic slap of their bodies meeting — drove her wilder, more lost in it.

She was riding him slowly on purpose, determined to feel every inch of him glide inside her.
Deep. Slow. Delicious.

Anthony’s hands gripped her ass, her hips, her breasts — as if he wanted to touch her everywhere at once, like she was something wild and precious he couldn’t contain.

“This a mistake too, Sharma?” he murmured against the curve of her neck, voice low, dripping with sarcasm and lust.

“You’re a bastard,” she panted, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Is grinding on my cock within your limits?”

The audacity. The bastard still had the nerve to tease her.

Whatever protest she might’ve had died in her throat the moment his hands slid down her legs, all the way to her calves, and pulled her legs up — bending her knees until her feet rested on the arms of the chair.

The new position opened her up even more — an obscene, intimate angle that exposed her completely to him — and God, every thrust hit so deep she sobbed, her body trembling, control slipping right through her fingers.

“Fuck, baby, I fucking love your pussy—” he growled against her neck, his hands gripping her waist, guiding her movements with more urgency, more hunger.

The heat inside her was building like a storm about to break — a throbbing pressure in her belly that had her on the edge of collapse.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered, voice rough now, broken.“Just like that, baby. Just like that.”

The climax gathered in waves, threatening to swallow her whole. She clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, hips moving frantically against his, like her entire body was begging for release.

“Please,” she gasped, breathless, desperate. “Please, Bridgerton…”

“Come for me,” he said.

And she did.

Rigid for a moment, then utterly undone, she melted against him with a muffled moan into his neck. Her inner muscles clenched tight around him, pulling a whispered curse from his mouth — one she barely registered before she felt him come too, hot and deep inside her.

For a while, neither of them moved. She let herself collapse against him, her breathing ragged.She could feel the shirt stuck between their bodies, her own still trembling with small, involuntary spasms.

Anthony slid his hands over her back, up to her hair, caressing her like he still needed to be sure she was really there.

Minutes later, once both of their breathing had steadied, he helped her clean up, then pulled her back into his lap. She was still wearing his shirt — now slightly wrinkled, but impossibly intimate.

His hand now rested over her belly.

“Can you feel anything yet?” he asked in a quiet voice.

She shifted slightly in his lap, trying to get more comfortable. “Not yet. Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?”

“I have no idea.”

“Oh, come on. You must have a guess. We should place a bet.”

“I really don’t.” He smiled, but his tone turned more serious. “I don’t want our baby to think I have a preference.”

“For God’s sake, Anthony. The fetus can only start hearing around twenty weeks, and I’m pretty sure it won’t remember anything after it’s born.”

“You’re right, but I still don’t want to send it the wrong energy,” he insisted, his fingers resting gently on her stomach.

She looked at him with a small, crooked smile.

“My God, you’re such a softie.”

He gave her a playful smack on the ass for that, making her laugh harder.

“It’s a boy,” she said, just to tease him.

“You have no way of knowing that.”

“Mother’s intuition.” She pretended to be offended. “Are you questioning my sensory connection with the baby?”

“Well then, I’ve changed my mind. It’s going to be a girl.”

She laughed and kissed him — quick, still tasting of salt and sweat, but tender. A light, precious moment.

But soon, he took a deeper breath, his eyes fixed on her, more serious now.

“We need to talk about what happens next. Especially if it’s a boy.”

Kate frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Anthony hesitated, his eyes darting away from hers for a moment. “We need to talk either way. But if it’s a boy… it’s more complicated.”

“Complicated how?” she asked, her brows now drawn together, tension rising in her chest.

“I’m a viscount. I inherited the title from my father — it’s been in my family for centuries. Succession follows a direct line. And I would like my eldest son to inherit it.”

Kate’s stomach dropped. She’d forgotten for a moment that he came with all that baggage — lineage, tradition, archaic rules.

“Legally, if he’s born out of wedlock,” Anthony went on, looking even more serious now, “he can’t inherit. And, Kate, I don’t want him growing up being treated like he’s less. Like he’s illegitimate.”

Kate felt the blood drain from her face. She pulled away slightly, getting off his lap and standing up. This... this was absurd.

“What exactly are you saying, Anthony?”

He looked her in the eye, with that same rigid expression he wore in meetings.

“I’m saying we may need to seriously consider the possibility of marriage.”

She let out a humourless laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.

“So you’re saying I should marry you — not because it’s what we want, or because we’re ready — but because you don’t want your heir to lose a noble title?” She threw her hands in the air. “Seriously? Are we back in the eighteenth century now?”

“I knew you’d take it badly,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I supposed to feel honoured? The future Viscountess?”

“That’s not what this is, Kate.”  He closed his eyes for a second. “You want to pretend that being pregnant doesn’t change anything. But it does. You’ve been avoiding every serious conversation I’ve tried to have about the future.”

“I’m not avoiding anything.”

“Yes, you are,” he replied, firmer now. “And it’s my fault too. I didn’t want to overwhelm you with lawyers and co-parenting and planning... but we can’t keep ignoring this. If something happens to me, I want to know that you and the baby are protected.”

She crossed her arms, shrinking in slightly. She thought of Alice. Of her conversation with Sophie. Of everything she’d read about Marina’s case. She thought, for just a moment, about what she really wanted.

“One of my best friends is a lawyer. I can ask her to speak with yours.”

“That’s fine.” He nodded, calm. “But I think we can try to talk first. Just the two of us. Like adults. No intermediaries. At least to start.”

“Doesn’t seem to be going that well.”

“I know how what I said about having a boy must’ve sounded.” Anthony exhaled slowly, then pushed the chair back and stood. His steps were slow but steady as he crossed the room to her. “What I need you to understand is that, to me, it doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl. But if it is a boy, I don’t want him growing up carrying the weight of feeling like he’s less than any other child I might have later.”

He stopped just a few steps away from her. The tension in the air was palpable.

“I don’t want him carrying the stigma of being called illegitimate. Not when I can prevent that.”

She said nothing.

“And marriage,” he said gently, “wouldn’t be so terrible, would it?”

She looked at him. “We don’t even know each other, Anthony. Not really. Not in the ways that matter. And this… this isn’t how I want to get married.”

“Kate,” he began, firmly, “of course we know each other. I see you. I know you—”

“No.” She cut him off softly, but firmly. “You know pieces of me. The ones I’ve let you see. And even that isn’t enough to decide the rest of our lives.”

She looked away and took a deep breath. “I need to go home.”

Anthony stood still, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on her. “You’re not staying the night?”

“No. I made plans for dinner with my stepmother. And from what I heard at the office, everyone’s already talking about your nephew’s birthday party in Kent. I figured you’d be heading there today.”

“The party’s not until tomorrow. I don’t need to go tonight.”

He stepped forward and pulled her into a firm hug, his hands settling gently on her back.
Kate didn’t resist. For a moment, she just closed her eyes and let herself sink into his warmth — his chest pressed to hers, the familiar scent of Anthony settling on her skin.

“Come with me tomorrow. To Kent?” he asked.

She pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, her arms still loosely around his neck.
“With your whole family there? Are you out of your mind? Of course they’ll talk.”

Anthony hesitated for a second. “About that…” he began, his voice more cautious now. “Benedict and Simon saw the ultrasound photo in my wallet. It had your name on it. I know you wanted to wait, but there wasn’t much I could do.”

He let out a sigh. “And if Simon told Daphne, it’s only a matter of time before my mother finds out.”

Kate took a deep breath, a tight pressure building in her chest.

“It’s fine,” she nodded. “I told Alice and Sophie.”

Anthony nodded. “I think we’ve already passed the point of no return, Sharma.”

She sighed. “Yeah. I think we have.”

He pulled her closer, and for a moment, they just stood there — their noses touching — as he tried to think of something that made sense.

___________________________________________________________________________

He drove her home and then returned to his home office. Sat down in the damn chair where she’d been just minutes earlier — warm, disheveled, wearing his shirt, smelling like him. And what did he do? He proposed. Like a complete idiot.

Of course she pulled away. Of course she got pissed. She was right.

He rubbed his jaw, feeling the tension in his clenched teeth. What kind of man proposes marriage without a shred of tact? This wasn’t a logistical issue. It wasn’t an acquisition. She wasn’t a negotiation.

And God, she must be so scared. He was scared too, if he was honest.

Kate deserved more than a man who only knew how to react. She deserved someone who anticipated, who protected. Who laid the groundwork. Who did things properly.

Anthony stood from the chair and crossed the room in a few strides. He unlocked his phone and typed in the number for Hugh — his lawyer since the first succession filing, a man who knew how to handle inheritances, trust funds, and every damn detail of the Bridgerton legacy.

The line connected.

“Hugh, I need you to draft some documents for me. Urgently.”  He took a deep breath.  “Something’s happened. Kate Sharma is pregnant, and the child is mine.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Hugh asked,  “Kate Sharma — the architect on the Danbury team?”

“Yes, exactly. And this isn’t about any kind of dispute or doubt. What I need now is to ensure that, no matter what happens between us, the child is legally protected.”

Another beat of silence.

“So, here’s what I want: a trust fund. The child’s name as the beneficiary. I want everything secured — inheritance, access to property, the name, everything. If it’s a boy, I want to ensure succession rights to the title. If the law complicates it, we’ll find a loophole. If there isn’t one… we’ll create it.”

He ran a hand through his hair.

“On top of that, I want a legal acknowledgment of paternity. Child support. Custody. Health insurance. Schooling. Nothing can be left unclear. I want this ready before the end of the month.”

“Of course, it will be arranged,” the lawyer replied cautiously.  “And what about matters concerning Miss Sharma’s employment contract?  Have the board and HR been informed of her condition?”

“That’s a problem I’ll deal with next.”  Anthony hung up, his hand still clenched tightly around the phone.

If he couldn’t fix Kate’s feelings, at the very least, he could make sure their child never felt like a mistake.

And that, Anthony thought, jaw locked tight, he would get right.

Chapter Text

Normally, Kate loved spending weekends at her childhood home with Mary and Edwina. That place was a refuge, a reminder of a simpler time, filled with affectionate memories of her father and the sense of belonging to a safe haven. But this weekend, even surrounded by the people she loved unconditionally, Kate felt out of place. A stranger under the familiar roof. Alone.

Well, not entirely alone. There was the little bean , a tiny, developing secret beneath her heart that, ironically, was the only constant and undeniable presence in that emotional chaos. Anthony Bridgerton, after all, had gotten her pregnant, and that reality hung over everything.

Friday evening's dinner with Mary, right after leaving Anthony's apartment, had been a kind of confrontation that left her feeling sad inside. Mary, trying to balance things between her daughter and her stepdaughter, touched upon the raw wound of past secrets. The criticisms about Kate hiding the Sheffield money, the hurt that Kate had sought help from the very people Mary detested – all of it reignited the pain of being misunderstood in her efforts to protect the family.

Kate felt the weight of Mary's disappointment. She knew her stepmother's difficult history with her own parents, her sensitivity to issues of trust and sacrifice. And in the face of Mary's continued fragility, Kate swallowed her own reasons, her years of solitary effort, so as not to add another burden. She felt the guilt biting deep, a painful confirmation of her own perceived failures, even if her intentions had been the best possible.

Mary's final hug and words of forgiveness and patience ("You just need to give it time," spoken with the familiar tenderness that disarmed her) couldn't alleviate the corrosive feeling that had settled in. She felt like a fraud, a deceiver. How, in this state of mind, still reverberating with guilt over past secrets, could she reveal the biggest secret of the present?

How could she announce the arrival of a new family member when financial concerns were so prominent in the conversation they had just had? How could she tell Mary that Kate's money – the money that represented her ability to care, to provide, to keep everything running – would now have a divided purpose, a large portion for another developing human being in her womb? It seemed like an act of financial selfishness, an additional burden she feared would break the family. She didn't want her baby to be seen as a problem , a drain on resources or energy.

Perhaps, just perhaps, if she and Anthony had that difficult conversation about the future – the one he mentioned and she felt she was running from – if they reached an agreement on co-parenting... maybe then she could tell her family. And his proposal... the one he made in his apartment... which would guarantee the child's financial security. Perhaps, if she accepted that, at least the baby would be financially cared for. The idea of depending on him in that way, of seeing her own life plan and independence suddenly inadequate for the scale of the approaching responsibility – that, indeed, caused a wave of nausea that made her retreat.

She felt like a failure, unable to carry this burden alone as she always had with all the others. The nausea wasn't about Anthony, but about the reality of her own vulnerability, the forced need for support that the situation imposed. This made her spend a large part of the weekend lying in her childhood bed, her body trembling, crushed by the weight of having to reconsider everything she thought she knew about self-sufficiency and about what it meant to care.

_________________________________________________________________________

Anthony Bridgerton barely suppressed a sigh as he observed the absurd lengths his sister had gone to for August’s first birthday. Daphne, as usual, had spared absolutely nothing. A translucent tent, large enough to house half an army, had been erected in the north garden of Aubrey Hall, adorned with garlands of wildflowers, suspended floral arrangements, and whimsical, child-themed chandeliers that seemed to float in the air like something from a fairy tale. A chamber orchestra played discreetly in one corner, as if the sound were simply a natural occurrence.

In any other context, Anthony would have considered the whole thing an unnecessary spectacle. But Daphne, with her determined smile and that subtly imperious way of organizing everyone’s lives around her, had managed to transform even such a grand event into something that felt intimate. The people gathered there were few and carefully selected; most of the guests were family and close friends, in addition to what Anthony imagined were the families of August's preschool friends. It was impossible not to think that in the years to come, it would be him and Kate organizing these kinds of events, and he was certain that with her unparalleled good taste, everything would be just as, if not more, perfect.

The viscount accepted a glass of champagne from one of the discreetly uniformed waiters, casting a sidelong glance at the scene before him. Children ran back and forth amidst the planned activities—small painting workshops, gardening, and storytelling sessions. Adults settled into rustic, light-linen furniture under white silk canopies, conversing in elegant murmurs. His sister Daphne came to stand beside him without a word.

“Congratulations, you certainly know how to throw a party,” he said, but couldn’t resist the opportunity to needle her. “I’m glad the expenses are Simon’s problem now, because I’m sure you would exceed any budget I previously approved.”

She laughed; this had been a constant argument between them as Daphne grew up. She’d always said her good taste couldn't accommodate her elder brother's budget control.

“I’m just so relieved Simon is much more generous with his money,” she teased.

“Simon doesn’t have to manage the trust fund of seven siblings,” he retorted.

“Oh, it’s so hard to be a billionaire, isn’t it?”

“You’re sounding like Eloise now,” he teased, and she gave him a light shove on the shoulder before changing the subject. “Your invitation included a plus one. I thought you’d bring Kate Sharma.”

Okay, that took longer than he expected for Daphne to bring up.

“Your self-control is impressive. We’ve been here, what?” He checked his watch. “About eight hours, and only now have you brought up the subject that I’m sure has been gnawing at you since your husband, betraying my trust, must have told you.”

“Oh, you’ll understand when you get married. There are no secrets between couples.”

He sighed, flashing her a wry smile. “Kate isn’t ready for this,” he said, gesturing to the party. “I don’t want to throw her into the lion’s den this early.”

“You need to tell Mother,” Daphne said in that wise way she always had. “Before you tell the board.”

“She’s part of the board, Daph,” he replied impatiently.

“Exactly. She can’t find out about this through an administrative decision. She needs to receive the news as your mother. And what about you and Kate? How are things? Does Agatha know yet?”

“Could you be less nosy?” he asked, frustrated.

“I’m just worried,” Daphne said. “She’s not just anyone; she works for you, your subordinate…”

“I’m aware, Daphne,” he cut her off. “I assure you, our entire relationship was consensual, and there was no abuse of power on my part.”

“I didn’t think there was,” she said, squeezing his arm. “I know you. Is it serious between you two?”

Damn it, that wasn’t the kind of question he wanted to answer. Serious. Anthony thought of the word Daphne used, the weight it carried. What was “serious” in their universe? An engagement? A marriage? It definitely wasn’t screwing the architect in the office, nor having her spend the weekend at his apartment.

He looked away from his sister, feigning interest in a group of children desperately trying to toss rings onto colorful pegs. It was easier to focus on anything but his own love life.

“We… are dealing with a complex situation,” he finally said, his voice a little lower. Complex. It was a clean, tidy word. It didn't convey the chaos that settled within him every time he thought of Kate, of the baby growing in her belly, of the way her skin trembled under his fingers, or how her laughter could break the rigidity of his day. It said nothing about the sense of home that, to his despair, he was beginning to associate with her.

Daphne waited, with the irritating patience of someone who knew he would eventually talk, even if he grumbled. “Anthony,” she said softly, and he hated the tone. It was the tone she used when she saw him struggling with something, the tone that suggested she could see directly through the facade he tried so hard to maintain. “You’re talking about the pregnancy. I’m asking about you two .”

He sighed again, the sound caught by the gentle breeze passing through the tent. “I don’t know, Daph,” he admitted, the confession coming out harder than he expected. “We… aren’t a couple. Not in the way you understand.” He thought of their self-imposed rules, their mutual denial, the way they met in secret to screw and then returned to their separate lives. That wasn’t serious. But the pregnancy… the pregnancy made everything serious, whether they wanted it to be or not. “It’s confusing.”

"Confusing, or... is there nothing there?" she asked, her concern outweighing her curiosity. She squeezed his arm again, a gesture of support. "She... she seems great. Simon knows her, you know? From Agatha. He said she's incredibly capable. But he also... he worries."

The mention of Simon and his concern (which Anthony knew had to do with his own dysfunctional dynamics and the gossip, but perhaps also with the perception that Kate deserved more than Anthony felt he could give) made Anthony's jaw clench. He didn't need Daphne, Simon, or anyone else telling him how inadequate he was for Kate, or how doomed the situation appeared from the outside.

"Simon should mind his own business," Anthony grumbled, his protective instinct for Kate and their relationship surfacing. "Things are... they are what they are."

"And how are they, Anthony?" Daphne insisted softly, refusing to be deterred by his irritability. Her blue eyes fixed on him. "You're dodging the main question. Do you care about her? Beyond the baby?"

The silence between them stretched, tense. He looked at the champagne glass in his hand, at the golden shimmer under the magical party lights. Kate Sharma. It was no longer a question of caring, of quantifying, of naming something dangerous. She was... everything. The woman who, yes, annoyed him beyond measure, who challenged him at every turn, who saw through every facade he built. The woman who made him lose control like no one else. The woman who made him feel like a "missing puzzle piece," fitting into a place he didn't even know was empty. God. She was the center. The focal point. The one who drove him crazy and anchored him at the same time.

"She's important," Anthony said, his voice hoarse, choosing his words with precision. It was a gross understatement, but it was the most he could admit aloud at that moment.

Daphne studied his face for a long moment, the irritating wisdom in her eyes penetrating. He waited for the lecture, the warning, but she only sighed.

"I know you'll do the right thing, Anthony," she said, and the tone was one of confidence. "You always do, even when you stumble in the process." She looked at the party, at the children running. "But don't hide from this. Not from her. Not from whatever it is you're feeling." She turned her gaze back to him, serious. "And tell Mother, okay? You'll need her support on the board."

“Tomorrow after brunch; today is Augie’s day,” he replied with a half-smile to his sister.

As night fell and the party emptied, guests departed, Augie slept happily and exhausted in his room, and his family gathered around a bonfire, lulled by wine and the smell of burning wood. It was in this moment of familial comfort, paradoxically, that Kate’s absence hit him full force. He retreated to his room, his longing for her almost consuming him.

He had messaged her earlier, asking if she was okay, if she had eaten properly, if the nausea had given her a break. A quick check, nothing more. She had left him on read. Panic, always lurking when it came to her, threatened to climb his throat. He tried to breathe deeply, tried to relax.

Then, he opened Instagram. He used a private account to discreetly check on his younger siblings while staying away from the main social media circus. He went to her profile and opened her stories. She had posted a picture.

Kate was sitting on the floor of what must have been her mother's living room, leaning against the sofa. Her hair was loose, falling naturally over her shoulders. One strap of her yellow dress had slipped to the side, leaving the curve of her shoulder and collarbone exposed in an unpretentious way. The soft curve of her breast—the same one he loved to tease with his mouth and teeth—was subtly pressed against the light fabric.

It wasn't meant to be a sexy photo. It was a cute, homely, simple picture, but, damn, his dick twitched in his pants at the sight.

Before the rational part of his brain could intervene, his fingers acted. He clicked on the photo to reply privately.

Anthony: Damn it, Sharma, your photos need to come with a warning, you're sexy as hell.

A few seconds later, the reply.

Kate: ? It's a normal photo, Bridgerton.

Anthony: Oh right, you’re so innocent with your tight little dresses and your inability to wear a fucking bra.

Kate: Excuse me, all my bras are tight right now.

He clenched his hand tightly, frustration and arousal mixing.

Anthony: You’re not helping me.

Kate: What do you mean by that, Bridgerton?

Anthony: I mean I’m at Aubrey Hall, a few feet from my family, looking at a picture of you smiling, and my dick is hard. That’s what I mean, Sharma.

The silence from her side stretched for long seconds. Anthony waited, his heart pounding against his ribs.

Then, the notification flashed. A new message in their private chat.

Kate: Perhaps I can help you with that, then.

The sheer audacity of her. And the implicit promise. Anthony felt the blood rush downwards with violent force.

He had to sit down on the bed, the soft carpet barely registering beneath his bare feet, just as she sent a new photo. He took a deep breath, trying to regain the control she effortlessly stole, while he savored the sight before him.

Kate was kneeling—likely on her bed at her family's house—wearing a delicate, provocative lilac silk lingerie set. Her hair was thrown back, revealing her slender neck that he loved to kiss. The bra straps had slipped off her shoulders, and the fabric seemed a little too tight now, stretched slightly over her fuller breasts. A glimpse of her brown nipples peeked over the top of the cup, which somehow made everything even sexier.

She was a fucking work of art. The desire, already throbbing, exploded into a wild, uncontrollable need. He gripped the phone in his hand, his knuckles white.

Anthony: Fucking hell, damn it, you want to kill me.

Then, without even thinking of words, he tapped the audio call icon. His phone was just reaching his ear when she answered, her voice a little breathless.

"I imagine you liked the messages?"

"Liked?" He ran a hand through his hair, gripping the curls at the back of his head. "Damn it, you had no right to do that. I'm hard as hell at my family's house and you're miles away."

"You said you were already hard; I just wanted to help... relieve the tension," she replied with feigned innocence.

He closed his eyes, the image of her—silky brown skin juxtaposed with lilac lingerie—still burning behind them.

"Oh, but now I don't want to go to the bathroom like a teenager looking at your picture," he replied. "When I can have you in my ear helping me get rid of the tension I'm feeling right now—"

He waited; the seconds stretched, and he almost thought she would refuse him, that she would hang up on him, but then—her voice somewhat low and, he thought, a little nervous—she admitted: "I've never had phone sex before."

He was a disgusting predator for deriving pleasure from it, and he was determined not to show the extent of his depravity. "It's fine," he said, sinking into the comfort of his bed. "I'm already incredibly hard anyway. It's not like it takes much." Then, deepening his voice, he asked, "Are you still wearing those tiny panties you wore in the photo?"

"I am," she replied, a shaky breath escaping her before—a second having passed—she told him, "I'm already so wet for you, Bridgerton. I swear the minute I heard your voice—"

"Fuck, sweetheart," he hissed, closing his eyes, his hand disappearing into his pajama pants, his fingers tightly encasing his dick. "Can you lie down for me?" He sighed as his hand began to slide up and down his own length at a slow pace. "Can you lie down and play with yourself, pretending it's me?"

He expected some hesitation from her, but it didn't come. Instead, she asked, "Where do you want me to touch myself?" The rustling of her bed filled his ears, made him close his eyes, and pretend he was there with her, lying in bed beside her.

"What I wanted, Sharma, was to lick your breasts and take them whole into my mouth, but I can't do that—" her breath audibly hitched in her throat at the image he painted, "—so for now, just take off that little thing that barely fits you and play with your breasts for me, squeeze them the way I usually do, imagine it's my mouth biting into your flesh."

Her breathing quickened, and a whimper escaped her, a smile spreading across his lips. "You know I'm sore... I can't..."

"Baby, let's not pretend you don't like a little pain."

"I... I do, but only when it's you."

He closed his eyes, God, she was going to kill him.

"Alright, sweetheart," he said in an understanding tone. "Then bring your hand down to your beautiful pussy. I want you to tease yourself with your fingers. I want you to rub your index finger all over your clitoris. I want you to feel the pressure and imagine it's me doing it, that you can feel my warm breath against your skin as I watch your face contort."

"Fuck," she moaned into his ear.

"Good, Sharma?" he growled, his hand increasing its pace over himself.

"So good, I—"

"Keep going, darling, put your fingers inside you, two, Sharma."

"My fingers aren't good enough, I need your dick—"

This pleased him immensely. The idea that she needed him was a power that excited him like no other. He pushed harder, trying to mimic the way she touched him—the precision, the firmness. He knew he was failing miserably, just a cheap copy, but the noises she made on the other end of the line were enough to make the fantasy chillingly real.

“You always need my dick, darling, if only you weren’t so stubborn and would just admit it. If you had obeyed me and come with me, you could be riding my dick right now.”

“I wanted to,” she whimpered into his ear over the phone, her low, broken moans making him falter in his own movements.

“Fuck, Sharma, and you don’t think that’s what I wanted? Your tight little pussy riding my dick, your moans in my ear? But you wouldn’t.” He said, a little cruelly, in that way he knew she liked.

“Anthony, please.”

“Posting photos of your breasts on the internet for anyone to see, when you know they’re only mine.”

“I didn’t do that.”

“Yes, you did. You’re lucky you’re so far away and so pregnant because I would have spanked you for that.”

“You would’ve spanked my ass.” God, she sounded hopeful.

“I would’ve fucked your ass.”

“Bridgerton,” she sighed, “I can’t anymore—”

“You sound so beautiful when you’re all hot for me, why don’t you just let go, darling?”

“Are you—?”

“I’m close—”

And that’s all it took. The gasping breaths, the broken moans. They both came, both panting on the other end of the line, connected by that shared sound and the tremor that ran through their bodies. Only after a good minute, when the ecstasy subsided, did he open his eyes, feeling exultant.

“Holy shit, that was—” He shook his head, speechless at the intensity of what had just happened miles away.

She didn’t seem to know how to articulate her feelings any better, though. “Yeah, it was…” she took a deep breath and then added, breathless, “I can’t believe we just did that—”

“Oh, that’s not the most depraved thing we’ve ever done, Sharma.”

“Well, I guess it’s the most depraved thing I’ve done in my bed in the room I lived in with my parents,” she replied.

“We can change that when I get to see your childhood home.”

She laughed, and God, it was the most delicious sound in the world; he was truly fucked.

They hung up a minute later—he reluctantly, wanting to stay on the line just to hear her breathe—hoping there was a sense of disappointment from her side too.

And then he went to the bathroom, to take a shower, clean up the mess he’d made of himself, and sleep.

_________________________________________________________________________

The brunch the day after Augie's birthday was exactly like every other family brunch. The sun streamed insolently through the tall windows of Aubrey Hall's dining room, spreading golden reflections across the oak table set with more porcelain than any brunch truly required. Everything was perfectly arranged—from the hand-embroidered tablecloth to the lavender sprigs tied to the napkins with olive-green ribbon. Violet Bridgerton never did anything by halves.

The children were the only ones not at the table yet when Anthony entered, running through the room as if competing in their own personal Olympics. Auggie, yesterday’s birthday boy, was wearing a superhero cape and a crown, shouting something incomprehensible about "evil dragons." The adults, meanwhile, tried to ignore the childish chaos.

“You’re the first of us to wake up and still the last to arrive,” Colin remarked.

“I went for a run and had work to do,” Anthony retorted, heading to his seat at the table. “Not all of us have your bohemian life, Col.”

“Oh, God, it’s not even eleven o’clock and I’ve already been lectured.”

“Leave him alone, Col,” Daphne said, raising an eyebrow. “Surely he was attending to important matters.”

She shot him a meaningful look, making all eyes turn to him. God, Daphne couldn't be discreet.

“And what would that be?” Violet asked with lethal sweetness, her eyes fixed on her eldest son.

Anthony saw Benedict ducking in his chair, laughing, out of the corner of his eye.

“I have no idea what Daphne is talking about,” he replied. “Hy, Greg,” he called to his younger siblings to distract his mother. “Brunch is about to be served, you can wash your hands and sit down.”

“My hands are clean,” Greg began.

“Gregory,” Violet cut him off. “You’re quite old enough to know about germs. Go with your sister, wash your hands, and come back to the table.”

They heard Hy making pig noises at Greg as the two left for the washroom.

Anthony tried to eat something—eggs Benedict and some smoked salmon—but he could still feel his mother’s eyes on him.

“So…” she began in a too-light tone. “You didn’t bring anyone to Augie’s birthday? I was under the impression Ben said you would bring someone.”

“I didn’t say that,” Ben defended himself, feigning indignation. “I said I thought , perhaps, he might bring someone.”

Violet, who had been serving tea to Francesca until then, didn’t miss a beat. “Daphne also gave the impression you’d have a companion.”

The room fell silent for an instant.

“I don’t know what could have given my siblings that idea,” he said, looking at Daphne and Benedict with his most lethal glare, “but there was no one to bring, and there’s nothing I want to discuss at Sunday brunch with the whole family. However, yes, there is a matter we can discuss later, Mother,” he returned to eating. “In my office,” he added, to the frustration of his curious siblings.

To say Anthony’s relationship with Violet Bridgerton was difficult was an understatement; they simply never got along, not since Edmund's death. Somehow, Violet always managed to make it clear to Anthony that he fell short of his father. She had a special way of saying that nothing he did was good enough and of constantly reminding him that he was nothing more than a cheap copy of the man everyone expected to be there.

Was that her intention? Hardly, but that’s how he felt every time he needed to have an important conversation about anything, so sitting down with his mother in his Aubrey Hall office to tell her Kate was pregnant was not high on his list of preferred activities.

The office still carried the scent of old wood and polished leather. Anthony had replaced the armchairs, modernized the lighting, and swapped the heavy velvet curtains for something lighter, but the space still felt impregnated with his father’s presence—and the implicit judgment that came with it.

Anthony poured his mother’s favorite liqueur in silence.

“Oh, should I be concerned?” Violet asked, accepting the glass with a suspicious look. “You rarely share information willingly.”

“There’s no cause for concern,” he said, setting down the bottle and sitting behind the desk. “I just thought you should hear it from me. I’m going to be a father.”

For a moment, only the sound of the antique clock filled the space.

“How?”

“I’m in a relationship.” The phrase came out with rehearsed precision. It was, technically, true. “And she became pregnant. So, I’m telling you I’ll be a father soon.”

Violet brought the glass to her lips, drank a sip of the liqueur before asking, “You’re in a relationship. With whom?”

Anthony didn’t answer immediately.

“Because—and correct me if I’m wrong—you arrived alone yesterday, and as far as I know, there hasn’t been any official young lady in your life for months. And now she’s pregnant? Am I to presume it wasn’t planned?”

“Planned or not, it’s something we want.” He kept his tone firm. “It’s not a scandal, and there’s no reason to treat it as such. I just need you to treat her with respect and be a happy grandmother.”

“I am happy,” she replied, placing the glass on the table with a slight click. “For you, of course, if that’s what you want.” She took a deep breath. “It’s just… who is the young woman?”

He clenched his teeth.

“Kate Sharma.”

Silence. Dense, heavy, cutting.

“You’re joking.”

“No. You know her. She works with Danbury. Intelligent, competent.”

“And your employee.”

“She works in a different department. There’s no breach of conduct, Violet.”

“If you need to cite a compliance clause to justify a relationship, perhaps there’s already a problem,” she countered, her voice still polished, but with a subtle coldness. “Anthony, you know how this might look. An employee, whom, if I may say, we don’t know her background, nor her family.”

Anthony leaned forward. “That’s unnecessary.”

“It’s realistic.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “You are the viscount. The rising CEO. A public figure. People will look at everything—at her, at the child, at you two—and ask questions. And you know that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Kate or our relationship,” he sighed. “Mother, I’m not asking for your blessing, though I’d appreciate it for Kate. I’m asking that, if anything reaches the board—and I hope it doesn’t—you stand by me. That’s all.”

“You think they’ll open an inquiry?”

“I hope not,” he repeated, harsher than he intended. “But if they do, I need to know if I can count on you.”

“Of course, you can.” She sighed. “You’re my son. And this baby… will be my grandchild. And what about her? Kate. Does she agree with all of this?”

“As much as possible.” He leaned back in his chair, tired of having to justify everything. “I’m not going to burden her with legal details, Violet. I’m handling the paperwork. I’ve already spoken with Hugh. Trust fund, legal recognition, custody, child support. Everything will be in order.”

She watched him for a moment before letting out what seemed to have been gnawing at her.

“This isn’t a… Marina-type situation, is it?”

Anthony’s jaw tightened.

“Absolutely not.” His voice was a little lower, a little more dangerous. “I am not Colin. Kate is not a whim nor an accident I’m trying to fix with performative nobility.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” he interrupted her. “And I understand your concerns, but if you’re going to suggest this is a mistake or that I don’t know what I’m doing, I’d prefer you be direct.”

She remained silent for a second, then lifted her chin.

“I worry about the repercussions,” she said, finally. “About our family’s stability, about what this means for you—and yes, for the Bridgerton reputation. But I also worry about you. And about the baby. And if you are so certain that you want this… then I’m with you. Even if I think you could have handled all of this in a less… chaotic way.”

Anthony nodded, the tightness in his chest easing, just a little.

“Thank you.”

“But I still want to meet the young woman,” she added.

Anthony met her gaze, firm. “No interrogation will be permitted.”

She looked slightly offended.

“You have a knack for making people feel inadequate,” he continued, directly. “I’m just asking… don’t do that to Kate.”

“I appreciate you reminding me how I should behave in the presence of guests, Anthony,” she said, with an almost cutting elegance. “If you believe this young woman is important, then it would be nothing less than kind.”

“Just be yourself,” he said, tired. “But, perhaps, a little less so.”

She shot him a look of disapproval, but, deep down, something in her softened.

“You truly seem to like her,” she said, at last.

“I do.”

_________________________________________________________________________

Kate was breaking out in a cold sweat on Monday morning, as if the universe had decided this would be the day to test all her limits. First, she overslept—something that simply didn't happen to her. But pregnancy had its own plans. When her alarm rang at six, she just rolled over and passed out again, as if her body had made the decision for her.

The subsequent delay threw off her entire morning routine, which led her to simply grab the first dress from her closet and put it on for work. It wasn't until the reflection in the gilded mirrors of the Bridgerton Holdings elevator that she realized the hastily chosen dress was too tight, especially there, in her lower abdomen where a minimal—yet still visible to anyone paying attention—bulge was beginning to betray what she'd been trying to keep secret.

See, Kate had a regular exercise regimen and a balanced diet that she maintained with almost military discipline. She prided herself on her flat abdomen, her slim waist, the way clothes fell on her—all results of constant effort and self-control.

But at 10 weeks pregnant, even with all that routine, a slight swelling in her lower abdomen was already noticeable. Almost imperceptible.

Almost.

Unless, of course, you had hastily—and half an hour late—chosen a tight, white dress. Which was exactly what Kate was wearing.

For an entire second, she froze.

Then came the panic—irrational, silent, but real.

What if someone noticed?

It was foolish, of course. She knew that. But no less terrifying.

She practically ran to her office—gone was her usual composure—and only managed to breathe again once she sat down and hid her belly behind the desk. Her heart was still pounding when she unlocked her phone.

Three missed calls. One message.

Anthony: Had a last-minute meeting in Geneva. Back tomorrow.

My lawyer shared a custody and child support agreement with you.

Please send it to your lawyer friend. Read it. We can make changes.

Already miss you.

Her heart pounded.

They hadn't talked about this. I mean… they had, but not like this.

She opened the email. The attached PDF loaded full screen.

She held her breath.

Monthly support. Trust fund. Schools. Accommodation, health insurance, full-time nanny. A fixed, adjustable amount until the child turned eighteen. An annual additional sum for holidays.

The total amount was… obscene.

She already knew Anthony Bridgerton was rich. But this was another level.

And they had agreed they would talk. That they would decide together.

She closed her eyes for a second, trying not to let the feeling of exclusion turn into hurt. It was just… Anthony being Anthony. Decisive. Pragmatic. Too rich to realize that, for her, all of it was overwhelming.

Kate forwarded the document to Alice with a short message: Please look at this when you can?

And, after much thought—and rewriting three times—she finally replied to him:

Kate: Okay. Have a good trip. Miss you too.

Then she left her phone face down and spent the rest of the morning trying to convince herself that she was still in control of her own life.

Chapter Text

When Alice arrived, punctual as always, Kate already had the mint iced tea ready and her hands were shaking. Her anxiety had peaked around three in the afternoon, after her fourth glance at that agreement, and it hadn’t eased up since.

The food was ready too—butter chicken with basmati rice and naan fresh off the pan. She knew Alice loved it, and cooking helped keep her hands busy and her mind sane.

Alice came in already commenting on how good the food smelled, and it didn’t take her long to start serving herself.

“I’m going to be honest,” she said, balancing a piece of chicken on her fork. “That agreement wasn’t exactly what I expected him to do.”

Kate looked at her over the rim of her glass. The tea seemed weak now. “What do you mean by that?”

Alice chewed, swallowed, and pointed with her fork. “Most of the time, women in this position have to fight for half of what this contract offers.”

Kate nodded, measured. “Right.”

“But I can see from your face—and the insane amount of food you made—that this is bothering you.”

Kate tried to keep her expression neutral. “It’s not that it’s wrong. It’s just… it’s a lot. It feels like there’s some hidden catch, you know?”

Alice sighed, setting her fork down carefully. “Look, you know I’m the first person to say you should be cautious about Anthony Bridgerton—or anyone with that much money—but there really doesn’t seem to be anything questionable about this agreement.” She gave a crooked smile. “Legally, the agreement is solid, broad, and covered up to the ceiling.”

Kate bit her lip. The words were meant to reassure her, but they didn’t.

“He thought of everything,” Alice went on, more serious now. “Pregnancy, childbirth, maternity leave, child support until adulthood, a trust fund, lifelong health insurance, international school, future shares of inheritance… As a lawyer, I should just pat you on the back and tell you to sign it. But as your friend…”

She leaned in, lowering her voice. “I need to understand why you’re so uncomfortable. Is it the co-parenting thing? Because—and I say this as someone who read that agreement three times—he’s not trying to dodge responsibility. Quite the opposite.”

Kate looked at her friend. “No. It’s not that.” She hesitated. “It’s just that everything feels too fast. Too big. He didn’t even talk to me before sending it. I thought we’d… well, that we’d decide together, and it just seems like too much money, like… a child doesn’t need all that to exist.”

“Maybe not your child with someone else, or my child,” Alice replied calmly, “but your child is going to be a Bridgerton. The first child of the first son. You know what that means. The father’s family is worth billions, Kate.”

She took a sip of wine. “And the hardest part for any woman in this position—with a guy who has that kind of money—is making sure the child maintains the same standard of living as the father’s family. At least you’re with someone who already understands that.”

Kate frowned. That was it, in part. But it wasn’t just that.

“Okay, let’s think a few years ahead,” Alice continued. “You and Anthony aren’t going to stay in this… arrangement, or whatever this is, forever. So eventually, he’ll marry someone else, he’ll have other children. Do you want your child to be less protected than the others? To feel less included?”

“Of course not,” Kate replied, not bothering to examine the strange nausea in her stomach at the thought of Anthony married to someone else, having children with someone else. The feeling left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Exactly,” Alice shrugged. “You want your child to have the same opportunities, the same rights. And this agreement guarantees that.”

Kate didn’t know what to say.

“So, tell me. What else is bothering you?” Alice asked in the silence that followed.

Kate thought about just accepting her friend’s advice without dwelling on the rest, but Alice was her best friend. And a lawyer. The bullshit detector was part of her personality.

“You know what people are going to say,” Kate finally said. “That I trapped him. That I got pregnant on purpose. That I took advantage. That I slept with my boss to get a promotion or job security. That I’m using this baby for money.”

Alice reached across the table and took her hand. Firmly.

“Kate,” she said, patience making Kate’s rambling come to a halt. “It doesn’t matter if you sign this agreement or not, people will still think and say things like that.”

She let out a low laugh. “You’re fucking gorgeous, you look like a damn supermodel, and he… well, he has a bank account that could support a small country. The story practically writes itself.”

Kate snorted, trying to hold back a smile, even though she was still a bit anxious.

“He is handsome,” she insisted. “Like… really handsome and hot. It’s not just the money.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “He’s all right… for a white guy.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Let’s not pretend that the main appeal, for ninety-eight percent of the women on this planet, isn’t that obscene fortune. His bank account has charisma , Kate.”

“I disagree,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Of course you do.” Alice grabbed another piece of naan. “You love a guy who looks like Prince William. Even knowing he’s going to be bald before forty.”

“That’s cruel.” Kate tossed her napkin at her. “You could at least use Harry as an example.”

Alice laughed. “But seriously, Kate… the situation sucks. You didn’t choose this. But out of everything that could have happened, this agreement is—honestly—the best possible scenario.”

“It’s just… if I sign it, it feels like everything becomes official. Real.”

“The baby growing in your belly already made it real.”

_________________________________________________________________________

Anthony didn’t believe in happy endings.

Not really, not in the simplistic way people around him seemed to believe. He figured that someone with his family history of tragedy had a right to be more cynical about it. But… he did believe in honest attempts, in doing the best he could with the hand he’d been dealt.

And after a miserable weekend and an even worse trip, he was trying—with almost physical effort—to believe there was a way to fix what he had done to Kate.

Think positive, he told himself on the flight back. Think like a man who hasn’t ruined everything with the only woman who ever made his heart stop in his chest and then start beating like mad.

Maybe their relationship hadn’t started in the best possible way, but he honestly wanted to believe it could still end well.

The fact that she’d only replied to his messages with monosyllables since receiving the agreement was hardly a good sign, but he wasn’t going to panic.

The car had barely stopped in front of Bridgerton Inc’s headquarters when he was already stepping out, not waiting for the driver to open the door.

He crossed the lobby, ignoring greetings, his mind focused on only one thing: finding Kate.

Because he’d sent that damn agreement without talking to her first—which now, with even a minimum of emotional distance, seemed like the equivalent of throwing a grenade into something fragile and full of hope—and after that, he’d been forced to spend two days out of the country, unable to talk to her properly.

Now, every second that passed without seeing her felt like another personal failure.

He was tired, hungry, and his head was buzzing, but none of that mattered. Nothing mattered more than Kate.

When he reached the wooden door of her office, he didn’t knock—he just walked in.

Kate was sitting behind her desk, shoulders slightly hunched toward her laptop. The soft sound of the door closing made her look up from the screen. God, she looked as beautiful as ever, even with that closed-off expression. His eyes swept over her in a quick, almost unconscious check to make sure she was physically there, real, unharmed—if he felt instantly relieved, he didn’t dwell on it.

“You’re back,” she said—not exactly welcoming, but not angry either. It sounded more like… caution?

“I came straight from the airport,” he replied, unable to look away from her big golden-brown eyes.

Silence settled between them, heavy and filled with all the things left unsaid—all the tension from the past few days was palpable, putting distance between them.

He broke the silence first. “Your messages have been pretty concise.”

The corner of her mouth tugged up in a familiar ironic smile. She crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive barrier. “Were you expecting to discuss the agreement your lawyer sent me over text messages? How many people have you told about the baby? Should I expect an email from HR about it?”

“I see you’re upset,” he shot back, irony lacing his tone.

Her defenses seemed to harden, and Kate stood, moving toward him. “And how could I not be upset, when you yourself said we should talk in private before involving lawyers? And then you go and send me a contract by email, like it’s some kind of… business transaction?”

“I meant to handle this in person, Kate. I swear.” He brought a hand to the back of his neck, massaging the tension there. “But first, you were avoiding any conversation about it, and then I had that last-minute trip. I know it probably comes across as a little uncompromising—”

“Oh, you think?” she cut him off, her eyes flashing with disdain. “What it looks like is that you’re just throwing money at… the problem.” The last word was said with such contempt it made Anthony’s stomach drop.

“That’s not what I’m doing!” he shot back, irritated by her conclusion. The way she saw him—as someone trying to buy his way out of a situation—cut him deeply. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes fixed on her, his voice dropping to a firmer tone. “…Look, Sharma, whether you like it or not, you’re my priority. I can’t and won’t just handle this any old way. I sleep much better at night knowing that if something happens to me, you’ll be protected. This isn’t throwing money around; it’s security.”

She looked at him, confused.

“Are you sick or something?”

A short, bitter laugh escaped Anthony’s lips. “Oh, right, because only sick people die suddenly.” He was being sarcastic, but the fear was real. An insane, irrational fear of dying and leaving the people he loved behind to suffer and fend for themselves, just as his father had left them.

He didn’t want to discuss that with her—not here, not now. “I did this for me, so I could feel at peace, but I did it for you too. I’m not throwing my money at a problem—I want you to be taken care of, I want you to have financial support to raise this child without having to make sacrifices.” He took a step closer, his eyes pleading. He needed her to understand.

Kate shook her head, her gaze dropping from his to a fixed spot on the wall. “You know how this is going to look to everyone, don’t you? Agatha will definitely regret hiring me, and your family… everyone will think I’m… that I’m a gold-digger, that I used you to get ahead.” Her tone was almost a whisper, and Anthony felt the sting of her insecurity—a vulnerability that was in stark contrast to her earlier fury. It hit him harder than any accusation.

He frowned, hating what she was implying about herself; the anger he’d felt before evaporated, replaced by an overwhelming need to protect her. “You’re brilliant, Sharma. That’s why Agatha hired you. She’s not exactly known for her generosity. She and my mother are great friends, and I can guarantee we’ll have her support in this.” The mention of his mother, though, seemed to hit a nerve.

Kate’s eyes snapped back to him, wide. “You told your mother?”

“I told you this was a possibility, once Simon knew, and so did Daphne.”

“You should have talked to me first!” Her eyes filled with tears, and it broke Anthony’s heart in a way he hadn’t expected. It was as if her armor was falling away right in front of him. He stepped forward, reached for her face, his thumb extending to wipe away the tears that were beginning to fall, but she pulled away from him abruptly, shaking her head.

“We should have ended this a long time ago,” she said, furiously wiping her cheek with the back of her hand in a desperate gesture. “All of this, everything that happened… it never should’ve happened in the first place. We were crazy to think we could come out unscathed—”

“Sharma…” he tried, reaching out again, but she ignored him. He wasn’t even sure she’d heard him.

“—This is going to ruin my career, I just… look at me!” She flung her arms open, a gesture of desperation and demand, wanting him to see the full extent of her suffering, though all of his attention was already freely given to her. “I’m pregnant by my boss, and now everyone’s going to find out and I—” Her voice was starting to break, on the verge of a sob.

“Sharma, you can breathe,” he moved closer to her, the primal instinct to protect her overwhelming everything else. “You need to calm down,” he repeated, his voice softer, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

But Kate continued, as if a dam had burst. “—You completely threw my life off track. I was barely holding it together before you happened, but now… Now I have to juggle a baby, my family’s debts, my mother’s depression, her hateful parents, my sister blaming me for using her money without permission…” She paced from side to side, one hand on her belly, the other pressed to her forehead, her steps rushed and agitated, her voice increasingly choked with emotion. Anthony’s chest tightened.

He had no idea about the extent of her burdens. D ebts? Her mother’s depression? Her sister blaming her? Why hadn’t he known any of this?

“You’re having problems with your family? What is your sister accusing you of? Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” He took another step forward, closing the distance between them. If she was having financial problems, why the hell wouldn’t she just accept his damn offer?

“We’re not that kind of couple—”

“We can change that,” his hand moved to her face, wanting to touch her, to caress her beautiful skin, so she would know he truly meant it. “I want to take care of you, Sharma. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life, I—” He was about to spill everything, the raw truth that had consumed him for weeks.

But she cut him off, her voice thick with pain and cynicism. “You’re saying that now, but if you knew all my problems, then I’d stop being the sexy girl you sleep with at work and just become one more of your problems…”

“Sharma, you could never stop being sexy to me,” he said, stepping closer, his nose almost brushing her neck, leaning in just to breathe in her scent— lilies . “I don’t just want to fuck you at work, Kate. I want all of you, completely…”

Kate shook her head in denial. “You’re just confused because of the pregnancy.”

Anthony let out a bitter laugh. “No, I’m not confused.”

“We knew this would get complicated,” she went on, ignoring him. “That’s why we set boundaries, and we should’ve stuck to them… you promised this wouldn’t interfere with my job… and now…”

He ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated. He took a step back—he needed space to think, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I wanted to feel this way?” He gestured helplessly, as if trying to wring the feelings out of himself. “Having to fight the fucking urge to kiss you in public, to take you away from all of this, to feel you again and again, knowing you think everything that happened between us was a mistake, an act of irresponsibility? Do you even have any idea what you do to me?”

At least she had the decency to stay quiet, just shaking her head.

He closed the distance between them in two steps, his hand reaching for the back of her neck, the other at her waist, their noses brushing together. “It can’t be that you still haven’t realized I’m completely in love with you.” He tried to keep the frustration out of his voice—this wasn’t how he’d wanted to tell her. “That I can’t act normal when it comes to you, that I want you all the time.”

“Anthony…I…”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” he was quick to say, grimacing at the words, the pain of possible rejection already tightening his chest. “But I need you to know, because I can’t keep listening to you talk as if you were just anyone, as if what happened didn’t mean anything to me…I love you, Kate.”

She silenced him.

Her lips found his with urgency, swallowing what was left of his sentence. Anthony didn’t hesitate—his mind, his body, every part of him gave in the instant he tasted her again.

He took two steps, pulling her firmly, turning her so her back pressed against the wall. His hand instinctively reached for the doorknob, locking the door. After that, he couldn’t think about anything but her.

Kate gasped when her back hit the wall, but she didn’t push him away. On the contrary, she pulled him closer. And before he could say anything, she murmured between kisses:

“You need to know that I’m in love with you too. I was going crazy…”

“You?” he questioned, giving her ass a smack. “I just had a hellish weekend—”

“Couldn’t have been worse than mine,” she replied, undoing his belt, her fingers trembling. “Even at my family’s house I felt so alone—I missed you so much—”

Anthony lowered his head, nuzzling her neck. “Never again,” he promised. “We’re spending every weekend together from now on. Every day, if I can help it.”

As he spoke, his lips traced down to the curve of her collarbone; she was still clothed, so he kissed her breasts over her blouse, gently bit her nipple, made the spot wet with his saliva—just because he knew she’d like the friction. His Kate was always so responsive.

The sounds she made were driving him crazy.

“Kate…” he murmured, his fingers moving aside her panties to feel her wet, hot pussy, already ready for him. “I need to be inside you.”

“All right,” she whispered, pulling away from him. “You can have me.” She said it while lifting her skirt up to her hips, never taking her eyes off him, and then slowly—provocatively, deliberately—slipped off her panties and stuffed them into the inside pocket of his blazer.

Anthony stood absolutely still for a second, trying to process that. “You’ll be the death of me,” he said, his voice almost unrecognizable, eyes locked on her. Then he pulled her into a full embrace, pressing her body tightly against his, as if he wanted to fuse them together right there.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, lifted her legs around his hips, and he held her, hands fitting under her thighs.

And then he entered her—no hesitation, no ceremony. Just pure need. Her body molded to his as if it had been made for him—hot, tight, hugging him from the inside. Anthony’s head dropped forward, a groan escaping against her neck.

“Jesus, Kate…” He bit her neck lightly, the words breaking on his lips.

She moaned loudly, one hand slipping inside his blazer, pushing it off his shoulders before pulling it all the way off. Her nails dug into his back, scratching hard, and he groaned in response, his jaw clenched tight.

Their breathing filled the room. Their movements were uneven, urgent. There was no steady rhythm—just the glorious chaos of two bodies searching for each other, as if they didn’t know how to exist apart anymore.

He held her tight, his hips thrusting with purpose, their kisses lost between muffled moans. Kate threw her head back, and he savored every second, leaving kisses and bites along her neck and chest, marking her in ways he wanted to see later, in ways he wanted her to feel after.

When she started to tremble, tightening her legs even more around him, he knew. He knew she was close.

“Come with me,” he murmured against her skin. “Show me how much you’re in love with me.”

And she did. Her inner muscles clenched tightly around him, her breath stuttering in sobs. He held her even tighter, then followed her, a muffled moan against her shoulder, as if his whole body had collapsed inside hers.

They stayed like that for a while. Foreheads pressed together, still breathing into each other’s mouths. The smiles came later. Slow, broken up by laughter.

“God…” he said, still breathless. “If I’d known…”

“If you’d known what?” she asked, her fingers gently running through his curls.

Anthony smiled, exhausted and elated all at once. “If I’d known you felt the same way… Fuck, Kate, we could’ve sorted this out months ago.”

“Honestly,” he murmured, as she straightened her skirt and he picked up his fallen blazer, “that trip was hell. I hate being away from you.”

“You do know that being in love doesn’t solve all our problems, right?”

“It doesn’t?” he asked, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Because it feels like I’ll never have another problem in my life.”

“Of course you’d say something like that, but I’m talking about my job, about our differences, about… you always acting on your own, without consulting me about things that affect me.”

“Look, I know I can be difficult and I’ve never denied that, but I’ll be better for you…”

“I don’t need you to be better, I love you the way you are—even when you drive me absolutely crazy, I don’t want you to change for me.” She kissed him. “I just need you to share your burdens with me.”

“I can do that,” he whispered against her lips, a smile spreading across his face. “But what about you? Can you share your burdens with me and stop running away?”

“I think I can.” She sighed, snuggling into him.

“All right, I’ll schedule a meeting with HR…” He noticed her expression change as he spoke. “What is it, Sharma?”

“It’s just… Can we keep this a secret for a little while longer?”

“If we tell HR, things will already be moving toward resolution.”

“It’s just, I wanted to keep us in our little bubble for a few more weeks. I know you’ve already told some of your family, but I haven’t told mine yet, and honestly I wanted to wait… People say you should wait until the third month to tell.”

“What people?”

“People on the internet.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to look up pregnancy advice on the internet.” He kissed her lips softly.

“It’s a general consensus, okay?”

_________________________________________________________________________

Kate was in ecstasy. A feverish warmth spread through her chest, threatening to turn her into a lovesick fool, and she tried—with every fiber of her being—not to let Anthony’s love confession make her float too far away.

She tried not to make it bigger than it was.

After all, her situation was still complicated, and she still had so much—so much—to lose.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, could dim the happiness radiating from within her, the pure joy of being loved by him, of letting herself be cared for without the icy fear that he would simply abandon her to deal with everything alone.

It was too good. Simply letting Anthony become a part of her life, getting stuck in that bubble of happiness where only the two of them, and their child, existed.

That’s why, when her work ended that day, she let herself be swept away by him to her own apartment. She introduced Newton, her chubby (and slightly grumpy) dog, to Anthony, let Anthony join her as she walked Newton in the park, him walking beside her as if he already belonged to that little domestic life.

And later, when he pulled her into bed as if he never meant to let her go, she slept like she hadn’t in months.

It was only in the deep silence of the night, when she woke to find his fingers drawing slow circles on her belly, that he asked:

“Are you going to tell me about your problems with your family?”

She was silent for a while. His breath was warm against her skin, and that kept her anchored.

“Have you ever felt like you’re failing everyone?” she asked.

He let out a short, humorless laugh.
“All the time.”

Kate turned her face toward him, searching for his dark eyes.

“That’s how I feel with them. Ever since my father died, it’s like… everything’s been slowly falling apart. And I’ve just been trying to piece it all back together.”

He didn’t say anything, just pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder.

“Mary… she was always there for me. She’s the only mother I’ve ever known. I can’t remember my biological mother, and my father… he never liked to talk about her. So, Mary was all I had, and it wasn’t easy for her, Anthony. Her parents were against her marriage to my father. We lived in India for a while, and she wasn’t used to it. Her standard of living dropped, and my father did everything he could so she wouldn’t suffer. And it worked. They had Edwina, and their family was complete. And I… well, I was a reminder of my mother. Absolutely everyone who knew her would say how much we looked alike. And I saw how, somehow, that hurt my father.”

“Kate, that’s not your fault.” Anthony shifted, lifting his head to look at her.

“I know it’s not. I grew up and understood what happened, but it was hard to process. Mary’s parents hated me, and it’s hard to be hated when you’re a child. It’s easier when you’re an adult and people don’t like you.” She let out a bitter laugh.

“I’m so sorry you went through that.”

“I don’t care about that anymore, I swear, but the point is… after my father died, someone had to keep our little family together, and I tried… but Mary needed medical treatment, she fell into this horrible melancholic depression. So when her parents offered money to help with Edwina’s expenses, I took it. Because then my money could go to Mary’s treatment. Only, I should’ve told them, and I didn’t…”

“You did what needed to be done.”

“I don’t need you to sugarcoat it, Anthony. I know I messed up with them.” She looked at him, a flash of anger in her eyes.

“I’m not the right person to point out someone else’s dysfunctional family dynamics, Kate,” he said. “But if there was no other alternative besides your stepmother’s parents’ money, then you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Maybe if I had told Mary how bad things were, maybe she could have found another way, and Edwina could have decided what to do with the money herself.” She looked away, guilt heavy on her features.

“Maybe,” he said, and she looked back at him. There was a raw honesty in that word. “But I stand by what I said: you did what needed to be done.”

She rolled her eyes, but he was quicker, kissing the tip of her nose until a laugh escaped her lips.

“But is that why you haven’t told your family about the pregnancy yet?” he asked.

“That too. It’s just… there’s no good atmosphere for it. It’s already a shocking piece of news, since I’m not seeing anyone, and neither of them is happy with me right now. I don’t want to force it.”

“You are seeing someone,” he corrected, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “We’re dating.”

“We are?” She frowned, her heart skipping a beat.

“Of course we are.”

She laughed then, a genuine laugh that finally broke the tension, their bubble of happiness expanding to ease her worries.

“I love you, Bridgerton.”

“I love you too, Sharma, and—” he shifted in the bed and planted a kiss on her belly, “—I love our little Sharma-Bridgerton.”