Chapter 5: Pregnancy
[Sarah]
I sat on the edge of the king–sized bed, still fully dressed, staring at my unopened
suitcase.
A soft knock broke the silence. “Mrs. Pierce?” Mrs. Thompson’s voice was gentle. “May I
come in?”
“Yes, please.” My voice sounded smaller than I intended.
She entered carrying a silver tray with a steaming cup of chamomile tea. “Mrs. Elizabeth Pierce asked me to ensure you’re comfortable.” Her eyes took in my untouched bed and travel–wrinkled clothes. “She wants you to know you have her full support.”
I wrapped my hands around the warm cup, wondering if Elizabeth’s support would mean anything against Theodore’s clear hatred. “Thank you, Mrs. Thompson. I just… I don’t know what to do with my things.” My gesture encompassed the suitcase and the MIT sweatshirt I’d left draped over a chair.
“Perhaps it’s best to wait until morning before retrieving your belongings from the master suite.” Her tone was diplomatic, but the message was clear: stay away from Theodore
tonight.
Sleep proved elusive. I spent hours reviewing every moment since the wedding, trying to pinpoint where everything had gone so wrong. The opening of Theodore’s eyes kept replaying in my mind – not vacant or confused like you’d expect from someone emerging from a coma, but sharp, alert, and filled with unmistakable fury.
Morning arrived too quickly. Mrs. Thompson appeared at eight, looking fresh and composed. “Breakfast is served in the main dining room. Mr. Pierce is expecting you.”
My stomach lurched. “He’s… there already?”
“Yes, Mrs. Pierce. The physical therapist helped him down earlier.” She hesitated. “Perhaps
you’d like to change first?”
I looked down at my rumpled clothes and nodded gratefully. Ten minutes later, wearing a simple navy sheath dress that Katherine had once sneered at for being “off the rack,” I
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followed Mrs. Thompson to the dining room.
Theodore sat at the head of the massive mahogany table, his wheelchair positioned with military precision. The morning sun through the windows highlighted the aristocratic angles of his face, now animated with cold intelligence rather than peaceful repose. His fingers tapped once against the armrest – an impatient gesture that made me flinch.
“Good morning,” I managed, taking the seat Mrs. Thompson indicated.
Theodore’s gaze swept over me with clinical detachment. “Let’s not waste time with pleasantries. I’ve reviewed the marriage contract. My lawyers are looking for ways to terminate it.”
“I see.” I forced myself to reach for a piece of toast, though my appetite had vanished.
“In the meantime,” he continued, “I suggest you terminate any… medical procedures my mother may have initiated during my incapacitation.”
My hand froze halfway to the butter. He knew about the IVF? “I got my period yesterday,” I lied, the words tumbling out before I could think them through. “There’s nothing to terminate.”
His eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, rapid footsteps approached the dining
room.
“Uncle Theo! Sarah!” Nathan burst in, carrying a pharmacy bag. “I brought prenatal vitamins and-” He stopped abruptly, finally registering Theodore’s expression.
What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Theodore pressed a button on his wheelchair’s armrest. Two security guards appeared instantly. “Take that bag and dispose of it,” Theodore ordered. “Then escort Mr. Pierce Jr. to his knees.”
“Uncle Theo, please-” Nathan’s protest cut off as the guards forced him down. His eyes darted frantically between Theodore and me, all his usual swagger evaporated.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out about your attempt to bribe my lawyers?” Theodore’s voice was terrifyingly calm. “About the offshore accounts? The gambling debts? The little arrangement you made with Ms. Sullivan’s sister?”
Color drained from Nathan’s face. “I can explain-”
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“Save it for the SEC investigation. Or should we discuss your creative accounting at Pierce Technologies first?” Theodore’s fingers tapped the wheelchair’s tablet, pulling up documents. “You have exactly twenty–four hours to resign your position and leave New York. If I see you anywhere near my company or my wife again, I will ensure you never work in tech on either coast. Are we clear?”
Nathan nodded frantically, scrambling to his feet when the guards released him. He fled
without looking back.
I sat frozen, tea cup halfway to my lips, sudden understanding crashing over me. This was the real Theodore Pierce – the ruthless CEO who’d built Pierce Technologies into an AI
empire. And I was legally bound to him.
“Mrs. Thompson,” Theodore’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Please show Mrs. Sullivan to her new accommodations in the east wing. I believe the guest suite there will be
more… appropriate than the master bedroom.”
I fled to the private clinic that afternoon, my hands shaking so badly I could barely sign
- in. The doctor’s gentle questioning about stress levels and sleep patterns barely registered until she frowned at the ultrasound screen.
“Mrs. Pierce, how long have you been experiencing cramping?”
“What?” I focused on the screen, heart racing. “Is something wrong?”
“There are some concerning indicators. Given the high–risk nature of IVF pregnancies, I’d like to run additional tests.” She typed rapidly into her tablet. “In the meantime, you’ll
need complete bed rest. No stress, no travel, no—”
“I can’t.” The words came out choked. “My husband… he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want―”
To my horror, tears started spilling down my cheeks.
The doctor’s expression softened. “Mrs. Pierce, your primary concern right now needs to be your health and the pregnancy. The emotional stress you’re under is creating physical complications. Either we address this now, or you risk losing the baby.”
Baby. The word hit me like a physical blow. Not just a strategic piece in the Pierce legacy chess game anymore, but a actual life growing inside me. A life that was already in danger because I’d gotten caught up in corporate power plays and family manipulation.
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“What do I need to do?” I asked, wiping my eyes.
As the doctor outlined treatment plans and precautions, my phone buzzed with a text from Mrs. Thompson: “Mr. Pierce asking about your whereabouts. How should I respond?”
I stared at the message, then at the ultrasound image still frozen on the screen. Sooner or later, Theodore would discover the truth. And when he did, I had a feeling his reaction to Nathan would seem mild in comparison.
The doctor’s words about stress and risk echoed in my head. I had to make a choice – protect the pregnancy or maintain the lie. But as I remembered Theodore’s cold eyes and calculated cruelty, I realized it wasn’t much of a choice at all.
I texted back: “Tell him I’m at MIT, meeting with my thesis advisor.”
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