Mr. Rhodes, Your Dead Fiancée Is Pregnant

The same hour Stella Quinn got her pregnancy report, an anonymous number sent her four photos of her fiancé kissing another woman in Rome.

Sitting in her car in the hospital parking lot, Stella held the lab sheet in her right hand-hCG positive, five weeks along-and her phone in her left.

On the screen, at the top of the Spanish Steps, Lucian Rhodes had a woman pressed against his chest, his mouth slanted over hers. The woman in his arms was Celeste Moore.

Stella zoomed in on each image, checking the shadows, the grain, the edges of their hair. None of them were doctored. The man's left wrist against Celeste's waist was bare, though Stella barely registered it. Her eyes stayed on his face.

In three years together, she had never seen Lucian kiss anyone like he was losing control. Not even her.

Everyone in New York's upper circles knew about Lucian Rhodes and Celeste Moore-college sweethearts for four years until Celeste left for Milan to chase her jewelry design career. Stella had entered his life that same summer, filing down every sharp edge she had to remake herself into the quiet, composed woman he preferred.

The night they became official, she had asked him about Celeste.

Lucian hadn't even looked up. "Gossip. She's nothing."

She had believed him. For three years she had been his secretary by day and his secret by night. Only his assistant, Nate Carver, and Grandpa Rhodes knew. Whenever she brought up going public, Lucian told her keeping them quiet before the wedding was to protect her. Last month, he had gone down on one knee. The wedding was set for December.

A tear dropped onto the lab slip, blurring the ink.

Stella wiped it away, folded the paper into her bag, and rested her palm flat against her stomach for one breath. Then she started the engine.

Two days later, Lucian flew back to New York.

Stella drove the black Phantom toward JFK's private terminal to pick him up. Halfway down the expressway, her work phone rang through the dash. It was the head of HR at Rhodes Group.

"Ms. Quinn, about the new jewelry design director the CEO's office just brought in-does Ms. Moore need to go through standard onboarding?"

The light ahead turned red. Stella slammed the brakes, tires screeching against the asphalt.

"Is her name Celeste Moore?" Stella asked.

"Yes. The appointment letter came straight down from the CEO's office with Mr. Rhodes's signature. Were you not informed?"

In three years as his chief secretary, Lucian had never hired a single executive behind her back.

"Process it normally," Stella said, and ended the call as the light turned green.

Twenty minutes later, she parked outside the private terminal. Lucian strode out of the glass doors, six-foot-two in a dark overcoat, with Nate rolling a suitcase behind him.

Stella took off her sunglasses and stepped out. The sharp September sun stung her eyes, making her squint against the glare before she schooled her face into a professional smile.

"Welcome back, Mr. Rhodes."

Lucian gave a brief, businesslike nod.

She fell into step beside him toward the car. "Bidding on the Southshore parcel opens at ten. Would you like to go straight to the venue, or-"

"Give Nate the keys," Lucian cut in.

Stella paused, then handed the key fob to Nate. He took it with a sheepish grin and hurried to load the trunk. When he rounded the hood and reached for the driver's door, the locks clicked shut from the inside. Nate froze, glanced at the tinted rear window, and quickly backed ten feet away.

In the back seat, Lucian caught Stella by the waist, hauled her across his lap, and covered her mouth with his.

The kiss was hard and possessive. Out of three years of habit, Stella parted her lips and let him take what he wanted.

When he finally lifted his head, her breath was uneven. "We'll be late for the bidding."

"Let them wait." Lucian brushed his thumb across her swollen lower lip, the frost in his dark eyes warming slightly. "Fix your lipstick."

Before she could reach for her bag, he pulled a lipstick from her open purse, twisted the cap off, and said, "Come here."

Stella leaned in. He tipped her chin up with two fingers and traced the color onto her lips. He had done this dozens of times over the last three years, and every other time it had made her heart race. Today it felt like a blade sliding between her ribs. Her fingers curled tight against her knees.

He capped the tube and smoothed a hand over her hair.

Stella looked straight into his eyes. "Luc. Let's go public. Today."

Lucian's hand stilled. His brows drew together. "We agreed to wait until the wedding."

"I want to do it today." She caught his cuff between her fingers. "Please, Luc."

He studied her face, his expression cooling. "Give me a reason."

"I just want to."

"If it's a whim, there's no need." He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. "You're running a fever."

He unlocked the doors and lowered the window. "Nate. Drive her home to Tribeca." He looked back at Stella. "Stay in bed today. I'll take a town car to the bidding."

Forty minutes later, Stella walked into the quiet penthouse at 8 Harrison Street. She pulled her personal phone from her bag.

An unread text from an unknown number was waiting on the screen: "This is Celeste Moore. Can we meet?"

Stella gripped the phone and tapped call.

It connected on the second ring. "I'm in the café downstairs from your new office," Stella said, and hung up.