Pregnancy Scandal: The CEO Thinks He's Sterile

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You're slacking. At this rate, when do we secure the heir so I can file the divorce papers?

Ten o'clock sharp.

My nemesis, who unfortunately doubles as my husband, was calling to demand his daily procreation quota.

I was currently passed out in my office, hiding from the world. My phone had automatically switched to AI Concierge Mode.

The AI answered. Its voice was a deep, synthesized baritone that sounded suspiciously like a bedroom dominance track.

My Master is asleep. I will relay your message when she wakes.

Dead silence on the other end of the line.

The kind of heavy, pressurized silence that precedes an explosion. Then, a roar that vibrated through the speaker.

Merritt! You dare keep another dog behind my back?

I woke up staring at a string of missed calls and felt my stomach drop.

I am so dead.

I could bathe in holy water and still look guilty.

Chapter 1

I fully woke up at 2 A.M. I looked down at my dress. The couture fabric was wrinkled beyond recognition, looking like a crumpled receipt.

I cursed under my breath and peeled myself off the office sofa. I started rummaging through my desk drawer for a spare outfit while tapping the screen to disable Do Not Disturb.

The AI assistant chimed in immediately.

Good evening, Master. During your silence, you received a missed call from Vance. Would you like a summary of the conversation?

I was busy struggling with a zipper, so I tossed the phone onto the mahogany desk. Speak.

The AI replied in that soothing, low-frequency male voice.

Certainly, Master. Vance called last night at 10 P.M. He urged you to return home and criticized your lack of diligence.

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my own brain stem.

The Wens and the Hans. We are Old Money. Ancient history.

Vance and I were engaged before we were even born. A merger written in DNA and stock options.

But we didn't just dislike each other. We were natural enemies.

Vance was cold, arrogant, and sharp enough to cut glass. I was competitive, petty, and refused to give a single inch.

High school was a war for G.P.A. dominance. College was a battle for scholarships we didn't even need. When we took over our respective family empires, the rivalry turned into corporate sabotage.

We were the most famous enemies in our tax bracket.

But for the sake of the family legacy, we held our noses and signed the marriage license. We had a secret treaty. Produce an heir with the perfect genetic cocktail of both families. Then divorce. Immediately.

The prenup negotiation was a bloodbath. We fought over everything.

The wedding date. The baby's prospective name. The zodiac sign. We even had a screaming match over the shade of the master bedroom curtains.

We have been married for three months. Every night at 10 P.M., we perform our duty.

It isn't lovemaking. It is a contact sport.

Vance grips my hips hard enough to leave a ring of fingerprint bruises on my skin. I tie his wrists to the headboard, slap his face, and force him to call me Master.

The next morning, we wipe the slate clean. We trade insults over coffee and go to our separate offices.

If Vance found out I was talking a big game but secretly hiding in my office to nap like a toddler? I would never hear the end of it.

It would be a complete humiliation.

Chapter 2

I had just finished zipping up my dress when the AI assistant added a footnote.

Furthermore, at the conclusion of the call, Vance expressed a vehement opposition to your acquisition of a canine.

I froze. My hand hovered over the phone.

Last weekend, I had driven solo to the outskirts of the city. I put a deposit down on a puppy.

When we drafted the parenting plan for the post-divorce era, we reached a consensus on pets. Science suggests that exposure to animals in early childhood builds immunity and empathy.

I wanted a dog. Vance, predictably, is a cat person.

I scoffed and killed the screen. Who cares what he wants? Once I secure the pregnancy and kick the father to the curb, I'll turn this villa into a kennel if I please.

I returned to the villa deep into the night. I expected darkness. I opened the door and hit a wall of pressure.

Vance was sitting on the sofa.

He wasn't lounging. He was a statue carved from ice and judgment. His hands were clasped under his chin. His eyes tracked me like a predator watching a gazelle step into the clearing.

Merritt. Do you know what time it is? Do you even remember you have a home?

The Han family runs a tight ship. Vance was raised with a curfew. Even as a grown man, he adheres to it with pathological strictness. Home by 10 P.M. No exceptions. If he's late, he files a report.

I didn't marry into the military.

I swallowed the sudden spike of adrenalineguilt, or maybe fearand lifted my chin.

The Wen family holds half the title to this estate. I don't need a hall pass to walk through my own front door.

I tossed my clutch at his chest. I didn't wait for it to hit. I turned on my heel and headed for the master bedroom.

He didn't stumble. He didn't scramble. One moment he was on the couch, the next he was blocking my path.

His hand shot out. It clamped around my wrist.

Absolute zero.

Merritt. His voice was low, vibrating in the hollow of my throat. You are my wife. You stay out all night. You owe me an explanation.

The grip tightened. It wasn't just a hold; it was a calibration of strength. Pain radiated up my arm, sharp and grounding.

I tried to wrench free. Immovable object.

I looked up, meeting his gaze. My heart hammered against my ribsa traitorous, erratic rhythm.

Then as my husband, you should understand the concept of a career. I'm not a lady of leisure. I work.

Vance's eyes traveled down my body. A slow, clinical scan that made my skin prickle. He let out a cold, sharp laugh.

Work? What kind of work keeps you out until 2 A.M. and requires a costume change?

I frowned. Vance is usually cold, but tonight he was aggressive. The air around him felt heavy, displacing the oxygen in the room.

I couldn't tell him the truth. I couldn't admit that he had dismantled me so thoroughly the night before that my bones felt like liquid, and I had spent the day unconscious on my office sofa, ruining my original dress.

I looked him in the eye and lied. Entertaining clients.

Chapter 3

Vance moved. Silent. Implacable. He closed the distance until he consumed the negative space between us. He looked down, his gaze dropping temperature until it burned cold. Laser-focused.

Merritt. Is entertaining clients more critical than our union?

Too close. My heart stuttereda biological glitch, nothing more.

I engaged my defense mechanism before I could analyze the flutter in my chest.

Is there a need to compare? To me, charming clients and being Mrs. Han are the same thing. Just job descriptions for the Wen heiress.

Vance froze. A flicker of somethingpain? shock?crossed his face before the mask slammed back down.

He let out a low, dry laugh. Sounding like sandpaper on silk.

Just a job? Fine. Then let's clock in.

Impact.

He slammed me against the wall. Before my lungs could reinflate, he was there.

He didn't kiss me. He buried his face in the curve of my neck and inhaled. A deep, ragged intake of breath against the sensitive skin behind my ear.

He was a large, dangerous predator scenting the air, hunting for a pheromone signature that wasn't his. Checking for another male's touch. His breath was hot, wet, and heavy.

A violent shiver traced my spine, bypassing my brain entirely.

We hate each other. We are chemically volatile. But our bodies? They are traitors. They fit like puzzle pieces designed by a sadist.

But the lights were on. Blazing, unforgiving halogen. My face burned. I flattened my hands against the solid wall of his chest and pushed.

Not tonight. Your performance is lackluster. You can't tire me out, but the clients did.

Vance went rigid. Stone cold. He pulled back just enough to look at me, incredulity warring with a dark, feral rage.

I'm lackluster?

His hand on my waist tightened. Not holding. Claiming. The pressure bordered on bruising.

If I'm not good enough, Merritt, who is?

My waist throbbed. The pain spiked my adrenaline.

Three months and no heir? The evidence speaks for itself. You're shooting blanks, Vance. At this rate, I'd have better luck praying to a statue at a fertility temple than sleeping with you!

Vance slammed the door so hard the frame rattled.

He didn't go back to the Han estate. He drove straight to my parents' house. And moved in.

I don't know what he told them, but my parents started a phone campaign that bordered on harassment. I finally surrendered and drove to the Wen manor.

I walked into the foyer and froze. The kitchen. Two men.

My father, Paul, was at the sink washing grapes. And beside him, at the island counter, was Vance.

He was chopping vegetables with surgical precision. He had shed his suit jacket. He was wearing a beige shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing veiny forearms.

And he was wearing a pink apron.

The sharp, lethal angles of his usual hostility were gone, replaced by a domestic softness that was

Annoyingly hot.

Chapter 4

My eyes burned. Poser. I walked into the kitchen.

Paul looked ready to lecture me. I didn't give him the opening. I sashayed up to Vance and wrapped my arm around his bicep. Domestic bliss in high definition.

Honey. You ran away to my parents' house without telling me? Are we five years old?

As the heir, I need to project maturity. Only then will my parents feel safe handing over full control. A happy marriage is the ultimate stability metric.

I steered Paul out of the room before Vance could react. Dad, go relax. We'll handle dinner.

At the counter. The faucet ran, a white noise curtain for our war. We stood shoulder to shoulder.

I scrubbed the grapes aggressively. My voice dropped to a hiss.

Vance. How long are you going to keep this up? Planning to squat here forever and steal my spot as the favorite child?

Vance arranged cherry tomatoes on a plate with psychopathic precision. His voice was flat.

Why? I thought I was incompetent. Why are you begging me to come back?

I scoffed and slammed the faucet handle down. Newlyweds living apart? Do you want the shareholders to panic?

Vance shot me a cold look. He was about to snap. Then I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye. My parents, Paul and Claudia, were peeking around the doorframe like spies.

Vance saw them too.

The switch was instant. He pulled me in by the waist. His body flush against mine. Intimate. Possessive.

From the doorway, it looked like a tender moment between lovers. He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of my ear.

Your parents showed me the photo albums. The naked bathtub series. You were much more tolerable when you were toothless.

Mutually Assured Destruction? Fine. I smiled, the picture of a blushing bride. I picked up a grape and pressed it against his lips.

You know how the fiddle-leaf figs at your startups always died? I watered them. With boiling water.

Vance opened his mouth and accepted the grape. His eyes were soft, pooling with fake adoration.

Junior year. The 800-meter run you despised? I forged your signature on the sign-up sheet.

I almost blacked out after that race. I thought he carried me to the nurse out of kindness. It was guilt.

I gritted my teeth behind a sugar-sweet smile. I leaned my head against his solid chest.

Your valedictorian speech. You thought you choked? I swapped your cough drops for saltwater taffy. You weren't speechless; your jaw was glued shut.

That era was the peak of our rivalry. Back when we were forced to share a desk.

Chapter 5

Every recess, while Vance slept at his desk, I raided his blazer pockets for taffy. Who knew the untouchable Ice Prince had a sweet tooth?

I stole from him constantly. He never caught me. The next time I went fishing in his pocket, it would be full again.

Idiot.

My parents watched us cuddling, nodded in approval, and finally left. The front door clicked shut.

I dropped the act instantly. I narrowed my eyes and grabbed Vance's tie. I yanked him down to my level.

Sore loser? You can't win an argument, so you run to the parents to snitch? Are we in kindergarten, Vance?

Vance didn't resist the pull. He used it. He followed the momentum, leaning down until his face hovered inches from mine.

He planted his hands on the edge of the island counter.

Impact.

He caged me in. His arms formed steel bars on either side of my waist. His dark eyes locked onto mine, stripping away the pretense.

I glared back. I don't flinch. The air between us thickened, heavy with static.

Vance's voice dropped. A low rumble in his chest.

Merritt. Give me the truth. One sentence. Are you keeping another dog behind my back?

I didn't hesitate. Yes. But don't worry. Since you hate them, I'm keeping it outside. It won't cross your path.

Vance went silent. The silence stretched, suffocating and dense.

Then, a laugh. Short. Harsh. Self-deprecating.

Then what am I?

I blinked. What kind of question is that? I answered on instinct.

You're my husband. You're the father of my future child.

Let's be real. In a sea of trust fund failures and incompetent heirs, Vance is the apex predator. He has the looks. The brain. He turned the Han conglomerate into a fortress.

He is the optimal genetic donor. I've even considered keeping him around after the heir is secured. If he learns to behave.

I thought I was being complimentary. Vance stared at me. The intensity in his eyes didn't waver.

That's it? Just a function?

I froze. What else did he want? First the curfew, now he's banning me from having a pet?

I let out a cold laugh. We signed a business contract, Vance. You're micromanaging.

Vance's throat worked. A sharp, visible movement of his Adam's apple. His voice dropped to absolute zero.

Merritt. I just don't want you creating a scandal. I don't want the circle laughing at us. We are not divorced yet.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my skin.

I am still your husband.

He weighed the word down, making it sound less like a title and more like a threat.

Chapter 6

I scoffed.

A scandal? Over a puppy? What's the worst case scenario? The Paw Patrol goes rogue and raids a butcher shop?

I reached up and patted his cheek. His jawline was sharp enough to draw blood. I smirked, channeling every ounce of bratty heiress energy I possessed.

In such a rush to divorce me? Then do your homework. Watch some videos. Put a little more effort into the night shift so I can pop out an heir and set you free.

I leaned in close, my breath ghosting over his ear. I dragged out the syllable like molasses.

Hubby.

I regretted that immediately.

Since we returned from my parents' place, Vance treated my taunt like a corporate KPI target. His performance in the bedroom didn't just improve; it skyrocketed. He became lethal.

Night after night, he pulled tricks I didn't know existed. There were moments I had to shred the bedsheets to keep from screaming the house down.

One night, with tears streaming down my face and my legs shaking, I grabbed a fistful of his hair.

Where the hell did you learn that?

Vance pulled me into a kiss, deep and possessive. He smirked against my lips.

Study materials. I watched them on loop. Wifey.

My sleep schedule was destroyed. We went to visit the in-laws.

Catherine, Vance's mother, is a devout Buddhist. She was preaching about a fertility temple on the outskirts of the city, claiming the Goddess of Mercy there had a 100% success rate.

I was so exhausted I blacked out mid-conversation. I slumped onto the sofa and died to the world.

I woke up to Catherine sitting beside me. She was staring at my wrist with a mixture of horror and maternal rage. She was looking at the ring of dark bruises left by Vance's grip.

Merritt did Vance do this? That boy. I need to have a serious word with him.

To avoid the 10:00 P.M. "duty," I started lying about overtime. I barricaded myself in my office for days.

I didn't expect Vance to breach the perimeter.

9:30 P.M. He knocked and entered, carrying a thermos of chicken soup like a peace offering.

He didn't sit. He patrolled. He circled my office, his eyes scanning the environment. He stopped at the fabric sofamy secret napping spot.

He picked up a few strands of chestnut hair from the cushion. My heart slammed against my ribs.

Vance is meticulous. He notices everything. He saw my panic. He raised an eyebrow.

It's your hair. No one else's. Why do you look like you're about to be executed?

I couldn't tell him the truththat I was dodging his stamina because my body felt like it had been run over by a truck. I drank the soup under his supervision.

When I finished, Vance patted the sofa beside him.

I've picked up some new techniques. But you're always working. If you think you can handle it we can fulfill our quota right here.

My stomach dropped. But the Wen family motto might as well be Never Back Down.

I lifted my chin. Bring it on. Who's scared?

Vance nodded. Slowly, deliberately, he undid the clasp of his watch.

Click.

He slid the expensive timepiece off his wrist and set it on the low table. The metal hit the wood with a heavy thud. It was a subtle, silent invitation to violence.

Just then, his phone buzzed on the table. Caller ID: Franklin.

Vance frowned. The mood shattered. He picked up the phone.

Chapter 7

Franklin's voice crackled over the speaker. Vance. Your mother wanted me to have a word with you.

Vance checked his watch. About what?

Franklin struggled with the words. You could practically hear him sweating. It's about marital relations. The mechanics of it

Vance cut him off. Impatient.

Dad. If you and Mom are having performance issues, come by tomorrow. I'll draw you a diagram. I'll walk you through it. I'm busy right now. Goodbye.

Franklin was confused. Click.

Vance tossed the phone aside.

He reached up and yanked his collar loose. The top button popped, pinging against the floor. Then, he pulled off his silk tie.

With steady, deliberate movements, he wound the fabric around his own wrists. He pulled the knot tight with his teeth.

He looked up at me. His face was a mask of calm composure, but the tips of his ears were burning a violent shade of crimson.

Well? His voice was rough, a low grit against the silence. What are you staring at? Isn't this your favorite game?

Months later. The Temple of Mercy.

Six months of marriage. Six months of hate-fucking like rabbits on Adderall. And still, my stomach remained flat.

To appease the elders and their obsession with lineage, I dragged Vance to the temple to bribe the fertility gods.

Lunch had been a mistake. The fish chowder was too rich, too oily. The phantom taste of seafood still coated the back of my throat, thick and nauseating.

While Vance stayed in the main hall to burn incense and offer huge sums of money, I slipped out. I needed air. My chest felt tight, a physical band of pressure constricting my lungs.

But even nauseous, I'm a businesswoman. I spotted a monk walking by and intercepted him.

Excuse me. Which way to the Hall of Fortune? I have a deal pending.

The monk turned around. I froze.

Rupert? Cousin?

Rupert is six months older than me. He's been living in exile in the UK for years.

Rumor had it he fled to escape an arranged marriage andin a stroke of genius or madnessordained as a monk.

It worked out for him. He branded himself as the "Buddha of Belgravia." A playboy ascetic. His DMs were busier than a stock exchange.

Now, he stood there with a freshly shaved, shiny bald head. He twirled a string of prayer beads around his wrist. They weren't wood. They were solid, 24-karat gold. Heavy enough to use as a flail.

He chanted a performative "Amitabha," claiming he was back to spread Mahayana Buddhism.

Translation: He got bored of London nightlife.

We walked through the temple grounds. I filled him in on the prenup and the baby-making contract.

Rupert shook his head, the gold beads clanking.

Sis. How did you end up with Vance? The guy is such a poser.

Rupert's hatred for Vance dates back to kindergarten. To me, Vance is a nemesis. A rival. To Rupert, Vance is the sun that blots out his existence.

Vance was the "Gifted Child." The metric every other heir was measured against.

Rupert took it personally. He viewed Vance as his mortal enemy. He studied until his eyes bled. He hired tutors. He sacrificed his social life.

And in the college entrance exams, Vance still beat him by a humiliating margin.

Before Rupert was shipped off to the UK, he cornered Vance. He pointed a trembling finger at the sky and swore a blood oath.

Vance! Just you wait! I will return, and I will destroy you!

Vance had looked up from his book, genuinely confused.

Who are you again?

Chapter 8

Three words. Who are you?

That was all it took to shatter Rupert's ego into dust. It was his villain origin story. He abandoned his academic ambitions and rebranded himself as a hedonistic playboy.

Later, the Qin family shifted their business focus to overseas markets. His parents, including my Aunt Natalia, moved to London years ago.

Now. Fresh from bribing the God of Wealth.

Rupert felt a sudden urge to connect with family. He video-called Natalia.

I was fighting a losing battle against vertigo and nausea, but I forced a smile and exchanged pleasantries with my aunt and uncle. It didn't last long.

Natalia started her favorite lecture: Compare Rupert to Vance.

Rupert, look at yourself. Look at Vance. He married Merritt, and they are the picture of domestic bliss. They are practically CoupleGoals. Why can't you settle down?

The name "Vance" acted like a sleeper agent activation code. Rupert snapped.

He threw his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into a suffocating side-hug. He shouted at the phone screen.

Goals? You think they're goals? Fine! I'll marry Merritt too! They're getting divorced anyway!

Natalia's scream of rage was cut off. Not by the internet connection. But by a voice behind me.

Low. Baritone. Vibrating with a frequency that signaled imminent violence.

Merritt. What are you doing?

I froze. Rupert's aggressive hug had churned my already unstable stomach. I clamped a hand over my mouth, fighting the urge to vomit. I couldn't speak. I just waved my hand weakly at Vance.

Vance didn't look at me. His gazecold, flat, and lethallanded on Rupert.

Who are you?

I heard Rupert inhale sharply. A gasp of pure, unadulterated trauma. If he had hair, it would be standing on end.

Rupert gritted his teeth. Who the hell do you think you are?! Daring to question me? You motherfAmitabha.

Vance let out a cold laugh. I'm her husband. Who are you to touch her?

Rupert sneered. He crossed his arms over his saffron robes.

Husband? You're a contract obligation. I've hated you for twenty years, Vance. And guess what? Merritt told me everything. As soon as she gets pregnant, she's dumping your ass!

Rupert opened his mouth to continue his tirade. He never got the chance.

Vance moved. Kinetic blur.

He stepped forward, grabbed Rupert by the collar of his robes, and yanked. It wasn't a polite separation. It was an eviction from my personal space.

Rupert didn't just stumble; he flew. He hit the stone pavement with a thud and a squeal like a stuck pig that echoed through the temple courtyard.

Vance loomed over him. The air around him crackled with dark energy. He looked ready to commit a felony.

Rupert was still shouting insults from the ground. I panicked. If Vance killed a monk in a temple, the PR cleanup would be a nightmare.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and stepped in front of Vance. Blocking his path. Stop!

Vance froze. The motion stopped instantly, but the energy didn't dissipate.

He looked down at me. His eyes were rimmed with red. A dark, muddy mix of rage and something that looked painfully like betrayal.

So. It's him? His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

That explains it. That night in your office I couldn't find any stray hairs on the couch. Because he doesn't have any. I see.

Behind me, Rupert scrambled to his feet, rubbing his backside. He glared at Vance, then grabbed my shoulders and started shaking me like a ragdoll.

He pushed me! Did you see that? He physically assaulted a man of the cloth! Merritt! Say something! Defend me!

Chapter 9

My stomach was already a war zone. Rupert's violent shaking was the nuclear option. I couldn't hold it back.

Urgh

I threw up.

It wasn't a polite little gag. It was a full-system purge. The world spun. Gravity seemed to be pulling me in three directions at once. I couldn't breathe.

Through the haze, I heard Rupert mumbling to himself, sounding genuinely terrified.

Is the Goddess of Mercy working on 5G speeds? Instant conception?

My legs gave out. The ground rushed up to meet me. Before the darkness swallowed me whole, my retina captured one last image.

Vance.

He was sprinting toward me. The mask of cold indifference was gone. His face was twisted in an expression I had never seen on him before.

Panic