"This... I... what..." Frederick stuttered, his voice cracking in disbelief.
Samantha closed her eyes as tears silently rolled down her cheeks. Resignation weighed heavily on her shoulders.
"You're all shouting so loud you're making Samantha cry." Chris's voice cut through the chaos, calm yet dangerously sharp. His eyes narrowed. "I should be the only one making her cry. I didn't give any of you that right."
Samantha's eyes snapped open in disbelief. She turned to the man towering beside her and scoffed. What was he saying now?
She pushed at his chest, trying to distance herself, but he caught her again—effortlessly, possessively.
"Stay," Chris commanded.
Samantha froze, startled by his tone. Her body obeyed before her brain could protest.
Chris scanned the room, his gaze like ice. "So... what's the problem?"
This devil is going to make everything worse, Samantha thought, her heart thundering in her chest. How was she supposed to explain HIM... in her bedroom?
"Samantha, WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" James exploded, his anger now volcanic.
"I'm sorry-"
But what was she even apologizing for? The truth? The chaos? The man now holding her like he had every right?
"I swear I can explain." She tried again to remove Chris's hand from her waist, but his grip didn't budge. Not even a finger moved.
"What is this nonsense?!" James growled again.
Chris glanced at the doctor coolly. "Did you say Samantha is pregnant?"
"Yes, she is," the doctor confirmed.
Samantha immediately took a step away from him, trying to reclaim some distance, some control — but Chris yanked her back. Her body slammed gently against his.
"If you're angry, take it out on me," she said quickly, hands clasped, voice pleading. "Please... don't hurt my father or the company."
"Why would he do that," Chris said smoothly, "when he's about to be a grandpa?"
"David Christian Rice!" James barked, his face contorting in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?" Who's a grandpa? Me?!"
Chris nodded innocently. "My full government name already? You must really be upset." He turned to Samantha with a teasing smile. "You're scaring my new bride, Dad."
Samantha blinked. Bride?
But that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was...
"Your name is David Christian... Rice?" She said slowly, each word sharp like a blade.
"Yeah," Chris shrugged. "My parents couldn't decide on a name. Dad chose David. Mom liked Christian."
His voice dropped to a low murmur as he stared into her eyes. "Why? Did you have a lover named Chris?"
Samantha stumbled backward as though the words had slapped her. Chris let her go this time.
Her heart stopped. Her lungs seized. Her eyes widened in dawning horror.
He knew.
Chris was Dave, the man she had met in Vegas. The father of her child. The man she thought she'd never see again.
And now, he stood here, calm... smiling.
Her stomach dropped. His smile wasn't comforting—it was terrifying. That smirk told her everything she feared.
He knew everything.
And now he was going to make her life a living hell.
[|]
"You should lie down," James said gently, tucking the duvet around her like she was a child. "You're not to move until the doctor says so."
Samantha stayed still, her head the only visible part above the covers.
James turned to his son, voice low but tight with restrained fury.
"You want to explain how she's pregnant with your child? Last I checked, the wedding was the first time you two met."
Chris said nothing. His eyes were glued to Samantha's still form, unreadable, unsettling.
"Will you say something?" James snapped. "I can't read your damn mind!"
Still nothing.
But Samantha could feel his stare, like fire burning through the fabric. She clutched the covers tighter, trying to still her trembling fingers.
She couldn't understand him. One minute he was cold, the next tender. Was he protecting her... or toying with her?
She kept her eyes closed, hoping to disappear. But every person in the room was staring at either her or Chris.
What if he tells them what happened in Paris? Her heart raced at the thought. Even if the child was his, his father would still judge her for what she did back then.
"Everyone, please leave the room," Chris suddenly said, his voice calm.
"Not until you answer my question," James growled. "How is Samantha pregnant with your child?"
"I'm also confused," Catherine added, raising her hand like a nosy schoolchild.
Natalie yanked her arm down with a glare.
"See?" James pointed out. "Even her friends didn't know. Only the two of you did!"
Frederick stood stiffly by the wall, pale and trembling.
Chris ignored them all. He walked over to the bed and sat beside Samantha.
She tensed.
Then, under the duvet, she felt his hand find hers. He gently laced their fingers and began stroking her palm with his thumb.
Her heart slammed against her chest. Why was he being gentle now?
What game is he playing?
Chris was like a malfunctioning traffic light. Red. Green. Yellow. Back to red again. No direction made sense.
Did he hate her? Care for her? Was this all part of some twisted revenge?
And why--why--
Was he smiling again?
She tried pulling her hand away. He tightened his grip.
"Stay," he whispered to her again.
Then he looked up at his father.
"Why are you still here?"
James blinked. "What?"
"Dad, my wife and I just found out we're having a baby," Chris said calmly. "And today is also our honeymoon."
"That's not the answer I asked for!" James snapped.
"I know." Chris smiled faintly. "But today is still our honeymoon."
"What the hell does that have to do with anything?!"
Chris stood. His voice was still polite, but iron-hard now. "I need you all to leave. My wife needs to rest."
The silence that followed was tense and cold. But one by one, the room cleared out.
And then. Click. The door shut.
Chris turned to her again.
"We're alone now," he said softly.
I know, Samantha thought dreadfully.
The seconds passed in silence. Samantha and Dave—or Chris, whatever his name was--stared at one another. They were alone now; everyone had left.
Dave opened his mouth to speak, but bit his bottom lip and stopped himself.
"Hi," he finally said.
Samantha raised her brows and scoffed. Rolling her eyes, she pulled the cover from her body and stepped down from the bed.
"What are you-"
She didn't answer him. She walked towards the door.
"You've tried running away before. You know how that turned out," Dave leaned back against the bedframe, folding his arms. He watched her lazily.
Samantha chuckled sarcastically.
She turned the key in and locked the door. Dave raised a brow, surprised but amused. She turned back to face him, her eyes filled with murderous intent as she leaned lazily against the door, sizing him up.
"So, what do I call you? Dave or Chris?" she asked softly, twirling the key in her hand.
Dave pretended not to notice. "Whatever floats your boat," He shrugged. "Everyone calls me Dave, but since we're married and all, you're special. You can call me Chris, if that's what you like." He smirked and winked. "I'll give you the right."
"Right?" Samantha clapped and laughed loudly, shaking her head in disbelief. She waved her hand apologetically, trying to hold back her laughter. "I swear, I was trying not to laugh, but your audacity, God, it was too...too much."
She burst into another fit of laughter.
Dave's eyes darkened, though his posture remained calm. "You shouldn't say that about your husband," he said calmly.
Samantha's gaze flickered toward the floor—toward the four-inch heels she'd worn earlier for the wedding. She didn't think. She just moved.
She snatched up the shoe and hurled it at his head.