Chapter 85: Dangerous Suspicions
Clara hurried out of the hospital, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floors. Her heart was racing, but not from concern. A dark, thrilled energy pulsed through her veins as she pushed through the automatic doors and stepped into the cool evening air.
She couldn’t stop replaying the moment in her head.
Fiona Flare looking pale, weak, and clearly unwell walking near the maternity and pregnancy wing. The way she had instinctively placed a hand over her stomach. The way her mother had stepped in front of her like a shield.
*Why was she there?*
Clara slid into her car, slamming the door harder than necessary. She sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, her mind spinning with possibilities.
It hadn’t been that long since Fiona broke up with Marcus. A few months at most. Could she be pregnant with his baby? Hiding it from everyone? Or worse...
Clara’s lips curled into a slow, malicious smile.
*...is she carrying Martin’s child?*
The thought sent a thrill through her. If Fiona was pregnant with Martin Mole’s baby while he was engaged to Katherine Thorne, it would be catastrophic. Explosive. The kind of scandal that could ruin reputations, derail mergers, and destroy carefully built empires.
Clara started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, driving faster than she should. Her mind raced ahead of her.
Fiona had been at Voss during the exact time when she and Martin had their "moment." The timing fit. And the way Fiona had looked today exhausted, emotional, defensive screamed guilt. If she was hiding a pregnancy, especially one that belonged to the CEO, it explained so much: the sudden resignation, the emotional breakdowns, the way she had been pulling away from everyone.
Clara laughed softly to herself as she sped toward her apartment.
"This could be really bad for her," she murmured, almost gleefully. "Really, really bad."
By the time she reached her sleek, modern apartment, her excitement had turned into cold calculation. She kicked off her heels, poured herself a glass of wine, and sank onto the couch with her phone in hand.
She opened her messages and stared at Marcus’s name.
Should she tell him?
Marcus had been useful lately jealous, possessive, and still bitter about losing Fiona. If Fiona really was pregnant with Martin’s child, Marcus would lose his mind. He might even do some of her dirty work for her.
But Clara hesitated. Information like this was power. She needed to be sure before she weaponized it.
She took a slow sip of wine, eyes narrowing.
Fiona had looked sick. High fever? Exhaustion? Pregnancy complications were common. And the way her mother had guarded her near the maternity section... it all added up.
Clara leaned back, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips.
If Fiona was carrying Martin’s baby, the scandal would be nuclear. Katherine would be furious. Martin’s engagement, his reputation, his control over Voss — everything would be threatened. And Fiona? She would be painted as the ultimate homewrecker. The employee who seduced the boss and got pregnant to trap him.
Clara’s fingers flew across her phone as she began drafting anonymous messages to a few trusted industry contacts. Nothing direct yet. Just subtle hints.
*"Heard some interesting rumors about a certain ex-Voss employee..."*
She deleted it. Too soon. She needed more proof.
Instead, she sent a message to Marcus.
**Clara:** Saw your precious ex at the hospital today. She looked awful. Was hanging around the maternity wing. Interesting, isn’t it?
She hit send and leaned back, sipping her wine with a predatory smile.
Her phone buzzed. Marcus had replied.
Marcus: What the hell are you talking about? Maternity wing? Are you sure it was her?
Clara’s smile widened. She typed back quickly.
Clara: Positive. She looked sick, but she was right outside the pregnancy unit with her mom guarding her like a hawk. She even put her hand on her stomach when she saw me. Suspicious as hell. You don’t think...?
She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Marcus would connect the dots himself.
Minutes later, her phone rang. Marcus’s name flashed on the screen. She answered with a sweet, innocent tone.
"Hey, babe."
"Don’t ’hey babe’ me," Marcus snapped, his voice tight with barely contained rage. "You really saw her at the maternity wing? Fiona? Are you fucking serious right now?"
Clara leaned forward, excitement building.
"I’m telling you, Marcus. She looked terrible feverish, exhausted. But the way she reacted when she saw me? She was hiding something. And the timing... it hasn’t even been that long since you two broke up. If she’s pregnant, it could be yours. Or..."
She let the silence stretch deliberately.
"Or what?" Marcus growled.
"Or it could be someone else’s," Clara said softly, almost sympathetically. "Someone like... Martin Mole."
The line went dead silent for several seconds. When Marcus spoke again, his voice was low and dangerous.
"You think she’s carrying that bastard’s kid?"
"I don’t know," Clara replied smoothly. "But it would explain a lot. The sudden resignation. The way she’s been avoiding everyone. The way she looked today. If she is pregnant with Martin’s baby while he’s engaged to Katherine... well, that would be quite the scandal, wouldn’t it?"
Marcus cursed loudly on the other end.
"I knew something was off with her. The way she ended things so coldly. The way she’s been hiding. If she’s pregnant with his kid... I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking ruin both of them."
Clara smiled into her wine glass, thrilled at how easily he was taking the bait.
"Just be careful, baby," she cooed. "We don’t have proof yet. But I can dig. I have friends in the hospital. I can find out more. If she really is pregnant, we’ll be the first to know. And when we do... we can decide what to do with that information."
Marcus was breathing hard.
"Find out everything. If she’s carrying his baby, I want to know. And then I want to watch her world burn."
Clara ended the call with a satisfied sigh. She poured herself another glass of wine and leaned back, already planning her next moves.
Fiona Flare had no idea what was coming.
Hospital food was really bad.
Fiona stared at the tray in front of her with a mixture of disgust and exhaustion. The mashed potatoes looked like glue, the chicken was dry and rubbery, and the vegetables were overcooked to the point of being mushy. She poked at the meal with her plastic fork, took one small bite, and immediately pushed the tray away.
Her stomach churned partly from the fever that was finally breaking, partly from the stress that refused to leave her body. She leaned back against the pillows, one hand resting on her small bump.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Come in," Fiona said, her voice weak.
The doctor entered with a kind smile, chart in hand. Elara followed closely behind, having stepped out briefly to speak with the nurse.
"Miss Flare," the doctor said warmly, "your fever has gone down significantly. The blood work looks much better, and the IV fluids have helped with the dehydration. You’re free to go home. Just make sure you continue taking the supplements we prescribed, get plenty of rest, and stay hydrated. Your baby needs you strong right now."
Fiona’s hand instinctively tightened over her belly at the mention of the baby. She was grateful the doctor had kept the pregnancy notes discreet.
"Thank you," she said softly. "I’ll take care of myself."
The doctor nodded and left after giving a few more instructions. Elara helped Fiona gather her things, her movements gentle and motherly.
"You heard the doctor," Elara said. "Rest. No stress. That means no overthinking about work, about Martin, or about Caleb right now. Just focus on getting better."
Fiona nodded, but her mind was drifting to Caleb. She was missing him. Even though she had pushed him away, the emptiness in the room felt heavier without him. The way he had looked at her before leaving full of regret and love kept replaying in her head.
She thought her pregnancy hormones making her emotional and needy?
She didn’t know anymore.
Elara helped her change into the clothes she had brought and signed the discharge papers. As they walked out of the hospital, Fiona leaned on her mother’s arm, still feeling a little weak.
The drive home was quiet. Fiona stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past. Her phone sat in her lap. She kept glancing at it, fighting the urge to text Caleb.
When they finally reached the house, Elara helped her inside and settled her on the couch with a blanket and a cup of ginger tea.
"Rest here for a bit," Elara said. "I’ll make you something light to eat. Real food, not that hospital garbage."
Fiona smiled weakly.
"Thanks, Mom."
As Elara moved around in the kitchen, Fiona pulled out her phone. Her thumb hovered over Caleb’s name. She thought of texting.
She put the phone down.
Not yet.
Not now ....
