Chapter 5 Destiny's Crossroads
Camellia: POV
I pushed the signed investment documents across my desk toward Ethan, the weight of my decision pressing down on me harder than my designer blazer.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of NexaCore's executive suite, Silicon Valley's lights twinkled against the night sky, oblivious to our company's death spiral.
"I've put in everything I have," I said, massaging my temples.
"My savings, investment accounts, even my condo equity. But you don't need to do this, Ethan."
He didn't hesitate, sliding the papers back toward me with his signature already in place.
"This is our company, Cam. From that first line of code we wrote in the Stanford computer lab, it's always been ours."
My smart watch vibrated with another blood pressure warning.
I silenced it with an irritated tap.
"Even with both our savings combined, it's barely enough to keep the lights on for three months," I said, unable to keep the exhaustion from my voice.
"The mastermind behind the scenes has too many connections."
"He's made sure every investor in the Valley knows to stay away from us."
Ethan perched on the edge of my desk, his eyes reflecting the determination I'd come to rely on over the years.
"We've faced worse odds."
"Have we?" I turned to face the window, my reflection ghostly against the darkness.
"From the moment we launched our first algorithm to now—with the entire industry turning against us—you've never wavered. Not once."
He shrugged, but I could see the pride my words stirred in him.
"Someone has to keep you from working yourself to death."
"That's your grand plan? To be my babysitter?" I attempted a smile.
Ethan cleared his throat, suddenly intensely interested in straightening his already perfect tie.
"You know, there's another way you could thank me."
The shift in his tone made me turn.
"Ethan..." I started, unsure how to respond.
"Think about it, Cam," he said, voice soft but steady.
"Us. Together. Not just professionally. We make sense."
I placed my hand gently on his arm, forcing a small smile.
"Don't joke about this. You've dated nothing but those sweet MBA girls from Stanford who bake cookies and know how to host dinner parties."
"I'm a workaholic who forgets to eat unless my AI assistant reminds me."
Ethan's professional mask slid back into place, though his eyes still betrayed him.
"Right. Of course. Who would want that?"
As he walked toward the door, shoulders slightly slumped, my encrypted phone buzzed.
Richard Bloom's name flashed on the screen.
"I need to take this," I said, grateful for the interruption.
I retreated to the private corner of my office while Ethan nodded and quietly closed the door behind him.
"What do you want, Richard?" I answered, keeping my voice low.
"Camellia, at the dinner tonight, Victoria brought up what she saw at Memorial Hospital," Richard said, his voice taut with urgency. "She noticed you were in the OB-GYN department and suspects you're pregnant. She hasn't figured out the full story, but the family's already starting to question me.”
He paused, then said, "They're suspicious, and it's only a matter of time before they dig deeper. We can't let this spiral out of control."
"I've arranged an appointment at Greenfield Clinic on Long Island's North Shore. Completely private. Three o'clock tomorrow. I'll go with you so we can figure out our next move."
My heart rate spiked, and my grip on the phone tightened.
"Does she know anything about us—about our connection to this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Not yet," Richard replied, his tone clipped. "She's only focused on the pregnancy for now, but she's asking pointed questions.”
“My family's watching me closely, and if they start connecting the dots, we're in trouble. We need to handle this discreetly. Tomorrow at the clinic, we'll plan how to manage this before it blows up."
I should have refused.
Should have told him I could handle this myself.
But exhaustion was seeping into my bones, making even basic decisions feel overwhelming.
"Fine. Text me the details." I hung up without waiting for his response.
My hand drifted unconsciously to my stomach as I stared at the city lights below.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"In another life, maybe. But not in this war."
The Greenfield Clinic screamed old money discretion—understated luxury that would make most five-star hotels seem gaudy.
No flashy signs, just tasteful landscaping and a security system I could appreciate as both an entrepreneur and a woman who valued privacy.
Richard sat across from me in the VIP waiting area, flipping through a magazine he clearly wasn't reading.
I focused on the intake forms, methodically checking boxes and trying to ignore the surreal nature of our situation.
The soft ding of the elevator made us both look up.
My blood turned to ice.
Elizabeth Bloom glided into the waiting area, the perfect picture of Upper East Side elegance in her cream-colored suit, pearl earrings catching the soft lighting.
Behind her stood Victoria, her expression grave and assessing.
Richard shot to his feet.
"Mother? Vic? What the—how did you—"
Elizabeth Bloom raised one perfectly manicured hand, silencing her son mid-sentence.
Her gaze, surprisingly warm despite the circumstances, turned to me before settling back on Richard.
"Richard Bloom," she said, her voice surprisingly gentle yet commanding.
"Look me in the eye and tell me: is Camellia Frost carrying your child?"
Richard went pale.
I remained seated, my spine stiffening automatically into the posture that had carried me through countless hostile boardroom negotiations.
"The Bloom family has upheld certain standards for five generations," Elizabeth continued when Richard failed to respond.
"Your grandfather served this country with honor and never once shirked his responsibilities."
Victoria crossed her arms, her designer watch glinting accusingly.
"If Grandpa William knew what you've done to a Frost daughter, he'd be more furious than when you wrecked his '65 Mustang."
Richard's mouth opened and closed, no sound emerging.
I could practically see the thoughts racing behind his eyes: 'But she was the one who...'
I almost felt sorry for him.
Victoria pulled out her phone.
"I'm calling Grandpa. He needs to be at tonight's family dinner when we discuss this. As the Bloom heir, you need to step up, Richard. You need to marry Camellia."
I set down my clipboard with deliberate calm.
"This was an accident," I said, meeting Victoria's gaze directly.
"We're both adults. Forced marriages don't make anyone happy—including the child."
Victoria's eyes flashed.
"In our family, responsibility and honor come before personal feelings. As for marital harmony—" her perfectly glossed lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes, "—the Bloom family has enough resources and influence to ensure Richard becomes a suitable husband and father."
The clinical euphemism for abortion stared up at me from the intake form.
A simple checkbox that could make this all go away.
My company was imploding.
My life's work hanging by a thread.
A child was the last complication I needed.
Yet I couldn't bring myself to check that box.
"Richard," Victoria said sharply, "what do you have to say for yourself?"
The air in the waiting room felt thick and static, like the moment before lightning strikes.
Medical staff wisely kept their distance from our corner of the clinic.
Richard's composed facade finally cracked.
"Has any of you—" his voice started low but built in intensity, "—for even one minute, considered how I feel about any of this?"