Chapter 6 Responsibility and Deals
Richard: POV
I stood outside Greenfield Clinic, the world spinning as nausea gripped me. My mother’s and Victoria’s words echoed in my mind, heavy as a stone.
"As the Bloom heir, you need to step up, Richard. You need to marry Camellia."
Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the cool evening air. I swallowed hard, fighting the bile in my throat. “I’ll consider it,” I muttered, my voice barely audible.
Turning from their concerned faces, I bolted into the nearest men’s room, barely reaching the stall before retching violently.
Fuck this. Fuck whatever twisted biological connection was making me experience morning sickness for a baby I never planned with a woman I hardly knew.
“You’re fucking with us, right?” Marcus leaned forward, his expression a mix of horror and fascination.
In the VIP section of The Vault, ambient music hummed as the amber whiskey in my untouched glass caught the dim light.
I’d gathered Nathan, Marcus, and James for an emergency drinking session—though I stuck to water. “I wish I were,” I said, pushing the whiskey away, its smell turning my stomach.
“Two months ago, I slept with Camellia Frost after coming out of the restroom. Now she’s pregnant, and my family wants me to marry her.”
James whistled low. “Camellia Frost? The Ice Queen of Silicon Valley? How did you even—”
“She was drugged,” I cut in, massaging my temples. “Some asshole spiked her drink. I helped her to her room, and… things happened.”
“And now you’re puking every morning?” Marcus asked, eyebrows raised. “Like some weird sympathy pregnancy?”
I nodded miserably. “Doctor called it ‘Couvade syndrome.’ My body thinks it’s pregnant too.”
Marcus handed me a mint. “Dude, that’s messed up.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered.
“Marry her?” James shook his head. “Dude, you're signing up for a life sentence in the arctic circle. That woman is legendary for freezing out her own executives.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Nathan interjected. “I’ve done business with her. She’s brilliant, driven, demanding—but not unreasonable.”
Marcus shot Nathan a skeptical look. “You’re just saying that because you funded her early projects.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true,” Nathan replied evenly. “But Richard—” His penetrating stare pinned me. “This isn’t just about the baby or your family, is it?”
Before I could answer, nausea hit again. “Excuse me,” I mumbled, rushing to the restroom.
When I returned, their concerned glances followed me.
Marcus handed me water and another mint. “You got the whole package, huh? A cosmic joke—getting her pregnant and suffering the symptoms.”
Nathan’s gaze hadn’t wavered. “You didn’t answer me. Have you moved on from Claire? Are you really considering marrying Camellia?”
The question stung worse than the nausea.
I stared at my glass, avoiding his eyes. “What difference does it make? Claire’s living her European dream with her French photographer. She made her choice.”
“That’s not an answer,” Nathan pressed.
I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “If I can’t marry who I want, what does it matter? Besides, Camellia and I are already connected in some fucked-up biological way.”
“That’s a terrible reason to marry,” James said.
“You think I don’t know that?” I snapped, then sighed. “Sorry. I just… don’t know what to do.”
Nathan’s expression softened. “I’m not worried about Camellia. She can handle herself. I’m worried about you. Marriage isn’t an escape.”
I waved off the waiter approaching with another drink. “Water, please. With lemon.”
The irony wasn’t lost on me—Richard Bloom, notorious party boy, ordering water at The Vault.
“Maybe this is what I need,” I said finally. “Something to force me to grow up. To move on.” Even I didn’t sound convinced.
At 2 AM, I stumbled from the bathroom in my Manhattan apartment, wiping my mouth.
This was ridiculous—I couldn’t keep anything down.
Standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, I gazed at the city lights, rolling anti-nausea pills in my palm. “Fucking ironic,” I muttered. “I’m more pregnant than she is.”
My phone felt heavy as I scrolled to Camellia’s number.
We hadn’t spoken since our confrontation at the clinic.
Before I could overthink, I called.
She answered on the fourth ring, voice guarded but alert. “Richard?”
“I’ll marry you,” I said without preamble, steadier than I felt.
Silence stretched so long I thought the call dropped. “Have you lost your mind, Richard Bloom?” she finally asked, disbelief clear. “Or is this a Bloom family trick?”
Another wave of dizziness hit; I leaned against the window. “If I told you I’ve been throwing up every morning because of your baby, would you believe I’m serious?”
“I need to take responsibility,” I continued, staring at the city.
My hand brushed a framed photo of Claire on the coffee table.
“If this is out of misplaced duty, don’t,” Camellia replied sharply. “Neither of us will be happy, and that’s not fair—especially to a child.”
“You’re really throwing up?” she asked, tone softening slightly.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Couvade syndrome—some psychological sympathy response. Ironically, I don’t even know if you are.”
“It's strange; my morning sickness is relatively mild,” she said quietly. “But that doesn’t explain this sudden change. We’ve been enemies for years, Richard.”
I took a deep breath. “I know NexaCore is facing a funding crisis.” Her sharp intake of breath confirmed it."
“Marry me, and I’ll help fix it. I’ll sign a prenup protecting your company and assets. This can be mutually beneficial.”
After a long silence, she spoke, voice resolute. “I have one requirement: loyalty. You’ve loved Claire Carson for two years… Can you move past that? Can you be faithful?”
I froze, pain stabbing through me.
The photo of Claire seemed to mock me. “Yes,” I answered after too long, lacking conviction. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
The heavy oak doors of my grandfather’s study felt like a courtroom entrance. William Bloom sat behind his antique desk, military posture impeccable, lamplight casting stern shadows on his face.
“I want to marry Camellia Frost,” I announced, standing rigid despite my queasy stomach.
His eyes narrowed, assessing me. “You don’t look well, Richard.”
Nausea surged. “Excuse me, Grandfather,” I muttered, hurrying to the small bathroom in the corner.
When I returned, he handed me water. “So the rumors are true. You’re experiencing that… sympathetic pregnancy condition.”
I sipped, nodding miserably.
“That doesn’t explain your decision,” he pressed. “Two months ago, you called her an ‘arrogant Silicon Valley princess.’”
I met his gaze with forced determination. “We’ve been secretly dating for two months,” I lied. “I had misconceptions about her.”
Surprise flickered across his face, then thoughtfulness. “Secretly dating? That explains how this situation came to be. I had assumed your recent illness was merely from overwork, but it seems there's much more to it.”
He nodded. “The Frost girl is impressive. Her innovations could be valuable.”
“She’s a bit remarkable,” I agreed, surprised I meant it.
“Very well,” he said. “If you’re certain, the Bloom family will support you. I’ll speak with Elizabeth about arrangements.”
Relief mixed with anxiety as I exhaled. What had I committed to?
That night, my phone buzzed. Camellia’s name appeared. “I accept your proposal,” she said, voice calm but tense. “But I have conditions of my own.”