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The CEO's Runaway Pregnant Architect

Chapter 6 

Word Count: 719    |    Released on: 15/05/2026

n Knap

tled against the dark lining, w

incriminating documents, a hidden stash of cash, something that spoke of a secret l

university design competition where we'd first met. We were both caught mid-laugh, leaning over a model of a bridge, young and ra

in drafting dust, in our first tiny studio. The celebratory toast after we won our first major contract. The ribbon-cutting ce

y curated memory, and eac

ala last year. Jayson stood behind me, his arms wrapped around my wais

rp handwriting, were the words: "To my forever pa

pered the word. I

ry trip for the first time. Ciera had a "family emergency," and he needed to be t

he cover with a quiet click, walked over to a cardboard box filled with office supplies I was leaving behind, and dropped the album inside. It

poured my soul into. There was no lingering sadnes

late last night, sat unread. "Babe, nailed the pr

face. Celebrate his success, achieved

bubble until the option appea

n incoming call. The name "Jessica" flashed across the screen. Jayson'

ion of a second before the cool ma

. Jayson said you were sick, but I've been calling and you di

case behind me. "I'm fine, Jess," I said, m

deep, soul-crushing exhaustion t

the front door open. The cool mor

buying it. "Did Jayson do something stupi

couldn't. "I have to go out, J

ulled my suitcase over the threshold, and with a fina

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The CEO's Runaway Pregnant Architect
The CEO's Runaway Pregnant Architect
“For five years, I was the invisible force behind my charismatic architect boyfriend's empire, painstakingly designing the dream home we built together. But for the eighteenth time, Jayson canceled adding my name to the deed, rushing out on our candlelit dinner for yet another "critical emergency" with his young, attractive mentee, Ciera. He left me alone at our custom dining table, blindly prioritizing her manufactured crises over our future. Hours later, Ciera posted a photo on Instagram. She was sitting in his executive chair, wearing his unbuttoned dress shirt, with two empty wine glasses on the desk. When I finally confronted him the next morning, he didn't apologize. Instead, he looked at me with arrogant amusement. "Where are you going to go, Allison? Without me? Without this firm? Don't forget, I made you!" My love didn't die in a sudden explosion; it bled out drop by drop over eighteen broken promises. I had poured my soul into his success, only to be treated like a disposable asset in my own home. To make the irony even more suffocating, a plastic stick in my bathroom soon revealed two stark red lines. I was pregnant with his child. I didn't cry, and I certainly didn't use the baby to beg for his love. Instead, I packed a single suitcase, accepted a senior role at his biggest rival firm in London, and left a resignation letter on his desk. This time, I am building an empire of my own.”