Trapped In His Dangerous Game

The pregnancy test hits the marble floor with a crack that makes me flinch. Two pink lines stare up at me.

Twin death sentences.

“I don’t get pregnant from one-night stands,” I whisper.

Louder, to the empty bathroom: “Aria Blackwood does not make mistakes this catastrophic.”

And yet. Here we are.

My hands shake as I scoop up the plastic stick, sharp edges biting into my palm. Blood beads where it cuts, mixing with the tears I refuse to admit are there.

Three tests. All positive.

The Blackwood name doesn’t allow failure. Dad’s built an empire on being the man who never cracks, and he’s been training me to be the same since I was old enough to hold a computer. Straight A’s. No slip-ups. The perfect heir.

And now his daughter is pregnant by Blake Harrington?

My phone buzzes on the counter. His face flashes across the screen, all charm and perfect teeth. The same look that convinced me to leave Sigma Chi’s gala with him six weeks ago.

Blake: We need to talk. My penthouse. Now.

The timestamp: 11:47 PM. My stomach drops. How the hell does he know?

Another buzz.

Blake: Don’t make me come find you.

The threat behind the words curdles my blood. I’ve seen Blake ruin people.

A student body president who crossed him ended up suspended. A sorority girl who said no, vanished from campus a semester later.

I grab my leather jacket, my helmet. The Ducati’s roar drowns out my thoughts for twelve minutes through empty Seattle streets.

Twelve minutes to picture Dad’s face. Twelve minutes to imagine board members whispering “liability” behind closed doors. Twelve minutes to know I’m heading into a trap and going anyway.

Blake’s penthouse stretches across the fortieth floor… all glass and polished concrete. It feels more like a showroom than a home. He’s waiting by the bar cart, still in his suit, pouring whiskey like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Aria.” His voice drips money and confidence. “Right on time.”

I want to turn around. Instead, I step deeper into the lion’s den.

“How did you know?”

He doesn't answer. He just takes a slow sip, then slides his phone across the marble countertop toward me.

The video played before I could stop it.

His bedroom, six weeks ago. Me, naked and trusting, my legs wrapped around his waist as he moved inside me. The camera captures everything… my head thrown back in pleasure, my nails digging into his shoulders, the way I whispered his name like a prayer while he fucked me with calculated precision.

My face is crystal clear in the dim lighting. Every expression of ecstasy, every moment I believed his lies about how perfect I was, how much he wanted me. His face stays carefully angled away from the camera.

"Oh God." The words scrape out of my throat as I watch myself come apart in his arms, completely unaware I was being recorded. "Turn it off."

"The sound quality is excellent," Blake observes clinically, turning up the volume so my moans fill his sterile penthouse. "Amazing what technology can do these days."

I lunge for the phone, but he pulls it back smoothly. On screen, past-me is crying out his name as he drives me over the edge, my body shaking with an orgasm that now feels like the most expensive mistake of my life.

"Please," I whisper, but the video keeps playing. Him pulling out the evidence of our encounter, me curled against his chest afterward thinking I'd found something real.

The room tilts. “Turn it off.”

“Security cameras,” he says flatly. “Standard precaution.”

“You recorded me.”

“I record everything.” His eyes are steady, unbothered. “You’d be surprised how useful it is.” He pauses. Smiles. “Congratulations, by the way.”

The floor might as well vanish under me. “What do you want, Blake?”

He takes his time crossing to the window, Seattle glittering behind him. “There’s a scholarship kid in our econ class. Jaxon Rivers. Psychology major. Pretty sure you’ve seen him.”

The name hits. He's quiet guy in the back row, always arguing ethics with Professor Chen. Dark hair that looks like he cuts it himself. Clothes that don’t hide the fact he doesn’t belong in a place like Crescent Bay.

“I don’t…”

Blake doesn’t let me finish. “You’re going to make him fall for you. Hard. Then you’re going to convince him this baby’s his.”

The words are ice in my throat. “You’re insane.”

“No,” he says, calm as ever. “I’m careful. And if you don’t? That video hits the internet. Your father loses his company, his contracts, his board. And you? You’re finished.”

“Why him?”

Blake finally turns. The smile he gives me could cut glass. “Because it amuses me.”

For a moment, the mask slips, and I saw what’s underneath: nothing. Just hunger.

He steps close, lowering his voice. “Monday. Chen will assign new partners. Volunteer for Jaxon. Get him hooked. Sleep with him, cry on his shoulder, whatever it takes. Then tell him he’s going to be a father.”

I shake my head. My voice breaks. “I won’t ruin someone innocent.”

“You will.” His tone never wavers. “Because you’re like me, Aria. You’ll sacrifice anyone to protect what’s yours. I’d just admit it.”

The bile rises in my throat. I stumble for the elevator.

“Tick tock,” Blake calls after me. “Smile more. Jaxon strikes me as the type who falls for damaged girls who pretend they don’t need saving.”

The doors close, cutting him off. My reflection stares back at me — pale, shaken, but alive. Forty floors to figure out my next move.

Blake thinks he owns me. That I’ll play his game. That I’ll sell an innocent boy to save myself.

He’s wrong.

By the time this explodes, Jaxon Rivers won’t just be my alibi. He’ll be the one standing beside me when I burn Blake Harrington to the ground.