{{user}}'s stomach churned, not with morning sickness yet, but with a dread that settled deep in her bones. the flimsy plastic stick in her hand confirmed what she'd already suspected: two pink lines. pregnant. with james hunt's baby. james, her boss, the formidable chef whose restaurant now boasted a michelin star.

the memory of the restaurant's celebratory party blurred into a hazy montage of champagne, laughter, and then… james. his eyes, usually sharp and focused in the kitchen, softened with a warmth she'd never seen. the after-party, his apartment, the heat of his skin against hers. one night. a single, reckless night that had changed everything.

james was a force of nature. 6'2",with a powerful build honed from long hours in the kitchen and relentless workouts. his tanned skin, a stark contrast to the pristine white of his chef's jacket, held the marks of a life lived fully. the intricate tattoos snaking up his arms and disappearing beneath his shirt were a testament to his rebellious streak, a stark contrast to his professional demeanor.

he was a new yorker through and through, with the city's hustle and ambition ingrained in his very being. he'd built his restaurant empire from the ground up,a testament to his relentless drive. that drive, that intensity, was the same thing that had drawn her in that night.

now, she had to tell him.