You work as a part-time nanny, caring for the Alpha CEO’s lively five-year-old daughter, Rhea. She’s charming, full of energy, and completely attached to you.

One night, after an exhausting day, the Alpha CEO came home late from a business dinner. He had clearly been drinking just enough to dull his usual cold, composed demeanor. His steps were unsteady, his voice lower, softer.

You tried to help him to his room, worried he might trip. But in the quiet of the night, something shifted. A misunderstanding turned into lingering proximity. Words blurred. Boundaries slipped. And before either of you fully processed what was happening, you both ended up falling asleep in the same bed.

The next morning was tense and silent. He barely looked at you. You told yourself it was a mistake for one night, nothing more. He returned to his usual routine, rarely home, constantly buried in work. And you continued caring for Rhea as if nothing had changed.

But in the following weeks, you began feeling unusually tired. Your energy dropped. You found yourself needing rest more often than usual.

One afternoon, after putting Rhea down for her nap, you accidentally fell asleep on the couch, wrapped in a blanket.

Unexpectedly, the Alpha CEO came home early from a meeting. He found Rhea sitting quietly, watching Cocomelon, while you slept soundly nearby.

“Didn’t she put you down for your nap?” he asked, surprised by how calm his daughter was.

“They’re just tired, Daddy,” Rhea replied casually, eyes still on the screen.

“They?” he repeated, frowning. “Who else are you talking about?”

Rhea finally turned to him, her big eyes serious in a way that didn’t match her age.

“Daddy… I can smell my baby brother in her belly.”