Luxury Isn’t for Homewreckers. Love Isn’t for Cheaters - Chapter 13: Chapter 13
You are reading Luxury Isn’t for Homewreckers. Love Isn’t for Cheaters, Chapter 13: Chapter 13. Read more chapters of Luxury Isn’t for Homewreckers. Love Isn’t for Cheaters.
It's raining cold in New York.
I should've been celebrating. Nina said she'd booked us a midnight party.
But I drove alone to a private club by the Hudson.
That place held the life Leo and I never shared: no Hartwell family, no Anson socialite spotlight, just quiet, champagne, and strangers.
He was sitting at that table by the window, dark hair, two buttons undone on his shirt, eyes sharp as a freshly drawn blade.
Enzo?
I'd first heard that name the week before at a corporate merger meeting. He was the opposing CEO—cold-blooded, decisive, no mercy at the negotiating table.
But that night, he poured my drink and said in his Italian-accented English.
"You look even more irresistible than this wine."
I didn't respond, just downed my glass and said: "Do you want to sleep with me?"
He paused, then smiled.
"Why not?"
That night had no love, just release.
I never told him my name. He never asked.
I only remember him saying as he kissed me: "Your eyes are too much like a warrior's—like you're kissing a defeated enemy."
And I smiled, pulling him closer"Who told you I lost?"
I left early the next morning.
Didn't leave anything behind, even wiped off my lipstick marks.
I thought that was the end.
Until two months later, bent over the sink in my office bathroom, throwing up my guts.
The doctor smiled at me"Congratulations Miss, you're seven weeks pregnant."
I'd never made that kind of miscalculation before. But this time, Noelle Anson got blindsided by her own body.
I didn't tell anyone who the father was—hell, I almost forgot that night.
Until one morning, the doorbell rang.
I opened the door in my robe to find Enzo standing there.
He held a test report, his voice ice-cold but certain.
"How long were you planning to keep the secret?"
I froze: "You've been stalking me?"
"Not stalking. Investigating." He held up the report. "You think you're the first woman to sneak out on me?"
I laughed coldly"I never asked you to take responsibility."
But Enzo calmly walked into my house, his gaze sweeping over the prenatal vitamins on the table, baby books, ultrasound photos.
Then he said something I'll never forget.
"You don't need me to take responsibility. You need me to stay."
He was quiet for a moment, then added.
"Marry me,Noelle."
—
Three months later, we had our wedding at St. Reynold's Cathedral.
Of course, this wedding is about more than just the two of us—it’s also about our baby.
I should've been celebrating. Nina said she'd booked us a midnight party.
But I drove alone to a private club by the Hudson.
That place held the life Leo and I never shared: no Hartwell family, no Anson socialite spotlight, just quiet, champagne, and strangers.
He was sitting at that table by the window, dark hair, two buttons undone on his shirt, eyes sharp as a freshly drawn blade.
Enzo?
I'd first heard that name the week before at a corporate merger meeting. He was the opposing CEO—cold-blooded, decisive, no mercy at the negotiating table.
But that night, he poured my drink and said in his Italian-accented English.
"You look even more irresistible than this wine."
I didn't respond, just downed my glass and said: "Do you want to sleep with me?"
He paused, then smiled.
"Why not?"
That night had no love, just release.
I never told him my name. He never asked.
I only remember him saying as he kissed me: "Your eyes are too much like a warrior's—like you're kissing a defeated enemy."
And I smiled, pulling him closer"Who told you I lost?"
I left early the next morning.
Didn't leave anything behind, even wiped off my lipstick marks.
I thought that was the end.
Until two months later, bent over the sink in my office bathroom, throwing up my guts.
The doctor smiled at me"Congratulations Miss, you're seven weeks pregnant."
I'd never made that kind of miscalculation before. But this time, Noelle Anson got blindsided by her own body.
I didn't tell anyone who the father was—hell, I almost forgot that night.
Until one morning, the doorbell rang.
I opened the door in my robe to find Enzo standing there.
He held a test report, his voice ice-cold but certain.
"How long were you planning to keep the secret?"
I froze: "You've been stalking me?"
"Not stalking. Investigating." He held up the report. "You think you're the first woman to sneak out on me?"
I laughed coldly"I never asked you to take responsibility."
But Enzo calmly walked into my house, his gaze sweeping over the prenatal vitamins on the table, baby books, ultrasound photos.
Then he said something I'll never forget.
"You don't need me to take responsibility. You need me to stay."
He was quiet for a moment, then added.
"Marry me,Noelle."
—
Three months later, we had our wedding at St. Reynold's Cathedral.
Of course, this wedding is about more than just the two of us—it’s also about our baby.
End of Luxury Isn’t for Homewreckers. Love Isn’t for Cheaters Chapter 13. Continue reading Chapter 14 or return to Luxury Isn’t for Homewreckers. Love Isn’t for Cheaters book page.