Page 7 of Forced Pregnant Bride

The details rolled off with ease. “The boy’s name is Jayden. Jayden Skye. Seventeen years old. Student.Unemployed.”

Arlo was partially right. An unemployed teenager meant liability. He wouldn’t have been able to pay off his father’s debt. Glancing at the stack of papers neatly arranged on the desk, my lips curved to the side. Good thing we had clauses in contracts that allowed us to do whatever we pleased.

I met Arlo’s suspecting gaze, took out the cigar, and felt a fresh rush of adrenaline through my veins.

“But he’s a son, and he’s alive. He’ll do.”

Chapter 3 – Serena

The rain had stopped falling about an hour ago, but the air was heavy with wet earth and ozone. Tiptoeing, I grabbed the window and closed the shutters. Droplets clung to the window, glistening like silver tears, but the smell of vanilla was more interesting than gazing at nature’s perfect view of pitch-dark starless skies.

Alone and busy, I stood in the kitchen after what seemed like long-stretched minutes of deciding whether or not to bake Jay’s cake. It was his big 17th, and I wanted to make something special for him, something he’d really enjoy. And since I enjoyed baking, and he preferred eating, a cake was going to have to do. It was either that or a 75-inch Ultra flat screen and an Xbox.

Nibbling on my lip, I tugged on the sleeve of my pajama shirt, staring at all the ingredients laid out on the counter: flour, sugar, eggs, butter, vanilla extract, baking powder, and milk. I put on my apron, tied my hair back, and took a deep breath, ready to get started.

Before our family quaked and things got rough, my father taught me how to bake. Well, in reality, he tried to teach us, but Jay preferred the court to the kitchen. So, that left me with Daddy.

Moving around the kitchen, I felt a pull back into the good old days, the processes stirring a reminisce. I used to love watching him from the kitchen island and taking notes on my kitty-customized notepad.

He'd start by preheating the oven to 350°F, and while it warmed up, he’d guide me to measure out the flour and sift it into a large mixing bowl, adding in the baking powder and a pinch of salt. Next, we’d move on to the butter and sugar, laughing over something silly as we creamed them together ina separate bowl until the mixture was light and fluffy. I’d call his attention to the vibrations rippling over my skin as the hand mixer whirred, making a satisfying hum as it blended everything perfectly.

Smiling, I cracked the eggs. Cracking the eggs was always a bit tricky for me, but I managed to do it without any shells getting into the mix. I added them one at a time, beating well after each addition. Then, just as Dad taught me, I mirrored his fluid dance, pouring in a splash of vanilla extract, the aroma filling the kitchen with its sweet scent. Carefully, I began folding the dry ingredients into the wet mixture, alternating with the milk, until the batter was smooth and glossy.

Once everything was mixed to perfection, I poured the batter into a greased cake pan, using a spatula to spread it evenly. I gave the pan a little tap on the counter to get rid of any air bubbles, then slid it into the oven. I set the timer and waited, peeking through the oven door every now and then as the cake slowly rose and turned a golden brown.

The timer finally beeped, and I opened the oven and carefully pulled out the cake, setting it on a cooling rack. The sweet smell filled the kitchen, and I couldn’t help but smile at how well it had turned out. I let it cool completely before moving on to the fun part—decorating.

Jay loved basketball. Sometimes, I thought he loved it more than his own life. He was that passionate. So, I decided to go with dramatic basketball decorations. I whipped up a smooth batch of orange buttercream frosting, the kind my brother loved, and spread a generous layer over the top of the cake, making sure it was even and smooth. Then, I piped some decorative print around the edges. Finally, I added a few sprinkles and wrote “Happy 17thBirthday!” in icing, making sure each letter was neat and clear.

Stepping back to admire my work, I felt a surge of pride. He was going to feel every bit of love I’d used to whip up that cake. And maybe he’d remember Daddy with fond memories, too. In all, I just wanted him to be as excited to see it as I’d been to make it.

Untying the apron, I chucked it into the washing machine and went to the living room to wait. I checked the time: 12:30 A.M. Earlier, he’d texted to let me know he’d be out late. Party with his friends, he said. I’d learned not to be overprotective after he turned fifteen and give him space sometimes. Though I learned it the hard way.

Jay hadn’t always been the macho young man he was now. His early teenage years were the toughest and roughest. He was bullied and teased a lot by those senior jerks because of his size. Being skinny, to them, was something to laugh about. One day, I stood up for him in the presence of everyone. I thought I was being a big sister.

Jay hadn’t liked it.

He hadn’t liked it when I stood up for him or fished him out of parties when it got late, or called him out for getting recklessly drunk at beer pong parties, or….

He preferred being the one to do the bossing around.

After years of navigating through turbulent puberty waves of emotions with my brother, we both grew to understand our preferences and dislikes and ended up co-existing with love. That love was elastic, and oftentimes, it stretched. Even now, as I glanced at the time, the hands of the clock had moved from half past midnight to 2:00 A.M.

Sighing, I kicked my feet off the couch and got up. Jayden Skye had made it clear that he was a grown man now. He could handle his affairs without having to entertain my intrusion. And as much as I wanted to snatch that phone and dial his number, I wasn’t going to.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day with the kids. David’s mom had already sent a text. A friendly warning, to be more like it. Incoming: ten boxes of chocolate cupcakes to celebrate his new muse.

With a smug smile and satisfaction in my chest, I started making my way to the room when the doorbell rang.

Jayden.

He must have forgotten his keys or returned home tipsy. It wouldn’t have been the first time. He wasn’t an alcoholic, but some days, he just… he just let go. We’d both had it rough growing up. But I adjusted better to the circumstances of things than Jay ever had, and unlike me, who’d learned how to bottle up disappointment and hurt and only cried after my heart couldn’t hold the tears anymore, Jay was an emotional cannon. He shot his discontent and pain in whatever direction he wanted.

Sometimes, I had to admit, he acted irrationally.

None of those things mattered now; today was his birthday, and I wished for nothing more than to put a smile on his face.

My excitement suddenly springing alive and skyrocketing to its peak, I ran into the kitchen, carefully grabbed the cake from the counter, and rushed to the door. My heart hummed in my chest, and the song rose to my lips as I twisted the knob and pulled the door open.

---