Triplet Babies for the Billionaire (Happy Ever Alpha Daddies)

10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Blossom

It’s midday, and the hotel bar is surprisingly busy.

I’m behind the counter, wiping down glasses and trying to keep up with the constant flow of orders. Amy’s off today, and I’m working with Courtney, who’s as cold as always.

She doesn’t say much, just stands there, shuffling bottles around, acting like she’s too good to engage in any conversation.

It’s hard to work with someone who refuses to communicate. Behind a bar, space is limited, and we need to work in sync.

But every time I ask her a question or make a comment, it’s like I’m talking to a brick wall.

I try to focus on the customers, but the tension is starting to get to me. Courtney’s icy demeanor makes everything feel more uncomfortable than it needs to be. I feel a wave of nausea hit me, a familiar sensation that I’ve been trying to ignore for a while now.

Great, I’m probably coming down with something.

I quickly excuse myself, not wanting to make a scene in front of the guests. “I’ll be right back,” I say to Courtney, but she doesn’t respond. I don’t even think she heard me.

I make my way to the bathroom, my stomach turning as I walk through the lobby, and I barely make it to the bathroom stall in time. I lean over the toilet, the nausea hitting me full force.

The moment my stomach empties, I feel a wave of relief wash over me. Getting sick is disgusting, but at least I feel better.

The sound of the bathroom door opening and closing catches my attention, and I freeze. Someone else is in here. I lift my head and try to steady my breathing, feeling embarrassed that someone might have heard me.

But I push the thought away.

I need to get it together.

I flush the toilet and sit back on my heels, trying to calm my racing heart.

My mind drifts to the stress of the past few weeks.

Between Zack’s harassment and the secret I’m keeping about Noah, I haven’t exactly been feeling like myself.

The weight of everything is starting to catch up with me.

I pull myself together, opening the stall door and stepping out.

That’s when I see her.

Courtney. Standing there, arms crossed, watching me closely.

I freeze, immediately feeling exposed.

“What the hell are you staring at?” I snap, feeling my face flush with embarrassment.

Courtney doesn’t answer right away, but the way she’s looking at me, calculating, almost suspicious, makes my skin crawl. Her eyes narrow, and she tilts her head, as if piecing something together in her mind.

She doesn’t move, just stares at me for a long moment before she finally speaks, her voice cool. “You’ve been getting sick a lot lately, haven’t you?” she says, her tone oddly knowing.

My stomach drops, and I feel the blood drain from my face. I try to brush it off, but she’s already too observant for me to hide it. “What are you talking about?” I mumble, my voice shaky.

“You know,” she presses, her eyes scanning my face, “it’s a pretty common sign. You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

My mind races, and I feel like the walls are closing in.

There’s no way she could know that. I try to laugh it off, my breath catching in my throat. “You’re out of your mind, Courtney,” I snap, trying to make my voice sound casual.

I brush past her, hurrying to wash my hands, feeling like I need to escape her scrutinizing gaze. “And nice, leaving the bar unattended,” I add sharply, a little more aggressively than I mean. “Not like we’re the only two bartenders on staff right now or anything…”

She doesn’t say anything in response, and I can feel her eyes boring into my back as I leave the bathroom. I have no idea what she’s thinking, but the last thing I want is for her to start making more assumptions.

I return to the bar, trying to shake off the tension. As I start making drinks for the customers, I can hear Courtney’s high-pitched voice in the kitchen behind me. She’s talking to someone, but I can’t make out the words. I roll my eyes, annoyed.

She’s still trying to figure out what’s going on with me, I just know it.

But I don’t have time to deal with her right now.

I finish up the orders, trying to focus on the drinks and the guests, but I can feel the weight of the situation.

After a minute, Courtney appears, and I know exactly what she’s doing. She’s storming around, clearly upset. I don’t know why, but it feels like she’s itching for a confrontation.

I sigh again, not in the mood to deal with her today. I finish the last drink, then head toward the kitchen to grab something, just to get away from her. She doesn’t stop talking, but I can’t bring myself to care.

The last thing I need is more of Courtney’s judgment.

I’ve got enough of my own to deal with.

The tension between Courtney and me is palpable as I step into the back kitchen, grabbing a tray of fresh glassware. But as soon as I walk in, I hear her talking to one of the other employees in a low, conspiratorial tone. Her voice is soft but sharp, laced with something I can’t quite place.

"She’s been sleeping her way up," Courtney says, almost in a whisper, but the words hit me like a slap to the face.

I freeze in the doorway, my stomach tightening. Is she talking about me?

I step forward, my hands shaking with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “What the hell are you saying about me?” I demand, my voice loud and sharp.

Courtney spins around, her eyes wide as she sees me standing there, her smirk quickly faltering. “Oh, Blossom, didn’t see you there,” she says, feigning innocence.

“You think I’m sleeping my way to the top ?” I yell, unable to contain the rage bubbling up inside me. “You think I’m that kind of woman? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Before she can respond, Miguel steps between us, his face hard with authority. “Enough,” he says, his voice booming in the small kitchen. “Both of you, out. Now. I don’t care what’s going on, but I’m not having this shit in my kitchen.” Neither of us says a word as Miguel gives us both a stern look. “Keep it up, and I’m calling Noah. You want to explain yourselves to him?”

The threat of Noah’s involvement makes us both fall silent. Neither of us wants him involved in this. We reluctantly turn and walk back to the bar, both seething with annoyance.

Back in the bar, I can feel the heat of Courtney’s eyes on me. She’s acting like nothing happened, like she didn’t just spread poison about me behind my back. I focus on the drinks in front of me, trying to drown out the tension, but then she leans in, her voice cold and low.

“You’d better leave Noah alone,” she says, her tone sharp. “If you don’t, I’ll tell him your little secret.”

I stop dead in my tracks, my hand shaking as I grab a bottle of gin. “What secret?” I ask, my voice rising with a mixture of anger and confusion.

Courtney watches me with an almost predatory look. “You really think you can hide this from me? You think Noah doesn’t have a right to know?”

I feel my stomach churn, the sick feeling growing stronger.

I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

Is she talking about what I think she is?

Is she trying to blackmail me?

I stand tall, trying to mask my fear. “You’re out of your mind, Courtney. Stay away from Noah,” I snap, my voice firm.

I take a breath, keeping my gaze steady on her. “And I see why Noah got tired of you. You’re just a bitter, jealous mess.”

Courtney’s face reddens, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she walks away, leaving me to focus on the drinks in front of me, my hands still shaking.

The shift finally ends. Thank God. It’s been a long, exhausting day, and I’m mentally and physically drained.

I’m not sure what to do with myself. I don’t feel like going home to Noah tonight, not with everything hanging over me. But I’m also anxious about seeing Amy—what if she starts asking about the way I’ve been feeling lately? She doesn’t know about the nausea, the fatigue, the constant worry that something might be wrong.

I decide to walk home instead of taking the subway. It feels like the right choice, even if my feet ache. The quiet of the night is calming, and I need some time to clear my head. I need to be alone.

I breathe in the cool night air as I walk down the streets of Manhattan, the city alive with light and sound. The lights are so bright. It feels like the city never sleeps. The summer air is warm against my skin, and the smells from food carts wafts through the streets, mixing with the noise of cars and the chatter of late-night crowds.

But instead of making me feel hungry or relaxed, the smells only make me feel nauseous again. My stomach turns, and I clutch my abdomen, feeling the familiar churn. I start to panic. Am I pregnant?

I shake my head, trying to push the thought away. I can’t be. It’s just a stomach bug. That’s all it is. Right?

I glance down at the small drugstore ahead and briefly consider going inside to get a pregnancy test, but then I stop myself. I can’t face it right now. I can’t face the possibility of what that test might say.

I turn my head and start walking again. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just stress.

But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s more than just a bug.