His Pregnant Wife Erased for a Hollywood Co-Star

1. The Shadow Cast

Chapter one

The Shadow Cast

Sutton

The smell of stale takeout coffee hung in the stagnant air of our cramped living room.

I perched on the arm of the worn sofa, balancing a thick stack of printed pages on my knee.

My thumb smoothed the edge of the script, following the scene down the paper.

Hayes stood by the television, his shoulders squared as he stared at a water stain on the peeling drywall.

“Take it from the top of page forty,” I prompted.

He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t need to start that far back. Just feed me the cue at the bottom of the page.”

“I’m giving you the top of forty because you rushed the transition last time,” I said, tapping my fingernail against the paper. “Walk through the blocking again. Start from the door.”

He cracked a smile, rolling his shoulders back.

The moment he opened his mouth, the oppressive walls of the apartment faded.

He filled the small space, projecting his voice as he paced the narrow strip of cheap carpet.

He pivoted on his heel, delivering the lines from memory without missing a single beat.

The cheap furniture and the peeling paint ceased to matter under the force of his performance.

We barely had enough money in the checking account to cover rent this month.

The final callback for the Meridian lead role had consumed our lives for two years of skipped meals and late nights.

But watching the talent pour out of him, I forgot all about the threat of eviction.

He was flawless, testing the jagged edges of the new character while I sat on the sidelines.

He belonged to me in these quiet moments, before the directors and the cameras stepped in.

He marched toward the kitchen counter, miming a frantic search, and delivered the final sentence of the scene.

He reached for an imaginary set of keys, his movements fluid and decisive.

I looked down at the text, realizing what he missed.

“You skipped a line, Hayes,” I said. “The script explicitly says you’re supposed to hesitate before you grab the keys off the counter.”

He stopped pacing. He ran a hand through his blond hair, messing up the strands, and let out a huff of breath. He crossed the room, halting right in front of my knees.

“I know I skipped it, but it feels unnatural to pause right there.” He pointed at the paper resting on my lap. “The guy is running out of time, Sutton, so he wouldn’t stop to think about the consequences.”

I looked up from the page, meeting his blue eyes. He always debated the creative choices, completely wired after a good read. I loved that energy. It proved how much he wanted this franchise deal. I shifted my weight on the sofa arm, reaching out to rest my hand over his.

“Just try it the way it’s written for one more take,” I said. “Trust the pacing of the scene and let the silence do the heavy lifting.”

He let out a dramatic sigh, dropping his chin to his chest in a mock display of defeat.

He turned around, stepping back to his starting mark near the television.

Before he could open his mouth for the next take, the cell phone on the scuffed coffee table vibrated, the harsh rattle against the wood cutting him off.

Hayes stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at it. The buzzing was loud, but he didn’t reach for it. He held himself still.

“Answer it,” I said, leaning forward.

He took a step forward and snatched the device off the table. His gaze dropped to the caller ID on the bright screen. He went completely motionless, his shoulders locking up. He swiped the screen and held the phone to his ear, gripping it tight.

“Is it the studio?” I asked.

He held up a finger, silently demanding quiet. A thin, tinny voice bled through the phone’s speaker. Eleanor. Even without the speakerphone on, her sharp, commanding pitch pierced the tense quiet of the apartment. I held my breath, my grip tightening on the edge of the paper resting on my knee.

“I told you I would make you a star, sweetheart.” Eleanor’s voice crackled through the speaker. “We officially got the green light on Meridian, so you need to be ready to work harder than you ever have in your life.”

The rigid tension vanished from his shoulders. He dropped his head back, staring up at the ceiling as a massive, unguarded smile broke across his face. He let out a wild, disbelieving laugh. He looked down, meeting my eyes across the room, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

“Tell them yes immediately, Mom,” Hayes said, his voice cracking with excitement. “Tell them I’ll sign whatever they need right now, just send the paperwork over to the apartment.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear and tapped the screen to end the call. He didn’t wait for a goodbye. He tossed the device onto the sofa, the phone bouncing off the cushion right next to my hip. Before the shock of Eleanor’s words could even settle, he lunged toward me.

He didn’t give me a chance to stand up. His strong hands clamped around my waist. He hoisted me straight off the arm of the sofa, pulling me tightly against his chest. The stack of script pages slid off my lap, scattering across the carpet, but I didn’t care.

He spun me around in a tight circle. The paint on the walls and the bulky outline of the television blurred into a dizzying streak of color. I threw my arms over his shoulders to brace myself, burying my fingers in his messy hair.

“Hayes, put me down before you break the lamp!” I laughed, gripping him tighter as my boots narrowly missed the edge of the coffee table.

He ignored me, letting the high of the news drive us in another reckless spin.

He squeezed my waist, pulling me higher against his chest. The smell of stale coffee and the claustrophobic dread of our empty bank account dissolved into the background.

Eleanor had finally pulled off the impossible.

This was the blockbuster we had been praying for.

He stopped spinning, his boots planting into the carpet. My vision swayed as the room came to a halt. His chest heaved against mine as he stared down at me, the frantic adrenaline of the phone call shifting into intense physical hunger.

He didn’t give me a chance to catch my breath. He set me down. The moment my feet hit the floor, he walked me backward. The floorboards groaned under our combined weight.

My spine hit the living room wall. The uneven surface dug directly into my back. Before I could brace myself, he leaned in and crushed his mouth over mine. It was a frantic, bruising kiss.

“You’re burning up,” I whispered, breaking the kiss just enough to breathe.

He didn’t answer. His hands gripped the hem of my shirt. He pulled the fabric up and over my head, tossing it onto the floor.

The cool air of the apartment hit my exposed skin for only a second before his hands moved to my back. He unclasped my bra. The straps slid off my shoulders, and it dropped to the carpet.

The suffocating tension of the last two years evaporated. He didn’t leave my skin exposed for long. The searing heat of his lips latched onto my bare breast. He sucked hard, dragging his teeth over my nipple.

“Hold still,” he muttered against my skin.

He dragged his hands down to my waist. He hooked his fingers over my hip bones and crowded against me. He pressed his hips flush against mine, pinning me flat against the plaster. His erection ground hard against the thick denim of my jeans.

The rough intensity of it radiated through the fabric. I arched my back, gripping handfuls of his blond hair. I surrendered to his pace, letting his wild energy take over the cramped room. He bit down on my collarbone, scraping his jaw against my neck.

“I can’t believe it,” he gasped, his breath hot against my skin. “We actually did it, Sutton.”

“You did it, Hayes,” I said, my voice catching in my throat as he rocked his hips against the denim. “You earned every single piece of this.”

“I didn’t do it alone,” he said, grinding his hips hard against mine. “I am going to give you everything you ever wanted.”

The friction of our bodies grinding together wasn’t enough. Hayes broke the kiss, dragging in a harsh breath. He ducked his shoulder, sweeping his arm behind my knees and lifting me off my feet. I threw my arms around his neck to anchor myself.

He carried me the few short steps down the narrow hallway. He didn’t bother turning on the lights. He crossed the threshold of the bedroom and tossed me back onto the cheap mattress. The springs let out a loud, rhythmic squeak.

“You’re wearing too much,” he muttered, reaching for the metal button of my jeans.

I kicked off my boots, lifting my hips to help him drag the stiff denim down my legs. He threw the pants onto the floorboards, leaving me bare in the dim light. He didn’t waste any time on his own clothes. He stripped off his shirt, letting it fall near the door before kicking off his pants.

He moved with a desperate energy, fueled by the adrenaline of the studio call. Yet, when he approached the edge of the bed, his focus narrowed on me. He knelt on the floorboards, wedging himself between my knees. His hands locked around my bare hips.

“Look at me,” I whispered, reaching out to brush his shoulder.

He didn’t look up. He dragged me forward, sliding my back across the cotton sheets until I was resting right at the edge of the mattress. He pushed my thighs wide apart. The draft of the bedroom rushed over me, but the chill evaporated the second he buried his face between my legs.

The wet heat of his mouth hit my core. I gasped, my head dropping back against the mattress. He used the glide of his tongue to tease me, lapping at the sensitive folds. His hands remained anchored on my thighs, holding me still as he set a slow, agonizing pace.