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MidReal Story
Hate To Love You
Scenario:I feel in love with my enemy and I got pregnant by him so i don’t know how to tell him
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Samantha Scott
first_person_protagonist, female. She is a marketing manager at a small firm in Chicago. She is determined, introspective, and conflicted. She has been secretly in love with her nemesis, Jonathan Richards, for years. Their history dates back to college when they were both part of the debate team. After graduating, they went separate ways but their feelings never faded. Now, she's pregnant and unsure how to reveal the news to Jonathan, who is involved with her company as a consultant.
Jonathan Richards
protagonist, male. He is a top consultant at a prestigious firm in Chicago. He is confident, intelligent, and passionate. His relationship with Samantha Scott started during their college days as debate team members. Their rivalry turned into an unspoken attraction that lasted through the years. He became a consultant at Samantha's firm after his small company was acquired by a larger one. His involvement with the company creates tension for Samantha as she struggles to reveal her pregnancy to him.
Love is a many-splendored thing.
And by splendored, I mean painful.
Like, ripping your heart out and stomping on it while you bleed out slowly on the floor.
That kind of pain.
The kind that makes you wish you’d never been born, or at least that you’d never met the person who makes you feel this way.
For me, that person is Jonathan Richards.
My arch-nemesis.
My bane.
My nemesis.
And, as much as I hate to admit it, my love.
I first met Jonathan in college, when we were both part of the debate team.
I don’t know what it is about arguing my point of view that gets guys so hot and bothered, but I have to say, I’ve never had a shortage of male "admirers" in my life.
Unfortunately for me, the only male admirer I’ve ever given two figs about has been Jonathan.
And he’s the one male in all of this world who seems completely immune to my charms.
Oh, he wants me, all right.
But he doesn’t want to want me.
I duck into the women’s restroom as his footsteps echo down the hallway.
My heart pounds against my ribs while I press my back against the cold tile wall and hold my breath.
His polished shoes come to a stop in front of the door, and I close my eyes, praying that he won’t come inside.
After a few long seconds, I hear his footsteps continue down the hall, and I let out a slow breath.
I pull my phone out of my purse and check the screen.
Three missed calls from him since our project meeting this morning.
The receipt from the pregnancy test crinkles in my jacket pocket when I shove my hand inside and touch it for reassurance.
When I’m sure the coast is clear, I peek out into the hallway, scanning for his tall frame.
Back at my desk, I stare at my computer screen without really seeing it.
My hand absently goes to my still-flat stomach.
The receipt feels like it’s burning a hole in my pocket.
Through the glass walls of my office, I watch Jonathan pace back and forth in the conference room, gesturing animatedly as he speaks to our team.
His confidence is sexy as hell, and I can’t help but remember the first time I saw him speak at a debate competition.
He was so sure of himself, so passionate about his point of view.
I was drawn to him immediately, and I knew right then that I had to have him.
My fingers hover over the keyboard as I start typing out a leave request.
Two weeks of unused vacation time.
I glance at the clock on my computer, then begin clearing off my desk, sliding things into my bag.
While I’m gathering my things, my mouse accidentally clicks on an old desktop folder I’d forgotten was there.
The label "Jonathan’s Secrets" makes my hand freeze.
I created this folder years ago, back when we were still on the debate team together.
I’d saved newspaper clippings of his victories, emails from our coach about upcoming competitions, and photos from the tournaments.
After graduation, I’d continued to follow his career, adding more clippings and articles to the folder.
I click on it now, and a window opens, revealing a digital archive of our history together.
My eyes scan the list of files, and I open one at random.
A photo of Jonathan standing in front of a podium, his arms raised in victory as he smiles out at the crowd.
I remember that day like it was yesterday.
I’d been so proud of him. My computer dings with an email notification, and I quickly close the folder and shut down my computer.
I shove it into my bag along with the receipt from the pregnancy test.
The email was from Jonathan.
Meet me at the coffee shop on 5th Street at 6pm.
I arrive at the coffee shop early, my nerves fraying with each passing minute.
Jonathan walks in right on time, his eyes scanning the room until they land on me.
"I know about the folder," he says quietly as he sits down, his gaze steady and searching.
I grip my coffee cup tightly, my fingers white-knuckled.
He leans forward, his eyes never leaving mine, and places his hands on the table between us.
The folder is there, a constant reminder of what I’ve done.
The afternoon crowd bustles around our small corner table, providing a background hum of noise to this tense moment.
Jonathan’s gaze doesn’t waver as he speaks again.
"Why did you collect all these things? These photos, articles... why?"
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
My professional mask is starting to slip, and I can feel my emotions rising to the surface.
The receipt from the pregnancy test shifts in my pocket when I adjust my position in my seat, and suddenly I can’t bear the weight of all these secrets anymore.
Drawing on our shared past, I straighten my spine and clear my throat.
"Let’s settle this like we used to," I say, pushing the folder aside.