I pause for a second, my brain refusing to process what I’m seeing.Two lines. Bold as hell, too. Not even faint, not even giving me room for doubt.I’m pregnant.Oh, my god.The stick feels heavier than it should, like it’s made of lead instead of plastic. I sink down onto the closed toilet seat, legs too weak to keep holding me up. My hand instinctively moves to my stomach, pressing against the fabric of my dress. I don’t know what I’m hoping to find, maybe a baby kick or something ridiculous like that.Pregnant.How? The question turns through my mind, absurd and almost laughable. I mean, I know how, biologically speaking, but after all these years, after every single failure, I’d accepted—no, resigned myself to the idea—that it wasn’t going to happen for me.“Seven years,” I whisper to no one, the words tasting bitter. Seven years of treatments, tears, hormone shots, and endless invasive tests that always ended the same: Sorry, Mrs. O’Brien. It’s not you. We can’t explain it.Oh,
The words poured out sharper than I intended. But damn it, I’m tired. Tired of being poked and prodded like some fragile thing that might shatter at any moment.For the first time, Ayumi looks caught off guard. Her cold, unshakable demeanor softens—just a fraction, but it’s enough to make me pause.“Alright,” she says, her voice quieter than before. “I’ll see myself out.”She turns on her heel and walks out without another word, leaving me alone in the silence of my office.I exhale, leaning back in my chair and staring at the ceiling. What the hell was that about?I decide not to dwell on it. Today’s a good day. I’m not letting anyone spoil it for me.~~~It’s 9:00 p.m. Luke’s calls have been going straight to voicemail. I try again anyway, holding my breath as the line rings once, twice, then—“We’re sorry, the number you’re trying to reach—”I throw my phone onto the couch, the screen lighting up momentarily before going dark, mocking me with its silence.Staring out the window, I
From the moment Luke came in, I knew something was wrong. He had that look—the one that says, ‘I’ve been to hell and back, and I’m not sure if I’m still alive.’ I thought it might be work. A failed deal, some corporate drama, anything but this.“What kind of accident, Luke?” I say. I feel like I know the answer already, but I’m praying to whatever high power’s out there that it’s not what I think it is.He closes his eyes for a moment. When he finally speaks, his words are almost inaudible.“Sara’s in the hospital.”Sara. His ex-wife. “What?” I say, my hands clutching the arms of the chair. “Oh my God, Luke. Is she—? What happened? Is she okay?”The real question I want to ask is, ‘What have you done, Luke?’ But I can’t find the courage to ask. And also, maybe I’m giving him the benefit of doubt. It could be something else. Maybe something happened to her and Luke’s name was sitting at the top of her contact list. Maybe she called him. Maybe, maybe, and maybe. It’s better than actual
~~Luke~~They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die. It's happening to me right now, except I’m not dying. But it sure feels like it. How had I been so stupid? I let my anger get the best of me, and now that witch is hospitalized.Sara. The name burns through my mind like an acid. My fists clench against the sheets. All she needed was a reason to make my life miserable, and I gave it to her on a platter of gold.I rake a hand through my hair, staring at the ceiling, as if the textured white paint can offer some sort of divine answer. It doesn’t. My mind replays yesterday in flashes: her smug face, the way her voice dripped with condescension, how my chest tightened as she spoke like Juan’s death was nothing more than an unfortunate mishap in her charmed life.The anger had felt like a living thing inside me, roaring to life with every word she said. And now she’s in a hospital bed, unconscious.I groan, turning onto my side. My eyes fall on Julie. She’s still
I stand there, my body rigid, staring at Sara. There was a time when looking at her made my world stop. I used to lose myself in her gaze, convinced she was my forever. Now? All I see is a desperate girl crying for help.The longer I remain silent, the more uncomfortable Sara gets. I can see her shifting on the bed, her eyes darting to the door, then back to me. Maybe she expected me to shout, lose control, play the part of the ex-husband who still cares enough to fight for her. But that man died the day she betrayed me.Finally, I speak. "I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,” I say. “I’ll pay your hospital bills because that’s who I am. I’m generous to the less privileged. After that, I never want to see your face again."Her eyes widen. For a second, genuine surprise flashes across her face. Then, her lips twist into a smirk, but I can tell she’s rattled."Did you forget the part where I said you’re mine now?" she says."I did. And I’m turning down your request."I can see the whee
~~Julie~~It’s the afternoon of the trial, and I don’t know why I’m nervous.This is what I’ve wanted for weeks now, to be out of this cage. Hell, I’ve dreamed about it. To be free. To leave Ryan and his web of lies and manipulation behind. To go wherever I want, with whomever I want, without looking over my shoulder. But as I get closer, my heart pounds harder. I feel like the god of fucking-shit-up is probably lurking around the corner, sharpening his claws, waiting to pounce. My mission today is simple: don’t let that happen.That’s why I’m putting on my best ‘confident’ outfit. A tailored black suit. My makeup is flawless, my lips painted in the same defiant red as the blouse underneath the suit. My hair is pulled into a sleek bun, tight enough to make my scalp scream but exactly the kind of control I need right now. I look like I’m going to war.And I am.I take a deep breath, but it does little to calm the storm brewing inside me. I adjust my collar, smoothing it down. Confidenc
My jaw tightens. I glance at Maya, who nods. No turning back now. “Yes,” I say.A ripple of murmurs spreads through the courtroom.Roth pounces. “Yes. You agreed. You, the victimized Mrs. O’Brien, consented to opening your marriage. So why are we here today? Because things didn’t go your way?”“No. We’re here because he broke the agreement.”Roth tilts his head, feigning confusion. “Broke the agreement? How exactly?” I grip the edge of the stand, my knuckles white. “I agreed to an open marriage, not a hostile takeover of my home. He moved his mistress—sorry, his secretary—into our house. Into my house. That wasn’t part of the agreement.” The courtroom falls into stunned silence.Roth’s eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise. “Moved her into your house? And yet, you stayed. Why?”Maya stands, her voice firm. “Objection. Irrelevant.”Roth doesn’t even turn. “Your Honor, I’m establishing a pattern of consent and complicity.”Judge Harper deliberates for a moment. “Overruled. Answer the q
I sit frozen in my seat as the courtroom buzzes around me. Maya leans in close. “You okay?”I nod, though my throat feels tight. “I should be.”“It’s not over. Stay sharp.”I swallow hard. I’ve seen Ryan break down before—his temper, his desperation—but this was different. He didn’t just concede; he imploded. And that scares me more than any fight he could’ve put up.Some minutes later, the bailiff’s voice sounds. “All rise.”Judge Harper returns, her robe flowing like a storm cloud. She takes her seat.“Be seated,” she says.Everyone shuffles back into place.Judge Harper clears her throat. “Before we continue, I want to make one thing clear: this court will not tolerate any further emotional outbursts. Mr. O’Brien, you are expected to maintain your composure.” Her gaze pierces him. “Do I make myself clear?”Ryan nods. “Yes, Your Honor.”Maya adjusts her blazer and stands. “Your Honor, given Mr. O’Brien’s sudden decision to no longer contest the divorce, we believe it is in the best
~~Julie~~ The pain started several hours ago. At first, it was manageable—a dull ache radiating through my lower abdomen. It felt like my body was whispering its warnings. But now, hours later, it’s no whisper. It’s a full-blown scream. Sharp, relentless waves of pain grip me, tightening like a vice around my insides. I’ve been timing the contractions, because the last time this happened, Dr. Casey Patel had sent me home with enough instructions on how to detect real labor. If this isn’t labor, then God help me, because it feels like this baby is about to crawl up my spine and burst out of my chest. I clutch the bannister with one hand and my lower abdomen with the other, pausing halfway down the stairs to catch my breath. Every step feels like a test of endurance, like I’m descending a mountain instead of my own staircase. “Paula!” I shout, hoping the cook will come running. But it isn’t Paula who appears. Instead, Javier rolls into view at the bottom of the stairs, his expressio
~~Julie~~I have to say this: Luke’s family knows how to party. It’s like everyone’s high and energetic. Even the children aren’t left out. It’s one thing to practice a dance, and it’s another to actually use those moves. I’m stumbling, but I don’t care. Because I’m happy. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I can’t keep track of the number of people I’ve danced with. I’ve lost Luke for the hundredth time tonight. The last time I saw him, he was being dragged into a conga line by his mother, who seemed to have the stamina of a teenager. Somewhere between the flashing lights and the sea of bodies spinning and stomping, he’d disappeared again.I stumble slightly in my heels, though at this point they feel more like medieval torture devices. My silver dress—once sleek and elegant—is now sticking to me like a second skin, the fabric damp with sweat from almost an hour of dancing. I brush confetti out of my hair. It’s everywhere—on my shoulders, even stuck to the perspiration on my arms.A
It’s our first dance as a couple, and Julie’s arms are draped around my neck, her warmth melting into mine as we sway to the soft rhythm of the music. Her dress catches the golden glow of the chandeliers, shimmering like something out of a dream. But it’s not the dress or the lights that have me mesmerized—it’s her.Her cheeks are flushed, a shade of pink that makes my heart stutter, and her eyes, those deep, captivating pools, glisten with unshed tears. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but all I can manage is, “You’re beautiful.”Julie’s blush deepens, and she looks away for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “You’ve already said that. Twice.”“Because it’s true.”Around us, everyone is watching.Julie bites her lip, a nervous gesture that only makes her more endearing. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Feeling this… shy?”I chuckle. “Like teenagers on a first date.”“Exactly. The entire room is watching, and I don’t know where to look.”“You’re doing great so far,” I say. “Jus
~~Luke~~I don’t know if it’s appropriate for the groom to cry on his wedding day, but right now, it’s taking my entire self-control not to sob. My throat feels tight, my chest is heavy, and every muscle in my face is fighting. Screw it—who made that rule anyway?Julie is walking toward me. Julie. My Julie. And it feels like the first time all over again—the day I saw her sitting on that barstool, drowning her sorrows in a glass of whiskey. I hadn’t planned to approach her. I was headed toward the fire exit, escaping someone whose face I can’t remember now. But then I saw her, and something in me shifted.Now, here she is, making her way down the aisle, radiant in a dress that looks like it was sewn from clouds and moonlight. My breath catches in my throat, and I wonder if it’s possible to actually combust from sheer awe.Her maid of honor walks beside her, clutching her arm with a steadying hand, but Julie doesn’t need it. She’s poised, her eyes locked on mine.“You’re far gone, man,
~~Julie~~People say all brides are late to their weddings. It’s practically a tradition, isn’t it? But me? I was not going to be one of those brides. I had a plan. I gave myself a generous window—ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops—because, really, what could possibly make me late?The answer, apparently, is everything. Here I am, forty minutes behind schedule, crammed in the backseat of a car with Marissa, my maid of honor, wrestling with my veil like it’s some kind of unruly octopus.“Hold still,” Marissa says, her fingers tangled in the fabric. “You keep moving, and this thing’s going to look like a bird nested in your hair.”“I wouldn’t be moving if we weren’t speeding down the road like we’re in a car chase,” I shoot back, my head jerking as the driver swerves to avoid another car.The blame? It falls squarely on last night’s rehearsal dinner. It felt like the entire world showed up. Luke’s family alone must have taken up half the venue, and their energy? Boundless. How do they eve
~~Ryan O’Brien~~ It’s fifteen minutes before the pre-trial, and Ryan’s car pulls into the courthouse. As Justin, his chauffeur and bodyguard, cuts the ignition, Ryan stares through the tinted window at the swarm of reporters and onlookers gathered outside like vultures, cameras poised for the kill. He can practically hear the click of shutters, the incessant questions ready to pounce, though he hasn’t even stepped out yet. Adeline is beside him, looking as bored as ever. Adeline taps her manicured nails against the leather armrest. She looks as though she’d rather be anywhere else, though Ryan knows better. His mother thrives on drama, especially when she’s not the one under fire. “How long is this circus going to take?” she says. “You didn’t have to come.” Ryan loosens his tie, the knot around his neck nothing compared to the one in his chest. Adeline shrugs. “I had nothing better to do. Besides, someone has to ensure you don’t embarrass the family name more than you already hav
I and Marissa, the vice president of marketing, have formed a new habit of meeting for lunch. It started as casual, a convenience thing—we both needed a break from the relentless grind at Illusionaire. Now, it’s become a ritual. I’m still unsure if this qualifies as friendship, mainly because I don’t know what friendship actually looks like. But Marissa talks a lot, and I love to listen. Her stories have this wild, messy charm, like someone spilling glitter across a chaotic art project.We’re at a cozy little café a few blocks from work, the kind of place that tries too hard to be trendy with its mismatched furniture and aggressively minimalist menu. Marissa is mid-rant about her current boyfriend and her dog, gesturing with a fork that’s dangerously close to flinging her salad across the room.“I swear, Nathan only comes over to spend time with Chubbs.”I choke on my sip of iced tea. “Chubbs?”She nods. “My French bulldog. He’s—how do I put this—larger than life. And I mean larger. T
~~Julie~~We’re at a bridal boutique, and Carolina’s excitement could power a small city. Baby Valeria is strapped to her chest, a tiny, sleeping bundle of calm amidst the chaos her mother is stirring up. Carolina jumps from one gown to the next. Her enthusiasm is contagious, even though I’m already sweating from the sheer force of it.“Isn’t Valeria heavy?” I ask, watching as the baby shifts against her chest. “Are you sure you don’t need a break?”She waves me off. “No. You get used to it. It’s like she isn’t there.”“Oh.”Before I can say anything else, Carolina turns to me. She places a hand on my stomach.“You’re already showing!” she exclaims. “Know the sex yet?”I smile. “No, I was thinking we could work a surprise reveal into the wedding.”“Ohhhh!” she squeals. Her face lights up. “That’s magnificent. The family’s going to go ballistic.”“Careful so you don’t wake her,” I say, nodding toward Valeria, who stirs at the sound of her mother’s excitement.“Don’t worry. When she’s
~~Ryan O’Brien~~The cold splash of water shocks Ryan awake. His head is throbbing, each pulse like a mallet pounding against his skull. He groans, squinting against the morning light. Everywhere is bright. Too bright. It’s like a thousand needles piercing his eyes. His mouth feels dry and cottony. He tries to swallow, but his throat is parched. As he tries to sit up, the room spins. You’d think after two months, he’d get used to this feeling. But it hurts every single time."Aww," he says, clutching his head. "What the hell—""Don’t get up too fast."The voice is sharp, familiar, and unapologetic. He blinks away the fog until his mother’s silhouette sharpens before him. She’s standing tall and imposing, dressed in a cream suit that somehow looks both effortless and intimidating. In one hand, she holds a half-emptied glass of water, the one she’d poured on his face. In the other, two white pills."Don’t tell me you’ve finally decided to kill me," Ryan says."What?”"Poison me."She sn