Emily’s POVThe silk of the green dress shimmers under my fingertips as I smooth it down over my hips. I stare at my reflection one last time. The sweetheart neckline is modest yet elegant.The dress is perfect. Absolutely perfect.I snap a few pictures, biting my lip as I angle my phone just right. Then I hit send—to Bridget and Helen, because of course I have to. Almost immediately, my phone buzzes.Bridget: Girl, are you trying to end him? 😍🔥Helen: You’re a goddess. If he doesn’t faint on sight, I will.I laugh out loud. With one last spritz of perfume and a shaky deep breath, I step into the hallway and make my way down the elevator.Alexander is waiting in the lobby.The moment his eyes land on me, his eyes widen in surprise. He straightens to his full height. His eyes are locked on me like I’m the only woman in the world. Slowly, he walks to me with his lips partly open.He stops just in front of me, reaching for my hand as though it’s sacred. Then he lifts it to his lips.“Y
CARLOS’ POVIt’s nearly midnight by the time I pull into the driveway.I don’t move.My hand rests on the steering wheel. My fingers are clenched around it like I’m hanging on to something that isn’t there anymore. I stare at the door. The light above it is on—of course it is. Lina always waits up. Whether it’s out of care, obligation, or suspicion, I still haven’t figured out.I lean back into the seat and close my eyes, trying to breathe through the weight that presses down on my chest.Emily.Her name slips into my thoughts. No matter how hard I try to shove her into some corner of the past, she always finds a way to creep back in. Her laugh. The way she used to greet me at the door in those big, fuzzy slippers with her hair pulled back and a smile that felt like home.God, I’m such a damn idiot.I divorced her. Why?Because it started as a contract. That’s what I keep telling myself. It was supposed to be transactional. Practical. We were never meant to feel anything.Except we do
CARLOS’ POVThe sun is too damn bright.I squint as I step out of the car, watching Lina prance ahead of me toward the massive baby boutique like she’s heading into a candy store. Her heels click confidently on the pavement and her hand waves behind her as if to say come on, slowpoke. I catch up because I have to—not because I want to.Truth is, I feel like I’ve been dragged here. Like a leash has been tied around my neck, pulling me along with every smile, every “Carlos, this’ll be fun,” As the glass doors slide open, I hear the sound of lullabies inside the store. Everything is shiny. Expensive. The kind of place where cashmere blankets are folded like art and cribs cost more than some people’s rent.“Isn’t it beautiful?” Lina’s voice is sugar. She spins on her heel and takes my hand, tugging me forward. “I’ve been dying to come here.”I give her a faint smile. “Isn’t it a little early to be shopping?”She waves me off. “It’s never too early. We’re gonna be parents, Carlos! We nee
DANIEL’S POVI sit at my desk. My fingers are tapping on the table as the monitor in front of me flashes search results. Lina. Lina. Lina. Dozens of articles. Hundreds of names. None of them her.Each time I think I've found a lead, it slips through my fingers like smoke. A "Lina Morales" in Boston — no match. A "Lina M." in Los Angeles — wrong face. Wrong age. I close each tab one after another. With each second, I get more frustrated."She's a ghost," I mutter under my breath. Not even a damn traffic ticket. Not a whisper of scandal. Nothing. And that, in itself, is the biggest red flag of all.Nobody's that clean. Not unless they have a reason to scrub their past.I know nothing about her apart from the fact that she was married which I find absurd.I lean back in my chair, running a hand through my hair.Why are you hiding, Lina? What the hell are you so desperate to erase?I can't shake the feeling — that itching intuition that something big is sitting just beneath the surface, h
EMILY’S POVThe trip to Paris was great. Alexander’s driver drops me off at home. I didn’t have anything to drink but for some reason, I feel hungover.I’m barely through the front door when my phone buzzes again. A maid opens the door for me.“Good day, Miss Emily” she greets.“Hi” I say to her with a smile “How are you?”I go in, slipping out of my shoes, and glance at the screen. It’s an email.I tap it open, expecting another promotional message or maybe something from the clinic — but when I see the subject line, my heart leaps into my throat.Partnership Proposal: Maison de Lune Fashion House.I blink once. Twice. Just to make sure I’m not seeing things. No, I’m not imagining it.My fingers fumble a little as I click it open, reading the words over and over again. They’re inviting me — me — to a meeting. They want to talk about bringing my designs to life. They’re interested in opening a studio. With me.A squeal rips out of me before I can stop it. I spin around in the middle o
EMILY’S POVThe air in the room thins until it feels like I’m breathing through a straw.I stare at Lina in shock. For a moment, I think I’m seeing things.What the hell is she doing here?My mouth is dry and my heart is hammering so loud I can barely hear anything else. She stands there in the doorway like she owns the place, hips cocked to the side, perfectly manicured nails tapping against her tablet. Her red dress clings to her body like it’s painted on. Her hair falls down her shoulders in perfect, glossy waves.I force my voice to work. "Lina? What... what are you doing here?"“Lina?” Bridget echoes in confusion.Lina smiles. That smug, superior smile she’s perfected so well. It’s like she’s drinking in the chaos she’s just unleashed, savoring it. She catwalks into the room as if she belongs there.Around me, the board members shift uncomfortably. I hear low whispers.Bridget, from the side of the room, mutters under her breath, "Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me."Victori
EMILY’S POVEverything looks perfect. I made chicken, garlic butter vegetables, mashed potatoes and other things I know Carlos will love. My hands can’t seem to stop trembling as I arrange the table. I smooth down the linen napkins for the third time, adjust the candles, and glance at the clock. Carlos’s flight landed two hours ago, and he should be walking through that door any minute now.I inhale deeply, trying my best to calm myself. Yesterday, when the doctor said the words, “You’re pregnant,” I’d sat frozen for a moment, blinking back tears of disbelief and joy. It must have happened during that night—the one time Carlos had let his guard down. The night he had been drunk. It was the first time we had sex.For a year, I’ve dreamed of moments like this. A family with Carlos. A real chance at love. Maybe...just maybe, this news will be the start of something beautiful between us. This marriage started as a contract but I hope the news of my pregnancy will make Carlos realize that
EMILY’S POVThe sunlight rays filter through the curtains as I stir awake. For a brief moment, everything feels right—perfect even. I feel content. In that moment, I’m blissfully unaware of everything else—but then I shift. The gentle warmth of Carlos' arm around me tightens as I stir, as if he doesn’t want to let go. The familiar scent of his skin fills my senses, and for a split second, I allow myself to enjoy the feeling. I’m warm and safe, nestled in Carlos’s arms. His breath is soft against my hair. His body radiates a heat I’ve come to crave more than I’d like to admit. I feel perfect in his arms. It’s almost like we were made for each other.This is what I’ve always wanted: to wake up next to him, to feel like I belong here. To be a perfect married couple. I want our mornings to be like this all the time.But as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I feel sad again and my chest tightens painfully. The joy isgone before it even has a chance to settle. He isn’t mine. Maybe he ne
EMILY’S POVThe air in the room thins until it feels like I’m breathing through a straw.I stare at Lina in shock. For a moment, I think I’m seeing things.What the hell is she doing here?My mouth is dry and my heart is hammering so loud I can barely hear anything else. She stands there in the doorway like she owns the place, hips cocked to the side, perfectly manicured nails tapping against her tablet. Her red dress clings to her body like it’s painted on. Her hair falls down her shoulders in perfect, glossy waves.I force my voice to work. "Lina? What... what are you doing here?"“Lina?” Bridget echoes in confusion.Lina smiles. That smug, superior smile she’s perfected so well. It’s like she’s drinking in the chaos she’s just unleashed, savoring it. She catwalks into the room as if she belongs there.Around me, the board members shift uncomfortably. I hear low whispers.Bridget, from the side of the room, mutters under her breath, "Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me."Victori
EMILY’S POVThe trip to Paris was great. Alexander’s driver drops me off at home. I didn’t have anything to drink but for some reason, I feel hungover.I’m barely through the front door when my phone buzzes again. A maid opens the door for me.“Good day, Miss Emily” she greets.“Hi” I say to her with a smile “How are you?”I go in, slipping out of my shoes, and glance at the screen. It’s an email.I tap it open, expecting another promotional message or maybe something from the clinic — but when I see the subject line, my heart leaps into my throat.Partnership Proposal: Maison de Lune Fashion House.I blink once. Twice. Just to make sure I’m not seeing things. No, I’m not imagining it.My fingers fumble a little as I click it open, reading the words over and over again. They’re inviting me — me — to a meeting. They want to talk about bringing my designs to life. They’re interested in opening a studio. With me.A squeal rips out of me before I can stop it. I spin around in the middle o
DANIEL’S POVI sit at my desk. My fingers are tapping on the table as the monitor in front of me flashes search results. Lina. Lina. Lina. Dozens of articles. Hundreds of names. None of them her.Each time I think I've found a lead, it slips through my fingers like smoke. A "Lina Morales" in Boston — no match. A "Lina M." in Los Angeles — wrong face. Wrong age. I close each tab one after another. With each second, I get more frustrated."She's a ghost," I mutter under my breath. Not even a damn traffic ticket. Not a whisper of scandal. Nothing. And that, in itself, is the biggest red flag of all.Nobody's that clean. Not unless they have a reason to scrub their past.I know nothing about her apart from the fact that she was married which I find absurd.I lean back in my chair, running a hand through my hair.Why are you hiding, Lina? What the hell are you so desperate to erase?I can't shake the feeling — that itching intuition that something big is sitting just beneath the surface, h
CARLOS’ POVThe sun is too damn bright.I squint as I step out of the car, watching Lina prance ahead of me toward the massive baby boutique like she’s heading into a candy store. Her heels click confidently on the pavement and her hand waves behind her as if to say come on, slowpoke. I catch up because I have to—not because I want to.Truth is, I feel like I’ve been dragged here. Like a leash has been tied around my neck, pulling me along with every smile, every “Carlos, this’ll be fun,” As the glass doors slide open, I hear the sound of lullabies inside the store. Everything is shiny. Expensive. The kind of place where cashmere blankets are folded like art and cribs cost more than some people’s rent.“Isn’t it beautiful?” Lina’s voice is sugar. She spins on her heel and takes my hand, tugging me forward. “I’ve been dying to come here.”I give her a faint smile. “Isn’t it a little early to be shopping?”She waves me off. “It’s never too early. We’re gonna be parents, Carlos! We nee
CARLOS’ POVIt’s nearly midnight by the time I pull into the driveway.I don’t move.My hand rests on the steering wheel. My fingers are clenched around it like I’m hanging on to something that isn’t there anymore. I stare at the door. The light above it is on—of course it is. Lina always waits up. Whether it’s out of care, obligation, or suspicion, I still haven’t figured out.I lean back into the seat and close my eyes, trying to breathe through the weight that presses down on my chest.Emily.Her name slips into my thoughts. No matter how hard I try to shove her into some corner of the past, she always finds a way to creep back in. Her laugh. The way she used to greet me at the door in those big, fuzzy slippers with her hair pulled back and a smile that felt like home.God, I’m such a damn idiot.I divorced her. Why?Because it started as a contract. That’s what I keep telling myself. It was supposed to be transactional. Practical. We were never meant to feel anything.Except we do
Emily’s POVThe silk of the green dress shimmers under my fingertips as I smooth it down over my hips. I stare at my reflection one last time. The sweetheart neckline is modest yet elegant.The dress is perfect. Absolutely perfect.I snap a few pictures, biting my lip as I angle my phone just right. Then I hit send—to Bridget and Helen, because of course I have to. Almost immediately, my phone buzzes.Bridget: Girl, are you trying to end him? 😍🔥Helen: You’re a goddess. If he doesn’t faint on sight, I will.I laugh out loud. With one last spritz of perfume and a shaky deep breath, I step into the hallway and make my way down the elevator.Alexander is waiting in the lobby.The moment his eyes land on me, his eyes widen in surprise. He straightens to his full height. His eyes are locked on me like I’m the only woman in the world. Slowly, he walks to me with his lips partly open.He stops just in front of me, reaching for my hand as though it’s sacred. Then he lifts it to his lips.“Y
EMILY’S POVBack at the hotel, I slip off my shoes and finally exhale. After a quick shower, I pull on an oversized t-shirt Alexander gave me and crawl into the ridiculously soft hotel bed. I grab my phone and snap a couple of photos—the city skyline glowing from the window, the luxurious bathroom, the impossibly fluffy robe hanging on the door.I send them to Bridget and Helen.Bridget replies almost immediately: You’re one kiss away from falling for this man.I snort. Not gonna happen. He’s just… being sweet.Helen sends three heart-eyes emojis. Sweet is a slippery slope.I toss my phone aside and lie back, staring up at the ceiling. The room is quiet. I should feel relaxed, but instead, my mind won’t shut off. I’m grateful, absolutely. This whole surprise trip is thoughtful and generous. But not romantic. Not for me. And yet…I wonder if I’m being unfair. Am I giving Alexander the wrong idea? Should I have drawn a clearer line? He’s sleeping in the next room, probably thinking thi
EMILY’S POVThe jet touches down in Paris, and even though I’m tired to the bone, I press my face to the window like a kid. The city lights sparkle below us, and off in the distance, the Eiffel Tower glows like something out of a dream.I’m here.I’m actually in Paris.I can hardly believe it.Sure, I’ve traveled to a lot of places. But the fact that Alexander brought me here is still surprising to me. I mean, what guy takes you on his private jet to Paris all because you were having a stressful time? It says a lot about him and I don’t know how to process it.I rub my belly, smiling down at my child.“Hey baby” I whisper “We’re in Paris”As we step off the plane, the cool night air hits me. I shiver a little, and Alexander places a hand lightly on my back.“Welcome to the City of Lights,” he says with a smile in his voice.I smile back, trying to hide how overwhelmed I feel. “I still can’t believe you brought me here.”He gives me that look—like he’s proud of himself. “Just wait unti
EMILY’S POVThe dining table is a beautiful mess this evening. My laptop is open. Pencils are scattered and swatches of fabric are laid out beside sketches I’ve been working on all week. The sun has just started to set. It makes the colors in my designs look warmer, more alive. I’m in my zone, sketching out a flowy blush-toned evening dress while clicking between email drafts. I’m working on proposals to send to luxury boutiques and a few eco-friendly fabric brands, pitching my ideas for potential collaborations.For once, I’m not just dreaming—I’m doing. I’m really serious about starting something for myself. A fashion studio, my own label. Maybe I’ll even enroll in fashion school later on. This makes me happy. It’s always been my dream and it’s never too late to start.On my iPad, propped up by a napkin holder, a Facetime call with Bridget and Helen plays in the background. Bridget’s laugh is as loud as ever, and Helen looks effortlessly cool as always.“Okay, but that jumpsuit?” Br