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Liam lunges, fury igniting behind his eyes. His fist connects with Griffin’s face, and the sound it makes is horrifying—a meaty thud followed by a grunt of pain. They go at each other like they’re on the ice with everything on the line.

Fists flying. Teeth bared. No gloves. No helmets. Just raw, unchecked rage.

“Stop it! Liam, stop!” I scream again, but I might as well be shouting into the wind.

Liam takes another hit to the face and something inside him snaps. His next punch is brutal—violent enough to turn Griffin’s head and send blood arcing through the air. They’re both panting, both swinging like it’s the only way to speak.

I lunge forward to stop them—too fast. My bag slips from my shoulder, hits the concrete, and bursts open. The clinic paperwork scatters across the driveway like confetti. I drop to my knees to gather it, but I’m too late.

Griffin’s gaze catches on the header of the top page.

He stops. Goes still.

“What the hell is this?” His voice is hoarse, disbelieving. He bends down, picks up the sheet, and reads aloud, his words slicing through the air like a blade.

“Pregnant?”

The oxygen’s sucked from the space between us. Liam’s head snaps toward me. I freeze, my breath caught in my throat.

Griffin looks from the page to my face, then back to Liam. “Are you serious, Katarina?”

I push up from the pavement, hands trembling.

this is not how I wanted this to come out—”

Liam’s voice cuts in, quiet and razor sharp. “What’s he talking about?”

I turn to him, eyes stinging. “Liam…” I nod, the word lodged in my throat. “I’m pregnant.”

His chest heaves like he’s been winded. “Mine?”

I nod again.

His voice cuts low. “You’re pregnant?”

Liam’s eyes widen.

The silence that follows is deafening. Griffin steps toward Liam, fists clenched.

“You think you can just knock up my sister and pretend like it doesn’t mean a fucking thing?”

I stand between them. No more secrets. No more pretending.

Just the truth.

Loud.

Messy.

And mine to tell.

“Griffin. Go.”

I hear my voice. Strong. Steady. But it’s carrying every ounce of pressure I’ve swallowed since I was sixteen. My hands are shaking. My pulse is wild. But my voice? Steady.

“This is my life, Griff. My mess.

You don’t get to set it on fire just because you think you know best. You taught me how to fight—and now I’m fighting for me.”