SOPHIE
The city’s just starting to yawn awake when I slip out the door, hoodie pulled low, sunglasses shielding my puffy eyes. My leggings are tucked into scuffed sneakers, and my hair’s scraped into a bun that’s doing its best impression of a bird’s nest.
Still, I feel light, rumpled, glowing, and wrapped in the kind of satisfaction that lingers long after the night ends.
There’s a buzz under my skin, residual and electric. The kind that only comes after a night like the one we had. Alessio, all soft hands and whispered promises. That quiet confession, tangled in sheets and moonlight.
For once, I don’t feel like I’m sprinting toward something. Or away. I’m just… here.
I head to the corner café for my usual, oat milk latte, double shot, and something sweet to take back for Alessio. A reward for being the kind of man I didn’t know I needed until he showed up in my life like a wrecking ball in designer jeans.
I’m scrolling through my notes for the merger call, mentally rehearsing my pitch, when I hear it.
Laughter. Familiar. Sharp.
I glance up just in time to see them, two women standing in line ahead of me at the café, chatting loudly like the room isn’t already filled with caffeine-deprived humans trying to keep it together.
I don’t know their names. I don’t have to.
They’re exactly the type who used to orbit around him, perfect bodies, perfect blowouts, that effortless kind of mean that always seems rehearsed.
One of them catches sight of me. Her smile unfurls slowly, lazy and poisonous.
"Wow." She doesn’t even try to mask the once-over. "So, you're Sophie."
Her friend laughs. “Guess he’s going through a domestic phase. So cute.”
My spine stiffens.
“Excuse me?”
The first woman leans in, eyes glittering with mock pity. "Heard you run a cute little business. Must be refreshing for him to slum it for once."
I clench the coffee tray tighter, forcing a smile. "Better a cute business owner than a professional side piece."
Their smiles falter, just for a second.
But the brunette recovers fast, stepping closer, her voice syrupy and cruel. "We’ve had our turn with him. And his bestie, Nikolai. Hope you’re into sharing."
Her friend snickers like it’s the funniest thing she’s heard all morning.
I hold my ground, refusing to flinch. I smile sickeningly sweet. "Thanks for the heads up, but I don’t share toys once they're mine."
Their faces harden, but they turn with a sharp toss of their hair, heels clicking as they saunter off, leaving me there, heart racing.
My fingers tighten around the coffee tray.
The glow I was carrying dims in an instant.
And just like that, I remember. Happiness is always temporary. Especially when your heart’s on the line.
I try to brush it off. It’s not like I thought Alessio was a saint. I knew there was a past. Hell, we all have one.
But the confidence in their voices? The practiced cruelty? The casual way they said “we’ve had our turn”? It claws at something buried deeper. Older.
The clients who called me sweetheart instead of my name, sliding contracts across the table like they were handing me scraps, all while laughing at jokes I wasn’t invited to understand. My father’s affairs. The way they made my mother disappear little by little until she was a shadow.
My stomach twists violently.
I barely make it to the alley beside the café before I double over and vomit.
A woman walking past pauses, concern creasing her brow. "Are you okay?"
I wipe my mouth with my sleeve and try to smile. "Yeah. Just… too much caffeine."
But inside, everything is unraveling, fear curling cold and sharp beneath my skin.
It’s a lie. But it’s the kind that keeps you moving.
Back at the apartment, I close the door softly behind me. The stillness inside is jarring after the chaos in my head.
I head straight for the bathroom, flipping on the light.
The mirror stares back at me, too bright, too honest.
There’s sweat beading at my temple. My hands shake as I open the cabinet.
And sitting there, tucked behind the cold meds and cotton balls, is a pregnancy test I bought weeks ago. Just in case.
I frown as I check my period app. I’m late. Like, really late.
With all the stress of everything, it slipped my mind.
It’s probably nothing, right? Just everything going on…
Shaking, I pull the test from its box, hands fumbling with the foil wrapper.
My fingers feel too big, too clumsy, like they belong to someone else.
The bathroom light buzzes overhead, too bright.
I perch awkwardly and pee in that stick like it’s nobody’s business.
When I’m done, I set the stick on the edge of the sink, a live grenade that I’m not ready for, and pace the tiny bathroom, heart hammering.
It’s just stress. It has to be stress. The merger. The late nights.
The excuses come fast, colliding in my mind, none of them sticking.
What if it’s not stress?
What if it’s him?
What if it’s us?
I sit on the edge of the tub, test clutched in my hand, the silence pressing in from every wall.
One minute. Two. Time drags, stretching each second into something sharp and unbearable.
The lines start to blur, on the stick, in my vision, in my mind.
I blink down, heart thudding in my throat.
Positive.
The air leaves my lungs in one sharp exhale.
My fingers go numb.
I don’t cry.
I just sit there, staring, as the world quietly shifts beneath me.
Then I slide down to the floor, knees drawn up, the test still clutched in my hand like it might rewrite itself if I squeeze it hard enough.
“Fuck.”
It slips out in a whisper, again and again, like maybe repetition will soften the blow.
The women’s voices echo in my head, cruel, smug, certain.
We’ve had our turn.
Hope you’re into sharing.
He doesn’t do relationships.
But sex? He does that really well.
And now I’m pregnant.
By a man whose past won’t leave him alone.
And whose future with me suddenly feels like it’s hanging by a thread.
I push myself off the floor, legs unsteady, heart heavier than it’s ever been.
In the living room, Alessio’s phone is still plugged in where he left it, charging on the credenza.
I stare at it. The screen’s black, unreadable. So is everything else.
Should I go through it?
Should I confront him?
Instead, I reach for my own phone, my fingers fumbling over the screen like they’ve forgotten what to do.
I type the only thing that makes sense.
Is it still love if it makes you feel this sick? Because right now I don’t know if I’m in love or just completely losing myself.
I hit send. To Halie.
Then I set the phone down like it might burn me.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29 (Reading here)
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46