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After glaring at the half-empty spreadsheet on the screen of the laptop for over an hour, I groaned into my hands and massaged my temple.

I was frustrated, exhausted, and hungry.

The proposed marketing strategy I spent twelve hours, practically all night, working on was supposed to be ten sheets long.

Supposed to be.

Now, staring back at me were only eight sheets, and it was barely complete.

Reason? I forgot to save the extra two before shutting the system down.

But there was nothing else to do but move forward.

So, I swallowed the aggravation, fought through the unnerving pressure, and began typing down the details I recalled.

And then, in the silence between keystrokes and the faint hum of the office AC, Katya’s name resurfaced in my mind. Like it had been doing for the past six weeks already.

The flashes returned—the scream, car noises, bruises, bloodied bandages, and worried doctors and nurses. Then on top of that, her father.

She still lay on that hospital bed, unconscious.

I didn’t go today, or yesterday. Or the day before that, or the day before….

I told myself I was busy. I even believed it for a moment.

But the truth twisted quietly in my chest; I couldn’t bear to see her like that again.

The tubes. The beeping. The sterile scent of fading hope.

Every time I stepped into that room, something in me broke a little more.

Something reminded me of my mother fighting for her life, too.

God knew I loved Katya. I loved both of them, but I wasn’t strong enough to see either of them in that state. Or him, for that matter .

We hadn’t spoken since that night. The night when I’d almost let go again to the temptation of kissing him. The night when he’d asked me the most absurd question ever.

How on earth did he think Katya would take the news of us sleeping together?

Did he honestly believe she would smile and give me a pat on the shoulder for a job well done?

Putting it bluntly, I’d survived on planet earth for twenty-two years without succumbing to the pressure to sleep with boys in high school and college.

I kept my virginity intact, and at the sight of the first rogue-looking foreign man I met in a nightclub, after three meetings, I literally spread my legs and allowed him to take me.

Oh, and might I add, that was after I found out he was my best friend’s father.

Who would celebrate such a thing?

I was practically family—like her sister. She would have expected me to treat her dad with respect and to view him as she did. Plus, they weren’t even on the best of terms. Any complication involving our intimacy would only worsen things.

I wasn’t going to lie; a part of me felt a wave of relief at the thought of Katya accepting our situationship. The thought of being with Damien freely and out of the shadows was by far liberating. I wanted it. Too badly.

But he obviously didn’t know Katya as well as I did. When with her some days, it was like talking and laughing with a ticking time bomb; she could go off at any time, or even over the minutest things.

He didn’t understand. Maybe he couldn’t. And part of me still resented that—resented how easily he could walk away from it all. From her.

But that was no longer my primary concern anymore. I had spreadsheets to fill and a bulk of other work to finish.

I clenched my jaw, moved from the spreadsheet to respond to emails, and focused on the next email, typing faster, harder. My fingers moved with the mechanical purpose of chasing deadlines I didn’t honestly care about and goals I couldn’t name.

But I loved working, more especially after the accident. I needed a distraction, and Luxe Nest presented itself with open arms.

I took a breath and exhaled slowly, my hand tightening around the edge of my desk. The world outside the window kept moving, cars snaking along the wet roads, people chasing purpose. And here I was, floating through my own life like a ghost.

People said time would help, that it healed all wounds. But all time had done was sharpen the ache and hollowness burrowing deeper in my chest. And I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep pretending that work was enough to outrun it.

I closed the spreadsheet.

I needed air. Or maybe, I just needed to feel something that wasn’t guilt.

I grabbed my second cup of coffee and started skimming through a draft campaign plan when Robert stepped into my office without knocking.

“Conference room in ten minutes. Bring the analytic summary and the campaign plan,” he said.

There was no familiar smile on his face, just that calm, unreadable tone he always used when he was all business. I nodded out of obligation, not willingness, because while I wanted everything that wouldn’t remind me of guilt, I was in this very office, having to face Robert every single day.

“Got it,” I said, trying to match his professionalism.

He lingered by the door, and I should have known he didn’t come all the way down to my office just to inform me about the meeting. His eyes flicked over the stack of papers on my desk before settling on me again.

“Elena….” His voice was lower now. “We still haven’t talked about what happened at that party.”

My stomach tightened, and the coffee on my tongue tasted like vinegar. I knew exactly what he meant. That kiss, more than a month ago, at Katya’s birthday party. I’d done it intentionally to spite Damien, and guess who had to bear the brunt of such a decision?

Me.

It had been brief, unplanned, and wrong.

I looked up at him, trying to keep my expression neutral, though all I wanted to do was cry. “Robert….”

He held up a hand, stopping me. “I told you I won’t push you, and I meant it. I just…I would like to know where we stand. Before this…awkwardness becomes permanent.”

His voice wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t warm either. Just honest. And it hurt more than anything.

“Robert, I’m sorry. I haven’t talked about it or brought it up because I’ve had a long time to consider your interest in me.” I knotted my fingers, taking a deep breath. “I think I want that interest to remain work-related. I love working with you and for you, and there are so many other things I—”

“You aren’t attracted to me. You don’t have feelings for me.

You can’t view me as anything else in your life other than your boss.

It’s okay, Elena. I get it. No hard feelings.

I cannot force you to accept me. As for the position I offered you during dinner, it’s still available.

Though not for much longer. I hear Susan’s working on a great pitch for the board.

Seems she has her eyes on the seat as well. ”

After he left, the silence that lingered settled heavily over the office.

I stared at the door for a long moment, ignoring my pounding heart.

Robert didn’t deserve to be hurt. Since I started working here, he had been nothing but supportive, professional, and fair. Even kind. But I couldn’t return what he felt. I didn’t want to lead him on, didn’t want to poison the professional respect we’d built.

I pressed my hand to my hand, willing it to slow down. I had less than ten minutes to get my act together.

Grabbing my laptop and a stack of files, I started making my way to the conference room for a head start, when a shimmer at the edges of my vision caught my attention again. Then, the floor seemed to tip beneath me, and a cold wave swept over my skin.

The chair scraped behind me as I stumbled toward the door, one hand clutching my laptop, and the other brushing sweat from my temple.

This wave of dizziness had been recurring for some weeks now. Some mornings, nausea greeted me before my feet touched the floor, and I’d gag over the sink, or in the staff bathroom, then step outside because I always needed air.

I caught myself and stood upright before resuming the walk to the conference room. At least, that had been the plan until a certain redhead appeared in front of me.

“Elena?” It was Susan, the only person in Luxe Nest who thought we were in some silent competition. Her brown eyes squinted as they swept up from my shoes to my face. “I almost didn’t recognize you. What happened?”

I frowned. “I’m not in the mood for small talk, Susan. If you have something to say, just come out and say it. Otherwise, we have a meeting to prepare for in a few minutes.”

“No, seriously. These past few weeks, you’ve been coming into work looking…I don’t know, kind of washed out. Are you sick?”

That would have been convenient for her, wouldn’t it?

I laughed it off, but it sounded too loud and forced. “I’m not sick, but thanks for your concern. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a plan to present.”

***

Immediately after the meeting, I hurriedly ran outside.

The cool breeze cut through my blouse, but I welcomed it.

I closed my eyes and breathed in deep, willing the spinning to stop, because it had happened again—the unwelcome wave of dizziness.

And though it didn’t disrupt the meeting, Susan’s words clung to me.

If she noticed, it meant that a handful of others had, too.

It’s just stress , I told myself.

I hadn’t been sleeping well, had skipped too many lunches, and said yes to too many deadlines. That had to be it.

By late afternoon, I found myself wandering the pharmacy aisles with a basket on my arm filled with mundane things—granola bars for Jasper, dry shampoo, a new highlighter pen—like I could pretend this was a normal errand.

I almost walked past the real reason for my shopping.

Almost.

But then I turned back and stared at the rows of pink and white boxes. My hand moved before I could talk myself out of it.

In my checkout line, my heart thudded in my ears louder than the beeping scanner. I couldn’t look the cashier in the eye. My fingers curled tightly around the paper bag, like holding on hard enough would ground me in reality.

By the time I got home, it was dusk. The sun had slipped beneath the rooftops, and the shadows fell on me in the bathroom as I sat at the edge of the bathtub, the white stick clutched in my trembling hands. My eyes refused to move from the tiny screen, even though I already knew what it said.

Two freaking lines.

Pregnant.

I tried to tell myself the stick wasn’t accurate, that I needed to consult a professional healthcare expert, but the truth stung when all the symptoms were clear signs that I was pregnant.

We didn’t use any protection. He wanted me raw.

And I was too swept up in the euphoria of the moment to care about the repercussions of having sex without a condom or birth control pill.

My stomach turned, and I suddenly felt lightheaded.

I blinked hard, hoping that, somehow, the result would change. That maybe, just maybe, my panic had caused some kind of malfunction. But the word remained the same.

I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth, stifling a sob that burned its way up my throat.

What would I even say to him?

Hey, surprise. Everything’s about to change, whether we’re ready or not? Whether Katya’s awake or not?

Except Katya wasn’t awake, and I wasn’t ready. God, I wasn’t ready.

The tears came, slow at first, and then all at once. A thousand questions screamed in my head, none with answers. Could I do this alone? Would he want to be a part of this? What would happen to the version of my future I had been stitching together?

I looked at the mirror across from me and saw the wreck of a girl who had been trying to hold everything together since a young age—her eyes red, her lips parted in shock. I didn’t recognize her.

But she was me now.