Page 65 of Pucking One Night Stand

No. I’m very fucking far from okay!

But I nod.

She doesn’t buy it.

“Cass…”

“I said I’m fine.” My voice is sharp. Too fast. “Can we not do this right now?”

She watches me. Really watches. Not in a judgmental way. Just…careful.

And I don’t want careful. I want this day to be over.

I want to rewind before I ever met that fuck-face, Mitchell. “I’ve got emails to send,” I mutter, already turning my focus back to the table, the notes, anything but her face.

“Alright,” Riley says finally. “But I’m here. Just… if you need me. Okay?”

I nod again. The door closes behind her.

And for the first time in three and a half hours, I exhale.

Quiet. Shaky. Alone.

A bet. I was a fucking bet. ME. I could claw his damn eyes out!

My chest caves in like something sharp just punched straight through it. I press a hand flat against the table, but I can’t steady myself.

I’mpregnant.

I don’t even know how to be that word. And I definitely don’t know how to be that word after finding out the guy who knocked me up only touched me to win a stupid fucking dare.

The sting behind my eyes swells fast. My throat’s closing, and I don’t even care anymore.

Tears blur everything. The table, the chairs, and the fake Ficus plant in the corner that looks like it’s judging me.

My laptop slams shut. Loud. I don’t care.

I just need to get out of here. NOW.

I grab it, all of it. Laptop. Papers. My phone. My tote bag. My charger. I don’t know why. None of it matters right now.

I yank the conference room door open and storm through Media and Comms like a grenade someone forgot to defuse.

Heads turn. I catch glimpses of faces, Andrew, Tarquin, someone from analytics, maybe Content, but none of them register properly. They’re just blobs. Blurry, vague, stunned blobs.

I power through the office, weaving past desks like I’m avoiding enemy fire. My vision’s shot, wet, useless. But I know where I’m going. My office.

The door’s right there. I shove it open, step inside, and practically throw the laptop and papers down like they’re public enemy number one. My tote bag slides off my shoulder and hits the floor.

I can't breathe in here.

I grab it back up, snatch my keycard where it dangles from the stupid elastic belt loop, lock the office behind me, and walk back out without another glance.

No one tries to stop me. Maybe they know better. Maybe they just don’t want to get involved.

Down the hallway, my heels echo like I’m counting down to detonation. The corridors are a blur of movement, arena staff, trainers, and people from team ops. I can’t see them clearly, and I don’t care.

I’m seconds from making it to the entrance, freedom, finally—