Nobela ni Bonnie Jay

By the time I got back to the bakery, the weight of the entire day had settled in my shoulders like wet sand. I didn’t remember walking the last two blocks from the train station. Didn’t remember crossing at the lights. My body moved on autopilot, but my brain hadn’t caught up.Damian Sterling’s words still clung to the walls of my skull. “Move in with me.” Like he was offering to board a stray.I didn’t know what was worse. The proposition itself, or the fact that, for a split second I’d considered it.The bell above the bakery door jingled as I stepped inside, the sound warm and familiar.It smelled like cinnamon and melted chocolate. Like sugar-crusted nostalgia and early mornings. Like mine.This space...this crooked little building with its paint-chipped windows and scuffed wood counters...was the only place that ever felt like it belonged to me.And tonight, I needed it more than air.“Wow,” came Rosa’s voice from behind the display case. “You look like a mood that filed for ban

I wasn’t late.But my heart sure as hell felt like it was trying to catch up to something; a future I hadn’t planned for, a secret I couldn’t bury fast enough.The air inside Midtown OB/GYN Associates hit me like a slap in the face. Lemon-scented disinfectant layered over something far more primal. Anxiety. Expectation. Fear in its cleanest, most sterile form.I inhaled once. Shallow.Didn’t help.My fingers closed around the clipboard like it might anchor me. The pen they handed me was too light, the kind that makes your signature feel ghostly, like even your name is trying to disappear.Second appointment. Nine weeks. I was supposed to feel more confident by now. Supposed to be glowing or grounded or whatever other Pinterest-friendly myth people pushed about pregnancy.But I didn’t feel maternal.I felt hunted.I turned toward the waiting area.And stopped breathing.There are moments that split your life clean in half. Before and after. Safe and seen.This was one of them.Damian S

Damian's POVThe knock came at precisely 11:14 PM.Three sharp taps, nothing rushed, nothing frantic. Just firm enough to carry weight. The kind of knock that didn’t ask permission. The kind that delivered truths you weren’t ready to hear.I didn’t turn from the window.Didn’t need to.The door opened anyway.Cassian stepped in, still in his overcoat, a manila folder gripped in one hand like it might explode. “I ran the search,” he said, without the usual buffer of context or disclaimers.“Say it,” I murmured.“She had a private medical appointment. Flagged during the insurance trace,” he said, placing the folder gently on the table behind me.Still, I didn’t turn. I watched the lights of town blink like warning signals in the dark.“Where?”“Midtown OB/GYN. Discreet. Cheap. Appointment was two and a half weeks ago.”Two and a half weeks ago.That was six weeks after she vanished from my bed. No number. No name.It was also just long enough to mean something.To hint at something I d

Damian's POVThe elevator doors closed behind me with a hiss that sounded too much like disapproval.The kind of hiss that reminded you even the walls in this place had opinions. Even the air knew I was unraveling.My penthouse stretched out before me, slick and sterile. Silent. Too silent. The kind of silence I used to crave, curated, intentional, uninterrupted.But tonight, it didn’t feel like peace.It felt like judgment.Like the quiet had teeth.I shrugged off my coat and let it fall across the back of a leather chair, the soft thud echoing louder than it should have. My fingers went to my cuffs next, loosening them like I was peeling off a skin that didn’t fit right anymore.The skyline stared back at me through the floor-to-ceiling glass. Gleaming. Endless. Slick with ambition. The city lights bled into the room in shards, painting my walls in golds and blues and lies.I moved toward the bar out of habit, half a thought away from pouring something sharp and aged, but stopped.I

Morning smelled like burnt sugar and disappointment.I was elbow-deep in a half-wrecked order and already halfway through losing my voice, standing outside The Sweet Theory with my apron crusted in flour and my patience hanging by a thread.“You said before seven,” I snapped, pointing at the dented back of a van that smelled suspiciously like onions. “That was the agreement. Not seven fifteen. Not whenever-you-felt-like-crawling-out-of-bed o’clock. Seven. Sharp.”The delivery guy, a teenager with too many piercings and not enough caffeine, scratched the back of his neck. “Traffic was hell, okay? And Derek had to switch vans with me because the regular one got towed. I’m doing my best.”“Your best is currently giving me wilted strawberries and the wrong kind of chocolate. Again.”He held up his hands like I’d just threatened his bloodline. “Look, I just deliver the stuff. Talk to dispatch if it’s a problem.”I bit my tongue so hard I tasted iron. Not his fault. Not really. But I had cu

The waiting room smelled like lemon cleaner and nerves.A low hum buzzed from the fluorescent lights above, too bright, too white, like they were trying to bleach every anxious thought out of the air. It didn’t work. My hands kept twitching in my lap, rubbing slow, frantic circles against the inside of my wrist like maybe I could scrub the panic out of my skin.I stared at the peeling magazine in my hands but didn’t read a word. Pregnancy Today. Cute. The cover had a glowing woman in white linen and perfectly styled waves. She looked like she’d never cried on the floor of a bakery bathroom while holding a stick that changed her entire life.I bit the inside of my cheek.Three minutes felt like thirty.“Brielle Taylor?”My head snapped up.The nurse had a kind smile and eyes that looked like she’d seen this a thousand times. All the emotions. All the types of women. The overjoyed, the terrified, the not-sure-if-they’re-ready. I stood slowly, feeling like my legs were wrapped in wet san