MasukThird Person POVThe aftermath of everything that had happened lingered like a shadow that refused to fully disappear. Even after Julia’s arrest, even after the hospital, even after the statements and the police reports, there was still a quiet unease that followed Lauren and Andre everywhere they went. Not fear exactly, but caution. A new awareness that peace, for them, had to be chosen intentionally. So they made a decision. A simple one on paper. But a life-changing one in reality. They would leave. Not permanently, not in panic—but long enough for the world to settle, for Lauren to breathe without looking over her shoulder, and for the baby to arrive somewhere that felt untouched by chaos. New Zealand. A place far enough to feel like a reset. A place familiar to the mother and baby.
Lauren’s POV The night still felt too perfect to end. Even after dinner, even after the confession, even after everything that had been said between us, I didn’t want it to be over. I wanted to stay in that moment a little longer. by the water, under the soft golden lights, with Dre’s hand still in mine and his thumb lazily tracing slow circles over my skin like he was memorizing me. But my body had other plans. The pregnancy fatigue hit me in waves now. Not sudden, not alarming—just a slow, heavy exhaustion that crept into my bones and reminded me that I was carrying life and that my body was doing more work than I could ever consciously feel. I leaned slightly into Dre as we sat, watching the water, and he noticed immediately. “You’re tired,” he said gently. I nodded, resting my head briefly against his shoulder. “A little.” “
LAUREN’S POV A week later, and for the first time in what feels like forever, life has finally settled into something soft and steady. Not the kind of quiet that makes you anxious, waiting for the next disaster to strike, but the kind that wraps around you gently and lets you breathe without fear. I wake up every morning without that tight knot in my chest, without the constant anticipation that something is about to go wrong, and that alone feels like a luxury I didn’t realize I had been deprived of for so long. Physically, I am so much better now. The pain from the fall is completely gone, replaced by a slight heaviness that comes naturally with pregnancy. I can move around without wincing, sleep without constantly adjusting to find a comfortable position, and most importantly, I no longer feel fragile because of the pain. But I felt all these things because my due date was nearing. Emotionally, I feel st
ANDRE’S POV The moment Lauren fell asleep, I knew I couldn’t stay. Not yet. Not with everything still unresolved. I stood there for a while though… just watching her. The soft rise and fall of her chest, the way her hand rested protectively over her stomach even in sleep, the faint crease between her brows that hadn’t completely disappeared. She looked peaceful. But fragile. And it did something violent to my chest. I reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face, my fingers lingering just a second too long. “I’ll be back,” I said quietly, even though she couldn’t hear me. Then I turned. And left. The drive to the mansion was quiet. Too quiet. No music. No calls. Just the low hum of the engine and the storm building in my head. B
LAUREN’S POV The ride back from the hospital felt different from the one that brought us there. This time, there were no sirens, no panic, no desperate prayers whispered under shaky breaths. Just quiet. A heavy, careful kind of quiet that wrapped around us like something fragile. I sat in the passenger seat, slightly reclined, one hand resting on my belly while the other stayed loosely on my lap, and every few seconds—without fail—Dre would glance at me. Not casually. Not absentmindedly. But intentionally. Like he needed to see me to believe I was okay. “Are you comfortable?” he asked again, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. I turned my head slightly to look at him, a small smile tugging at my lips despite everything. “Dre… you’ve asked me that five times already.” “And I’ll ask five more,” he replied without missing a beat, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. I didn’t argue. Because I understood. ⸻ By the time we got to the penthou
Andre POV Not long after, my mom returned with food. Lauren hadn’t eaten since morning. And it was already evening. That alone made my chest tighten again. Her mother sat beside her, carefully feeding her as if she were fragile glass. And Lauren let her. Too tired to protest. Too drained to do anything but accept it. “I swear, that girl…” her mom muttered angrily through tears. “I will kill her with my bare hands.” “Same here,” my mom added from the side, her tone dangerously calm. Lauren gave a weak, tired smile. “Mums… no murder plans, please… not today,” she murmured. Even now. Even after everything. She was still trying to lighten the room. And it broke me even more. Because I didn’t deserve her. Not even a little. She kept glancing at me. Over and over again. Small, quiet looks. And every single time our eyes met, I felt it. That pull. That connection. That thing between us that refused to die no matter how much we had been through.
Lauren A week passed faster than I expected it to. Between remote meetings, endless emails, and a body that seemed to be constantly renegotiating its relationship with food, I barely noticed the days stacking on top of each other. I was tired in a way that sleep didn’t quite fix—but it was a pr
Lauren pov Ethan doesn’t say much on the drive, and I’m grateful for it. The morning air is cool, the kind that feels like a promise. His car hums softly beneath us, tires rolling over familiar streets that still feel foreign to me. I keep my hands folded in my lap, my yoga mat resting against
Andre Pov Cole says it’s a prank. I tell him to get out. But the thing about these kinds of ‘pranks’ is that they don’t just end with you being mad or when the door closes. It keeps you up at night. That night, I didn’t drink. I don’t sleep either. I lie on my back in the dark, staring at
Andre POV It’s been a month. Thirty-one days since Lauren left, and the silence she took with her has been louder than any argument we ever had. I tried everything. Private investigators. Quiet calls. Not-so-quiet ones. I leaned on people who owed me favors and people who didn’t but were af







