1: Two Pink Lines

|| Rachel ||

A single glance at the stick stole my breath.

Two pink lines.

My fingers went numb. The test nearly slipped from my hand and clattered against the sink. For a heartbeat, the world just—stopped. I didn’t need a doctor to tell me what my heart already knew.

The lines stared back at me, silent proof of a love I was never meant to keep. Lines that could either change my life for the better or break it completely. And yet, a smile trembled onto my lips.

I brushed my fingers over them again. They were solid, real, undeniable. My hands shook. I was thrilled and terrified all at once. How was I supposed to tell Slade about this? Our three-year contract marriage clearly stated no children. I didn’t need to reread the fine print to remember.

I was supposed to be at the office with him, not home staring at a pregnancy test. I’d told him I wasn’t feeling well, and he’d given me the day off without hesitation. That’s just the kind of man he is. In our three years together, he has been everything I’d ever wanted in a husband—except he isn’t really mine.

I still remember how it all began.

Three years ago, we were working late on a massive contract. When we finally secured the deal, we went out to celebrate. Too much champagne. Too many smiles that lingered too long. One wrong glance across the table turned into a kiss that shouldn’t have happened. Somehow, we ended up back at his apartment and, well, that night changed everything.

The next morning, I couldn’t even look him in the eye. I was his secretary, for fuck’s sake. And yet I’d crossed a line I couldn’t uncross.

A week later, he came to me with a proposal: a marriage contract for three years. The terms were simple. I’d receive financial stability and protection; in return, the public could never know we were married. It was supposed to be easy. My parents were gone, and the only family I had left was an estranged aunt in Sicily. I told myself I had nothing to lose.

The contract also stated no children and no falling in love—conditions I had no problem with back then. Until now. Because now, looking at these two pink lines, I was pregnant. I was carrying a child he never wanted.

For all the boundaries in our contract, Slade had never treated me like a stranger. He made our marriage feel real in ways it shouldn’t have. He took me to dinners, noticed my moods (especially during my period), remembered how I liked my coffee, my favorite food. When I wore flats because my feet hurt, he noticed. When I fell asleep on the couch reading, he covered me with a blanket. He never forgot my birthday.

It was impossible not to fall in love with him.

If he did all that, maybe he felt the same way. I had to tell him I was pregnant and finally make this real—our marriage, our baby.

Before I could think too much, I ordered his favorite meal from his favorite restaurant. I decided to text him to let him know I’d ordered dinner for us, knowing he’d otherwise come home with takeout. I typed and deleted a dozen messages before hitting send.

And If I kept moving, maybe I wouldn’t fall apart.

I arranged everything on the dining table, turned on slow romantic music and lowered the volume just how we liked it, then placed one of the few remaining candles on the table.

The door beeped as it unlocked. My heart jumped.

Slade stepped inside, tall and devastating in his dark suit, the jacket clinging perfectly to his broad shoulders. His usually neat hair was slightly mussed, giving him a rakish charm that sent heat rushing to my cheeks. But he looked tired, the kind of tired that sank deep into the bones.

A soft laugh escaped me before I could stop it. He crossed the room in long strides and pulled me into his arms, burying his face in my shoulder.

"The office felt weird without you," he murmured. "Too quiet. Too empty. I was so fucking tired, but coming home to you was the only thing that kept me sane."

Warmth bloomed in my chest, followed too quickly by the ache of what I still had to tell him.

He bit my neck lightly and whispered into my ear, "I’ll punish you later, first for taking a day off, and then for making me miss you this much."

He drew back just enough to meet my eyes, his amber gaze soft but shadowed.

"You look pale," he murmured, thumb brushing my cheek. "You really were sick?"

I nodded, forcing a smile. "Better now."

"Eat and then shower," I added.

We had dinner. Every time his hand brushed mine, my heart leapt to my throat. I kept searching for the right moment—to say it, to shatter the fragile calm before it broke on its own.

When he reached across the table, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my wrist, I almost told him. 'Slade, I’m pregnant.' The words burned at the back of my throat. But then he smiled, and my courage faltered.

After dinner, he stood and loosened his tie. "I’ll take a shower," he said, disappearing down the hall. The moment he was gone, I started clearing the dishes, pretending not to notice how my hands shook. The sink water was warm; my thoughts were not.

When I walked into the bedroom a few minutes later, he was there—fresh from the shower, wearing the gray bathrobe I’d folded that morning. His damp hair curled slightly at the ends, drops of water sliding down his neck.

My breath caught.

He turned, smiled, and walked toward me with that quiet confidence that always made my knees weak. His scent—soap, cologne, and something uniquely him—filled the room. It hit me like a memory I didn’t want to lose. When his arms came around me, I melted against his chest before I could think better of it.

His lips brushed my neck, sending a tremor through me, igniting a familiar fire in my belly. But I smothered it instantly. I couldn’t risk anything tonight. I didn’t even know the state of the baby. His hand slid to my lower ass as his tongue grazed my neck.

"I’m sorry," I said softly, stepping back. "I’m just… not feeling up for it."

His brows drew together, confusion flickering across his face. I curved my lips into the kind of smile he believed. The kind that said everything was fine.

"You know Cynthia’s pregnant?" I said. "And getting married soon. I’m so happy for her. It just… makes you think about things, you know? About starting a family."

For a heartbeat, his expression didn’t change. Then his jaw tightened. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by something cold and unreadable.

"Slade," I murmured, touching his arm.

"Are you taking your pills?" he blurted out, his tone rough and direct.

"What?" My voice broke. I heard him, but I needed him to repeat it.

"Your birth control pills," he said again, slower this time. "You’re taking them every day, right? You haven’t missed any?"

My lips parted, but no sound came out. I could only nod, my throat locked tight. The air between us turned heavy, too thick to breathe.

He held my gaze for a long moment, then exhaled. "Good. Just checking."

He turned away, reaching for his phone on the bed. "There’s a banquet tomorrow. I want you to come with me," he said. I knew him too well to miss the deflection in his voice.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my shoulders slumping slightly. I guess I had ten days to tell him the truth. That’s all we had left before the contract ended.

Ten days is enough time, right?