Chapter 2

Daphne

The sound of running water filled the tiny bathroom, but it did nothing to drown out the sound of me retching. My hands gripped the sides of the sink as another wave of nausea rolled through me, sharp and relentless.

I’d lost count of how many times I’d thrown up that morning. My eyes were red, my throat burned, and my knees trembled from how long I’d been standing here. When it finally stopped, I turned the faucet on higher and splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would somehow erase the sick feeling in my chest.

It didn’t.

The two pregnancy tests lay on the floor beside the trash can, their small screens glaring up at me like cruel little verdicts.

Two pink lines.

Both of them.

I sank down onto the cool tile, hugging my knees to my chest as if I could make myself smaller, as if the walls might close in and hide me from what I’d just seen.

This couldn’t be happening.

It had been weeks since that night, long enough for the blur to fade into something that felt almost unreal. I’d convinced myself it didn’t matter, that I could pretend it had never happened. But now, sitting on the bathroom floor with proof staring back at me, pretending wasn’t an option anymore.

A sob escaped before I could stop it. I pressed a hand to my mouth, but the sound still slipped out.

I’d worked so hard to build a life out of nothing. Orphaned at sixteen. Scholarships. Late shifts. Skipped meals to pay rent. Everything I’d done, every plan I’d made, had been for that one fragile dream of graduating and finding a job that would finally let me breathe.

And now, in one single mistake, it all felt like it was slipping away.

I didn’t even know him. Not really. Just his name, his face, his world that wasn’t mine. Zachary Moreau.

I thought of his penthouse, the way he looked asleep in that bed, peaceful and untouchable. He was probably in some boardroom right now, making decisions that changed lives, while mine had just been quietly ruined by one night that neither of us remembered clearly.

How was I supposed to tell him? How was I even supposed to face him?

The thought alone made my stomach twist again. Even if I could somehow walk into that glass tower he called an office, what would I say? Hi, remember me? We met once, and now I’m pregnant with your child.

He wouldn’t believe me. He’d probably think I was after his money, like everyone else in his world.

And even if he did believe me, what then? What kind of life could I give a child in a world like his? What kind of life could I give one in mine?

Tears blurred my vision again, hot and helpless.

I slid down until my cheek touched the cold tile and stared at the tiny plastic sticks on the floor. They looked harmless. Just two pieces of plastic with lines on them. But they’d changed everything.

I didn’t know how long I stayed there. The water still ran in the sink, steam curling around the edges of the mirror. My reflection was pale, my eyes dull and frightened.

Somewhere deep down, beneath the panic and disbelief, a small voice whispered that I needed to be strong. That this was my responsibility. That I would have to face it.

But right now, all I could do was cry.

For the girl who had wanted one night to forget.

For the woman who now had to remember it for the rest of her life.