Chapter 3

Daphne

The next morning, I woke up to silence. No ringing alarm, no chatter from the apartment next door, no clinking dishes from the café downstairs. Just the sound of my own breathing and the faint hum of the refrigerator in the next room.

My head still felt heavy, but it wasn’t from wine this time. It was from everything I had been trying not to think about.

I had spent the night on the bathroom floor, drifting between crying and staring at the ceiling until my eyes burned. When the sun rose, something inside me hardened. I couldn’t keep sitting there, waiting for the world to decide what would happen to me.

I was pregnant. And he deserved to know.

It was a thought that terrified me even as I stood up and forced myself to get ready. The idea of facing Zachary Moreau—of standing in front of him and saying the words out loud—felt impossible. But so did doing nothing.

I showered, dressed in my cleanest clothes, and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. My reflection in the mirror looked calm, but my hands trembled when I tried to put on lipstick. I wiped it off and left my face bare instead.

The city was already awake by the time I stepped outside. The air smelled like coffee and exhaust. Cars moved in steady lines, people hurried past me with purpose. I felt invisible among them, one small person carrying a secret that was about to change everything.

The tower wasn’t far, but it might as well have been another world.

Moreau International rose above the skyline like something untouchable, glass and steel catching the morning light. I had walked by it before, on my way to campus or work, always glancing up at it from a distance. Now I was walking toward it, every step heavier than the last.

My heart pounded when I reached the plaza. The building loomed over me, sleek and perfect, a monument to a life I could never afford. People in suits streamed through the revolving doors, confident and beautiful, their shoes clicking on marble floors.

I hesitated at the edge of the steps.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should turn back. But then I thought of the two pink lines on the test and the life growing inside me.

I took another breath and climbed the stairs.

Inside, the lobby gleamed. Light bounced off polished marble, and the air smelled faintly of citrus and money. A receptionist smiled politely as I approached, though her eyes flicked over me in a way that made me acutely aware of my secondhand coat and worn shoes.

“Good morning. How may I help you?”

I swallowed hard. “I need to see Mr. Moreau.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” I whispered. “But it’s important.”

The receptionist’s smile tightened. “I’m afraid Mr. Moreau isn’t available without an appointment. You can schedule one through his assistant.”

She slid a sleek card toward me, and I stared at it. The black ink shimmered faintly against the white paper.

“Thank you,” I managed, though my voice cracked.

I stepped away from the desk, my vision blurring. I wasn’t even sure what I had expected—that he would somehow appear, that fate would make it easy. Nothing about my life had ever been easy.

I stood there for a long moment, watching the elevator doors open and close, people vanishing behind mirrored panels. Every second that passed made my resolve weaken.

Maybe this wasn’t the right time. Maybe I needed to think, to plan, to figure out how to say the words without sounding desperate or insane.

I turned toward the glass entrance, meaning to leave. That was when something brushed against my ankle.

A newspaper, caught by the wind from an opening door, slid across the marble floor and stopped at my feet. I bent down to pick it up, more out of reflex than curiosity.

The front page was bright and loud.

HEIR TO MOREAU INTERNATIONAL ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT TO SENATOR’S DAUGHTER.

A smiling photograph filled the page—Zachary in a tuxedo, his arm around a woman with perfect curls and a diamond that could probably pay my rent for a year.

For a second, I couldn’t move.

The paper trembled in my hands as I read the caption again. My eyes found the date. It was this morning’s edition.

He was engaged.

A strange, hollow sound left my throat. I wasn’t sure if it was a laugh or a sob.

So that was it.

Whatever foolish part of me had believed I owed him the truth disappeared right then. I folded the paper and set it back down on the bench by the door, my hands numb.

Of course he was engaged. Men like him didn’t exist in the same reality as women like me. His world was crystal and light, and mine was cracked tile and cheap coffee.

I walked outside, the sunlight hitting me in the face. The city moved around me like nothing had changed, but everything inside me had.

Maybe it was better this way.

If I told him, it would only ruin things for him—for both of us. He had his future lined up neatly in headlines and business deals. I couldn’t drag him into mine.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, still flat beneath my coat, and took a shaky breath.

“I’ll figure it out,” I whispered to no one. “I always do.”

The wind caught my hair as I walked down the steps, scattering the newspaper pages behind me. Somewhere high above, sunlight reflected off the glass tower, bright enough to make me squint.

I didn’t look back.