Chapter 4: The Two Lines

Ethan Blackwood was the last person I wanted judging my work.

Unfortunately, his opinion might decide whether Maison Luxe survived.

I stood beside the screen, trying not to look at him. My neighbour. The man I'd spent one night with. The billionaire leading the acquisition meeting.

“Let's start with the budget,” Ethan said.

I explained the costs and showed the lower-priced options I'd included. He tapped a finger against the table.

“Your lighting plan is expensive. Why not use standard fittings?”

“The space gets very little natural light. Standard fittings cost less upfront, but they'd make the rooms feel smaller and we'd need more of them. These use less energy. I've included the long-term costs, too.”

“Do you have figures to support that?”

My stomach tightened. I remembered leaving his apartment before he woke.

But this wasn't about last night.

I pulled up my comparison. “Here. The cheaper option costs less at first, but over three years, maintenance and energy use narrow the difference.”

Ethan studied the slide. “And the seating plan? You're using fewer pieces than the client requested.”

“The original layout blocks the main walkway. It looks full on paper, but people would have to squeeze past each other. I kept what serves a purpose and made the rest flexible.”

“And if the client insists?”

“Then I'll explain what they'll lose to fit everything in.” I met his eyes. “It's their space, but it's my job to tell them when something won't work.”

A woman from the acquisition team leaned forward. “I like that. You've considered how people will actually use the space.”

The questions continued. I answered what I knew and admitted what needed checking. By the end, my hands had stopped shaking.

Ethan closed the folder. “Mia should stay involved in the next stage. She understands the design and the practical limits.”

My heart jumped.

“As for the senior designer promotion,” he continued, “that has to be based on her performance across the work. One presentation isn't enough.”

The hope in me dipped, but I kept my face steady. “I agree. I want the promotion because I can do the job, not because anyone thinks I deserve a favour.”

His eyes held mine. “Good.”

The meeting moved on, but I barely heard the rest. I'd earned a chance to prove myself. That was what mattered, not the way he watched me gather my notes.

He'd kept it professional. So had I.

I left determined to make sure he never had a reason to question my work. Still, I couldn't be certain where his professional judgment ended and his personal interest began. I would have to prove myself without owing him anything.

By the time I got home, another worry had pushed its way to the front of my mind.

My period was late.

I checked the calendar on my phone. Then checked it again, hoping I'd counted wrong.

“No,” I whispered.

Stress could do this. The breakup, the rent, the presentation. There were plenty of reasons.

There was also one night with Ethan.

I bought a pregnancy test at a pharmacy two streets away. I kept my eyes on the counter while I paid, then shoved the bag into my purse like someone might guess what was inside.

At home, I read the instructions twice. My hands were cold. The waiting felt endless, though it was only a few minutes.

When I finally looked, two lines stared back at me.

Positive.

I sat on the bathroom floor.

I'd just ended a four-year relationship. My savings were nearly gone, and I was fighting to keep my job secure. I could barely manage my own life right now.

And now I might be having a baby.

I checked the instructions again and took the second test I'd bought. I waited, barely breathing.

Two lines again.

My eyes filled. I pressed my palm over my mouth, caught between a laugh and a sob. I was scared. Of course I was. Ethan and I barely knew each other. We'd made no promises, and I hadn't planned for any of this.

But I couldn't pretend it was only my problem. And I wasn't going to let fear make every decision for me.

I washed my face and found Ethan's number in the meeting email. My thumb hovered over the call button.

I didn't want him throwing money at me and calling it responsibility. I didn't want him deciding where I'd live or what happened next. But he had a right to know.

He answered on the second ring. “Mia?”

“Can we talk? In person.”

“Is this about the project?”

“No. It's about that night.”

His voice changed. “Where are you?”

“Home. I can come over, or—”

“I'll come to you.”

“Ethan, I don't need you rushing over to take charge of everything.”

“I haven't said anything yet.”

“I'm just making it clear.”

“Okay. I'll listen.”

Twenty minutes later, I opened my door. Ethan stood in the hallway with his tie loosened and his jacket gone. One look at my face made him stop trying to look calm.

I stepped aside, but I didn't sit down. If I did, I wasn't sure I'd get the words out.

“I'm pregnant.”

He went completely still.

I took the test from the paper bag and held it out. His eyes dropped to the two lines, then lifted to my face. The confidence I'd seen in that meeting had vanished.

“Mia...” He rubbed his jaw. “We'll figure this out. I'll make sure you have whatever you need.”

“I don't want you to buy your way out of this.”

“That's not what I'm doing.”

“You don't know what I'm asking for yet. I don't know either. I just need you to understand this is real. You don't get to make every decision because you have money.”

He opened his mouth, then stopped. For once, he had no quick answer.

His phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, and his expression changed so sharply that I forgot what I'd been about to say. He answered without taking his eyes off me.

“What happened?”

A voice came through, too low for me to hear.

Ethan's jaw tightened. He looked at the test in my hand again.

“Tell me exactly what you found.”

He listened. Then his eyes snapped back to mine.

“Don't let anyone leave the building,” he said. “I'm coming.”

He ended the call but didn't move.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Mia,” he said slowly, “I think this involves you, too.”