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Eighty three
Tanggal publikasi:
2026-05-18 23:36:42
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Pregnant and Rejected, Now She’s Back! Eighty five
The single word cut through my corporate speech like a knife.“Don’t give me the scripted answer you think I want to hear. Why are you really here, Ms. Mora?”“I need the money.” I blurted out and for a moment, his severe expression seemed to soften.“At least you’re honest.” He stood abruptly, began pacing to the windows. “Most people who sit in that chair lie to my face for forty five minutes. You lasted thirty seconds before telling the truth.”I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult.“The position requires someone who can analyze complex financial models,” he continued, staring out at the city rather than at me. “Someone who can spot inconsistencies in data. Someone meticulous, detail oriented, and willing to work long hours.”“I can do that,” I said, with more confidence than I felt.“Can you?” He turned sharply.“Because if you waste my time, Ms. Mora, you’ll find yourself unemployed very quickly. I don’t tolerate incompetence, I don’t tolerate excuses and I certain
Pregnant and Rejected, Now She’s Back! Eighty three
The lobby of Castellan Industries was clearly designed to intimidate.I stood in the center of the marble floor, craning my neck to take in the soaring glass ceiling thirty feet above. Everything gleamed—polished chrome, spotless windows, even the receptionist’s smile had an unnaturally perfect sheen to it. The kind of corporate fortress that screamed money and power in equal measures.Also the kind of place I would’ve protested outside of six months ago. But now I was here begging for a job.“Ms. Mora?” A crisp voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. A woman in a charcoal suit approached, clipboard in hand, with a pinched expression. “Mr. Castellan will see you now. Follow me, please.”I smoothed down my thrift store blazer—the nicest thing I owned that didn’t have holes—and followed her to the elevators. My worn flats squeaked slightly against the marble making me cringe internally as I tried to walk more quietly.You can do this, I told myself as we rose silently toward the twent
Pregnant and Rejected, Now She’s Back! Eighty two
I was waiting for him to push.This was the honest thing I had not said to Seth or to anyone else, the thing that lived underneath the rules and was why the rules existed in the first place. I had written them as boundaries but they were also, if I was precise about it, tripwires. Structures designed to catch the moment when the man I had married would reassert himself, when the patience would run out and the old mechanisms would return, the pressure and the leverage and the specific quality of coldness that had been his primary mode of communication across three years of a marriage that required me to always be reaching and never quite arriving.I had been waiting.He was not pushing.Five weeks in and he had not once tested the edges of the arrangement, had not once angled for more than I had indicated I was giving, had not once used the access the arrangement gave him as a foundation for anything I had not offered. He moved within whatever space I gave him, consistently and without
Pregnant and Rejected, Now She’s Back! Eighty one
Brynn povI had stayed late because Julie had a school project that required glitter, which was a design decision that no parent or teacher had thought through properly, and by the time the glitter was contained and the project was finished and Julie had been bathed and the bathroom had been partially deglittered and both children were in bed, it was nearly ten and the reasonable thing to do was leave.I did not leave.I told myself I was tired. This was true. I told myself the drive back to the hotel at this hour was not preferable to sitting somewhere quiet for twenty minutes first. This was also true, or true enough. I told myself both of these things and I walked down the hallway to the door at the end of it, the one that opened onto the terrace off his study, and I pushed it open and stepped out.The terrace was a narrow strip of stone, good railing, the kind of view that was best after dark when the lights of the city turned everything below into something that looked deliberate
Pregnant and Rejected, Now She’s Back! Eighty
Darius’s POV I saw it. The Tuesday afternoon call that had nothing to do with Jake or Julie, Brynn’s voice carrying that specific frustration that meant work drama rather than actual crisis. The way she’d launched straight into the story like we did this regularly, like calling me to vent about difficult directors was a normal part of our dynamic. The way she’d stayed on the line after the problem was solved, talking about nothing important, just existing in conversation with me for the pleasure of it. I saw all of it and I knew exactly what it meant. That evening when she showed up at my place, earlier than usua, she stayed longer than she’d planned. I could tell by the way she kept glancing at her phone, checking the time, then setting it down and not leaving. An hour past when she normally would have made her excuses and disappeared back to the hotel. Two hours. She fell asleep on my couch while we were watching something, her head against my shoulder, her breathing evenin
Pregnant and Rejected, Now She’s Back! Seventy nine
Brynn’s POV I called him on a Tuesday afternoon from my car, sitting in the production lot after a meeting that had left me rattled and frustrated in ways that had nothing to do with actual business problems and everything to do with creative egos. Not about business schedules or pickup arrangements or the children any of the hundred legitimate reasons I might need to contact my ex-husband turned occasional hookup. I just pulled out my phone and dialed his number without thinking about it, my thumb moving automatically to his contact, some reflex bypassing all my careful reasoning about boundaries and appropriate contact levels. “Brynn,” he answered on the second ring, his voice carrying that slight edge of concern it always had when I called unexpectedly during work hours. “Everything okay with Jake and Julie?” “They’re fine,” I said, still staring at the steering wheel where my keys dangled from the ignition. “This isn’t about them.” A pause, brief but noticeable enough that I
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