{ THE OTHER WOMAN AT MY TABLE }

LEILA

The air in the corridor felt different.

I rushed forward, my boots clicking urgently against the marble floor. My thumb brushed over the crumpled paper in my fist. I was going to show him. We were going to fix this.

But as I rounded the corner toward the East Wing, the world stopped.

The digital screens lining the hallway flashed a live broadcast from the VIP entrance. The internal news ticker rolled past in bright, mocking gold letters:

"CEO Karl Hawthorne arrives with fiancée, Natalia Scott. Full hospital lockdown initiated for private medical care."

I froze. The word fiancée hit me like a physical blow.

"Did you see them?" a nurse whispered eagerly. "Mr. Hawthorne carried her from the car himself. He looked terrified. They say she fainted at a fashion gala."

"He's spending millions to clear the top floor just for her," another whispered back. "They look beautiful together."

The warmth in my chest died, replaced by a cold numbness. He hadn't tracked my phone. He hadn't regretted the divorce. He didn't even know I was here. Everywhere I looked, their names were paired on the monitors, a long, glittering trap.

Then the elevator doors opened with a soft chime.

Karl stepped out. He looked handsome, his charcoal suit pressed, but his face was tight with panic. He was looking down at the woman in his arms. Natalia was draped against his chest like fragile silk, her diamond ring catching the harsh lights.

I stood right in his path.

Karl's eyes shifted forward. He saw me. For a fraction of a second, his footsteps hesitated, his dark eyes narrowing in surprise, recognizing me standing in the hallway. But the emotion vanished, replaced by a mask of freezing indifference.

He didn't stop. He didn't say a word.

Karl walked right past me, his shoulder brushing mine so roughly it turned me around. The scent of his cologne filled my senses, followed by the sweet perfume of Natalia Scott. He carried her toward the private suites, treating me like a stranger.

I stood alone in the crowded hallway. I slowly opened my fist and looked down at the tiny dot on the paper. He was bringing a woman into his empire, completely blind to the child I was carrying inside me.

---

The hospital pharmacy sat between the corridor and the elevator. I stopped.

"Prenatal vitamins," I heard myself say, my voice sounding hollow.

The pharmacist reached for a box without asking questions. A minute later, it was sitting in my hands. I paid, my fingers trembling as I slipped the box into my bag beside the ultrasound result. I was entirely on my own now.

The elevator doors opened. As I stepped inside, my phone vibrated. A corporate area code. Karl's lawyer.

A message appeared: (This is a follow-up regarding the settlement terms. Your response is required before the date stated.)

My fingers tightened around the device, then I switched it off completely. I wasn't ready to think about any of it.

---

Karl called two days later. I expected an apology. Instead, his voice was tight and demanding.

"My father expects us at dinner tonight at seven," he commanded. "He doesn't know about the papers yet. You will show up, and you will play your part. Details are in your email."

The line went flat before I could even respond.

Us. He said it so casually, purely to protect his inheritance, as though he hadn't paraded his fiancée through a hospital two days ago, as though there was still an us left to speak of.

I stared at the dark screen, then returned to the architectural revision I had been working through since morning. I would go. Not for Karl. I was done protecting him.

But I would go for Theodore.

Theodore Hawthorne was the only person in that family who had ever looked at me like I was worth looking at. My father had died saving his life years ago, and he believed debts like that deserved a permanent marriage. I had said yes because Theodore stayed after my father died, and because I had mistaken gratitude for love. It took me two years to learn they weren't the same thing.

I worked until I had barely fifteen minutes left. There was still black drafting ink stained deep into the knuckle of my right hand. I tried to scrub it off at the sink, but it wouldn't go. In the end, I left it there.

The Aurelian Grand Hotel was glowing when I arrived, glass and gold reflecting the evening light. Private dining room. Eleventh floor.

I stepped out of the elevator and heard Karl's mother, Ellen, speaking through the wall.

"Two full years, Theodore. Not even a whisper of a child. What kind of wife is she? It's an embarrassment to the Hawthorne name."

A child. The word landed with a heavy weight in my stomach. I pushed the door open.

Ellen's expression instantly rearranged itself into practiced blankness. Theodore turned toward me, warmth softening his face as he extended a hand. I crossed the room and took it.

And then I noticed the third person at the table. George Hawthorne, Karl's older half brother.

The striking man sitting across from me looked nothing like them. He was watching the door, one hand loose around his glass, his posture relaxed in the effortless way. His eyes found mine and held.

Theodore squeezed my hand. "Where is Karl?"

Ellen's gaze moved to the empty chair. "You didn't come together?"

"I thought he'd be here already."

Ellen set her glass down with a precise sound. "Any other woman would have secured her position by now. A husband never seen with his wife might as well not have one. Here we are."

The chilling realization hit me. Ellen was taunting me. She already knew Karl was leaving me.

"You're right that I haven't given the Hawthornes an heir, Ellen." My voice came out even, unhurried, and cold. "I've given them two years of actual, uncredited work instead. I understand how real value might be a disappointment to you."

The table went dead quiet. Theodore cleared his throat. Ellen reached tightly for her cup, shocked that I had just bitten back.

A moment later, the first course arrived and the conversation resumed. I let it pass around me like background noise. When I looked up, George was studying the wine in his glass, but the angle of his shoulders had shifted, toward where I was sitting.

He had witnessed me defend myself, and his dark eyes remained fixed on my face, reading me like a blueprint. He didn't say anything. His silence in the room felt heavy, and completely focused on me.

Suddenly, George's phone vibrated. He glanced down at the glowing screen, his jaw tightening, and he stood up.

"Dad," he said, his voice calm but firm. "There's an emergency at the downtown site. I need to go."

Theodore nodded, a look of understanding passing between them.

George picked up his jacket, but before he turned to leave, his eyes dropped back to me. He gave a small, polite nod, then turned and walked out without another word.

I was still thinking about the quiet intensity of his gaze when I heard heavy footsteps echoing down the marble hallway outside. Karl's distinct, commanding tread came first, but beneath it, a second set. Lighter. Quicker.

And then, just before the door handle could click, from somewhere on the other side of the wall, a sound cut through the air.

A laugh.

The soft, melodic giggle reached me a second before the door even opened. It was the exact same laugh I had heard bleeding through my living room wall six nights ago, the easy, unhurried laugh Karl Hawthorne had never once given to me.

The heavy mahogany door handle turned.