LOGINAria had been staring at the same spreadsheet for twenty minutes, the numbers blurring into meaningless patterns. Her pen tapped against the desk in an uneven rhythm. She kept telling herself it was stress. Just stress. But her stomach coiled tighter every time she counted back the weeks in her head.
“Earth to Aria,” Janice said from across the cubicle wall. “You’ve been drilling holes into that screen all morning.”
Aria blinked and forced a smile. “Just… going over projections.”
Janice peered over the divider. “You look pale. Are you sick?”
“No, I’m fine,” Aria said quickly. “Didn’t sleep much, that’s all.”
Janice raised a brow, unconvinced, but dropped it when Liam’s office door opened. He stepped out, sharp in a charcoal suit, scanning the floor. Conversations hushed without him asking. Aria straightened automatically, praying he wouldn’t notice her distraction.
He didn’t. His gaze swept the room, landed on the board across the wall, then back to his office. Cold. Detached. Yet in the second before he turned away, Aria could’ve sworn his eyes lingered on her.
Her pulse skipped. She bent back over her screen, willing the heat in her cheeks to fade.
---
At lunch, she picked at her salad, appetite gone. Janice plopped into the chair beside her. “You’re not eating. Seriously, what’s up?”
“Nothing. Just a headache,” Aria muttered.
“Headache for three days straight?” Janice narrowed her eyes. “Girl, you’re either in love or dying. Which is it?”
Aria choked on a laugh. “Neither.”
Sophie, another coworker, leaned across the table. “I heard stress does that. Messes with your body, makes you late, makes you feel weird.”
The word late struck like a thunderclap. Aria dropped her fork, heart hammering.
Janice tilted her head. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Aria said too fast, grabbing her water. She drained half the bottle just to avoid their stares.
They exchanged looks but didn’t push. Still, Aria felt the weight of suspicion following her back to her desk.
---
By midafternoon, her nerves were frayed. She caught herself biting her nails, something she hadn’t done in years. The more she tried to act normal, the more jittery she became.
“Hayes,” Liam’s voice snapped across the floor.
She jolted upright. “Yes?”
“Report. Now.”
Her legs carried her into his office before her brain caught up. He didn’t look up from the papers on his desk. “Sit.”
She obeyed, gripping her notepad like a shield.
“You’ve missed two errors in last week’s analysis,” he said, sliding a document across the desk. “I don’t tolerate carelessness.”
Her stomach sank. “I’ll fix it immediately.”
“See that you do.” His eyes lifted, sharp and unyielding. “If you’re distracted by something, leave it at home. This company doesn’t wait for anyone to get their act together.”
Her throat tightened. She nodded, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Understood.”
He dismissed her with a flick of his hand, already bent over another file. She walked out stiffly, her cheeks burning under the weight of unspoken words. If only he knew what was clawing at her chest. If only she knew what she was going to do.
---
At home that evening, Mia was sprawled on the couch with her laptop. She looked up the moment Aria came in. “You look worse than yesterday. Spill.”
Aria dropped her bag and collapsed beside her. “I think something’s wrong with me.”
Mia shut the laptop, full attention on her. “Define wrong.”
Aria twisted her hands. “I’m late.”
Mia blinked. “Late for—oh.” Her eyes widened. “Oh.”
Aria groaned, covering her face. “Don’t make me say it out loud.”
“How late?”
“A week. Maybe more.” Her voice cracked. “I thought it was stress, but at work today, Janice and Sophie kept looking at me like I was going to fall apart. And Liam…” She trailed off, heat rushing to her cheeks. “He already thinks I’m incompetent. If this is real—”
“Stop,” Mia said firmly. She grabbed Aria’s hands and squeezed them. “First, we don’t panic until we know. Tomorrow we’re buying a test. End of story.”
Aria’s chest heaved. “And if it’s positive?”
Mia’s grip tightened. “Then we deal with it together. Whatever happens, you’re not doing this alone.”
Aria’s eyes filled, and she slumped against her friend’s shoulder. “He called that night a mistake, Mia. What happens when mistakes don’t stay buried?”
Mia stroked her hair, her voice soft but steady. “Then it’s his problem too. But right now, focus on you. One step at a time.”
Aria closed her eyes, clinging to the words. Tomorrow. Just one more day before the truth unraveled everything.
The sitting room smelled faintly of fresh flowers and polished wood, the sunlight spilling through the curtains and catching on ivory cushions. Mrs. Steele and Mrs. Voss were deep in discussion, comparing swatches of fabric and arguing softly over the table settings.Their voices carried the rhythm of long-standing familiarity, punctuated with laughter and gentle chiding.Evelyn and Liam sat nearby, speaking quietly, their voices barely above the hum of conversation.“The ceremony—have you thought about how you want it to feel?” Liam asked, eyes fixed on hers, earnest and steady.“I have,” Evelyn replied softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I want it to feel… intimate. Even with all the grandeur, it should feel like us. Simple, yet memorable.”Liam nodded. “That’s good. I want it to be about us, too. Even if everything else is… exaggerated.”They shared a brief, loaded glance—something unspoken lingering in the space between them. The moment was delicate, fragile, and fu
The living room was alive with conversation, fabrics, and gentle chaos. Samples of ivory, champagne, and blush were spread across the table. Tablet screens glowed with images of arches, floral arrangements, and candlelit tables. A few sips of cold tea were left forgotten as Mrs. Steele leaned over the images with a precision that could rival a wedding planner.“The lighting must be perfect,” she said, tapping the tablet with a manicured finger. “It can’t be harsh, or the photos will wash her out.”Evelyn tilted her head, smiling faintly. “Mom, it will be fine. I’m not too worried.”Mrs. Steele waved a dismissive hand. “Not fine. Not acceptable. This is your day. Every detail must be exquisite. You will look breathtaking, Evelyn. Trust me—you’ll make them all forget to breathe.”Evelyn laughed softly. “Thank you, Mom.”Liam’s mother, sitting primly on the sofa, nodded. “Absolutely. You’ll be stunning. Liam will… well, he won’t know what hit him.”Evelyn shifted in her seat, fingers cla
The ward smelled faintly of antiseptic and warm plastic, the steady hum of machines filling the quiet spaces where words kept failing them.Mia sat on the edge of the chair beside Allen’s bed, her spine stiff, hands folded so tightly in her lap her fingers had gone pale. Evan was on the floor with his back against the wall, dragging a toy car back and forth without really looking at it. Lily sat cross-legged on the bed, careful not to touch the tubes, her small hand hovering over Allen’s blanket like she was afraid even her shadow might hurt him.Allen was awake and quiet. Too quiet for a child who usually asks a hundred questions a minute.Mia kept glancing at his face—those lashes, that familiar crease between his brows—and every time his chest rose and fell, she exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for days.The door opened softly.Mia looked up.Ms. Calder stepped inside, still in her tailored suit, her handbag tucked under her arm like armor. Her eyes swept the room first—A
Liam stayed cold at work.Not the deliberate kind of cold he used in boardrooms, not the polished distance that made men twice his age stumble over their words. This was different. This was hollow. His office felt too quiet, too sealed off from the rest of the world, like sound itself had learned to avoid him.“Cancel everything,” he told his assistant without looking up.She hesitated. “Sir, you have—”“I said everything.”A pause. The faint sound of keys tapping, then stopping. “Yes, sir.”He didn’t open a single file. Didn’t answer calls. Didn’t recheck his phone after the third missed notification lit up his screen and went dark.His chest felt tight. Like something was lodged there. Not pain exactly. Pressure and restlessness.Uncomfortable.He shifted in his chair, stood, walked to the window, then back to the desk. He sat and stood again.Finally, he grabbed his jacket.“I’m leaving,” he said flatly as he passed his assistant’s desk.She looked up, concern flickering. “Should I
The machines were still humming when the incident occurred. That low, steady sound had become the rhythm of the room—breathing measured by wires, hope regulated by numbers blinking green and blue. Mia had been sitting on the edge of the chair all night, back stiff, eyes burning, afraid to blink too long in case she missed something. She was rubbing Allen’s hand absentmindedly when she felt it. A shift. Not the machine. Him. She froze. Her fingers stilled against his skin. Her breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat. “Allen?” she whispered. Nothing. Her heart sank—just a reflex, she told herself. Just her imagination, fuelled by exhaustion and fear. Then his eyelids fluttered. Just once. Mia gasped so sharply she nearly fell out of the chair. “Allen,” she said again, louder now, her voice shaking. “Allen, baby?” His lashes trembled. Slowly and unevenly. Like he was fighting something heavy. “Oh my God,” she breathed. “Oh my God—” She was on her feet be
The last thing Aria remembered was the hospital doors sliding open. The smell of antiseptic. The low beeping from somewhere down the corridor. The way her phone buzzed in her palm and how she barely glanced at the screen before slipping it back into her pocket. She remembered thinking she’d be quick. In and out. Just a minute. Then— Darkness. She woke up gasping. Her breath came too fast, too shallow, like she’d been running. Her chest burned. The first thing she noticed was the pressure—tight, unforgiving—around her wrists. Then her ankles. Rough rope. Her fingers twitched instinctively, testing it. Nothing gave. Her face— She froze. Something was wrapped around her head, thick fabric pressed over her eyes and mouth. Not tight enough to suffocate her, but enough to make every breath feel borrowed. Her heart slammed against her ribs. “No,” she whispered, or tried to. It came out muffled, broken. She shifted, panic surging. The surface beneath her was hard. Cold. She rolled s







