The Weight of Secrets

The bathroom stall is a confessional, but I have no one to grant me absolution. My hands are shaking so much, but I’m clinging to the pregnancy test so hard the plastic is cutting into my palm. Two pink lines. Two tests, same answer. I’m pregnant and its weight rests heavy on my chest like a stone. I’m Emma Larson, the girl who clawed out of a dead-end town to work for Knight Enterprises, and now I’m pleading over a mistake that could derail my life. Beyond the door, the office hums — phones ring, voices overlap — and I’m supposed to walk into that space like nothing’s different. As though I didn’t wake up in a stranger’s hotel bed this morning, haunted by gray eyes and a laugh that may or may not belong to my boss.

I quickly stuff the test in my purse, zip it, and splash water on my face. The mirror reveals an unfamiliar face: wan, wide-eyed, my chestnut ponytail fraying like my nerves. I’ve got to pull it together. I have a meeting in ten minutes, and Liam Knight does not suffer lateness. I slip out of the restroom, head down as I zig when the cubicles zag. The Goblet of Fire Knight Enterprises is a machine — smooth, relentless, money and power emanating from every inch. My desk is an island in the chaos, and I sink into my chair hoping no one sees the beads of sweat on my forehead.

My inbox is a war zone, sixty-seven unread emails mocking me. Most of them are about the masquerade ball last night, the kind of event I’d never go to but was forced to attend for “team morale.” I still feel the stranger’s hands on me, how he drew me near, his voice low and taunting me. I type it away, play click-through on reports to get my mind off him, but my thoughts keep drifting to Liam. Those eyes. That cologne. It’s impossible, isn’t it? He’s the CEO, he’s untouchable, he’s the type of man that no one else notices me around. But the thought won’t loosen its grip and it’s making me sloppy.

“Emma, you okay?” Mia’s voice snaps me back. She’s my best friend since college, she’s perched on the edge of my desk, her dark curls spilling over one shoulder. She works in marketing, full of charm and confidence, but with sharp brown eyes, studying me in a way that suggests she can see the secret that burns inside me.

“Fine,” I say, lying and attempting to put a smile on my face. “Just tired from last night.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You left early. Not after that dance with Mr. Mystery.” Her smile is teasing, but it stings because it’s too close. For hours I danced with him—him—in the twisted maze, lost in music and the mask. Now I’m paying for it.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t all that well to begin with.” Another lie. I’m getting good at this. Too good.

Mia leans in and speaks softly. “You sure? You have the face of someone who just saw a ghost.”

I open my mouth to respond, but the door to the conference room swings open and Liam’s voice booms through the room. “Team, let’s move. Boardroom, now.” He’s all business, crisp suit, dark hair catching the light. My gut flips as that gray eye roams the room through its scan, landing on me briefly half a second. Or maybe I’m imagining it. I pick up my laptop and join suit; Mia after me.

It’s a blur, numbers upon numbers and projections, and I can hardly concentrate. Liam’s at the head of the table, digging into our Q2 analysis with the fervor of someone who does so personally. “Larson, your section on market trends is pretty thin. You call this actionable?” There is ice in his tone, and all heads swivel to me. A heat of shame rises to my face.

“I… I pointed out the important changes in consumer behavior,” I say, my voice steadier than I’m feeling. “Page 12, the numbers on emerging markets.”

He is riffling the report, his jaw clenched. “It’s not enough. The board needs specifics, not speculation. Fix it by tonight.” He looks into my eyes and the spark is there again, like he’s looking for something. I turn my face, heart pounding. Does he know? No, he can’t. But the way in which he is staring at me, it feels like he’s disrobing my walls.

As the meeting wraps up, I’m the first one out, gasping for air. Mia tags along in the hallway. “What was that? You’re never off your game.”

“I’m fine,” I snap, more sharply than I like. Her face falls and I feel guilt twist in my gut. And she is my rock, the steady hand that guided me through college, through my first bruising months in this city. But I can’t tell her. Not yet. Especially not when I’m not even sure what I’m dealing with.

Back at my desk, I'm attempting to concentrate on Liam's revisions when Vanessa Hale comes strutting over. She’s a senior analyst, all sleek black hair and keener ambition, the kind of woman who’d trade her soul for a corner office. “Rough morning, Emma?” Her smile is all teeth. “Heard you were at the gala. Wasn’t you the party girl.”

I stiffen. “Just doing my job.”

She leans in, her voice a throaty stage whisper. “You sure? It looked like you were doing more than dancing.” My blood runs cold. There was no way she could know about the hotel, was there? But as she finishes she says, “Heard you say something about doctor to Mia there. Everything okay?”

My mouth goes dry. I had to have said something in passing, around the break room, when I called to confirm an appointment. Stupid. Careless. “Routine once-over,” I say, feigning a shrug. “Nothing to worry about.”

Vanessa’s eyes narrow, as though she’s making some kind of mental note. “Good. Don’t want anything to take your mind off that big project that Liam gave you.” She walks away, her heels clacking like a ticking clock.

I slump in my seat, with the pregnancy test weighing down my bag. Vanessa’s doing her snooping, Liam’s eyeing me, and Mia’s getting suspicious. It’s a ticking bomb of a secret, and I don’t know how long I can suppress it. All I can say is, if Liam Knight is the father, (and Lord help me, I think he might be) my world is about to get a whole lot messier.