hird time this week.

She strolled through the lobby like she owned it, one manicured hand resting delicately on her carefully curated belly, the other hooked possessively around Daniel’s arm. He didn’t look at her the way he once looked at me, but he didn’t pull away either.

She knew how to play him. She’d been playing all of us. Smiling wide enough to cover the cracks, walking just slow enough that people glanced twice, seeing what they were supposed to see. A glowing, expectant girlfriend. A man trying to rebuild his life. An illusion, polished and shining.

They disappeared into one of the conference rooms. I let myself breathe again, pressing my fingers hard into the edge of my desk until the pressure steadied me.

It should have been over. I thought it was over.

Until I caught her alone in the break room, standing by the mirror and applying lipstick with small, careful strokes. Her reflection wavered under the fluorescent light, too perfect, too brittle.

I stepped inside, meaning only to grab tea and leave. No eye contact. No conversation. I didn’t owe her anything.

But when she turned and met my gaze, there was no smirk waiting. No sly victory tucked in the corners of her mouth, only fear.

“I know you know,” she said, setting the lipstick down with shaking fingers.

I nodded once. “I do.”

She sighed and rubbed at her temples like she was trying to massage out the guilt.

“Do you hate me?” she asked, voice low and unguarded.

“I don’t have the energy to hate you,” I said, reaching for a tea bag without looking at her. “You’re not worth that much space. And I didn’t know Daniel could be easily fooled. He’s your problem now.”

The words landed harder than I intended. Carly flinched visibly, hugging herself like she was holding her whole body together.

“Fair,” she said after a moment, voice barely a whisper.

Silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable. I poured hot water into my mug, wishing she would leave, wishing I hadn’t seen her like this–human and broken and messy.

She didn’t leave. She slid onto the edge of the counter, her knees knocking together like they couldn’t hold her upright anymore.

“I thought I had time,” she whispered, staring down at her shoes. “Time to figure out how to end it cleanly. To fake a miscarriage. To walk away before he found out.”

I turned, heart pounding, mug forgotten in my hand.

She laughed, a brittle, joyless sound. “I’ve made him sleep in another room now. I told him it’s because I’m emotional. Sensitive. He believes it. He believes everything.”

“And now?” I asked, my voice harsher than I meant it to be.

“Now,” she said, looking up at me with eyes rimmed in smudged mascara, “I can’t keep lying. Not to him. Not to you. Not after what I found out.”

Something about the way she said it made the hairs on my arms stand up.

“I had him tested,” Carly said, almost too softly for me to hear.

I stiffened. “I know you faked the bump, Carly. That’s enough.”

“No,” she said, louder now. “Listen. I had Daniel tested. Months ago. Before everything blew up. He doesn’t know. He still doesn’t.”

The world tilted around me.

She leaned forward, voice urgent. “He’s infertile, Elena. Not low count. Not maybe. Infertile. No motility. No chance.”

I stood frozen, the breath knocked out of me in one sharp blow.

“I didn’t do it to trap him,” Carly said, tears streaming freely now. “I swear. I just… I needed to know if it was me. If I was broken.”

I swallowed, throat burning. “And you weren’t.”

She shook her head, wiping at her cheeks with trembling fingers. “No. I wasn’t. And neither were you.”

The words hit harder than anything Daniel ever said.

It wasn’t Daniel’s baby. It never could have been.

It was Nicholas’s.

I turned without another word, tea abandoned, heart slamming against my ribs like a bird battering itself against a cage.

I made it halfway down the hall before my knees buckled.

And somehow, impossibly, Nicholas was there.

He caught me before I hit the ground, strong arms closing around my waist like iron bands. His face was all sharp lines and concern, his hands steady even when I wasn’t.

“Elena, hey. Hey,” he said, voice low but urgent. “You’re freezing.”

“I need to sit,” I gasped, clutching at his sleeve, my fingers numb and clumsy.

“You’re not going anywhere alone,” he said firmly, already guiding me toward his office.

I didn’t argue.

I let him pull me into the place that still smelled faintly like cedar and ink and him.