The Christmas party was supposed to be a celebration — or at least that’s what the email said, written in bright red font with an overexcited subject line: HOLIDAY CHEER & CHAMPAGNE!

It was mandatory. Because of course it was.

The office had been transformed overnight. Glittering lights dangled from every ceiling tile. Faux snow dusted the windowsills. A playlist of festive pop remixes hummed through the lobby, just loud enough to make conversation a little harder and small talk a little worse.

Everyone dressed up. Women in jewel-toned cocktail dresses. Men loosening their ties after half a drink. I wore black. Not out of rebellion — out of survival. Black made it easier to disappear.

I stayed close to the walls, sipping lukewarm sparkling water from a plastic flute, nodding when required. Smiling when it hurt less than frowning. Pretending I didn’t notice the sideways glances some people gave me when they thought I wasn’t looking.

The rumors had been crawling through the halls for weeks. Daniel. Carly. The bump. The betrayal. Everyone had an opinion. Few of them had facts. I was determined to give them nothing more to feed on.

At least, that was the plan.

It started unraveling when Daniel showed up.

Late, naturally. Making an entrance, naturally. Carly on his arm, radiant in a pale cream wrap dress that clung to her body like a second skin. She moved through the crowd with one manicured hand perched carefully over her stomach, as if afraid someone might forget she was supposed to be the centerpiece.

Daniel’s parents came too — his mother in a forest green sheath dress that might have been stylish if she didn’t look like she’d swallowed a lemon, his father scowling in a stiff blazer, Sabrina in a sequin monstrosity she could barely walk in.

They drifted through the room like royalty slumming it for the night, exchanging air kisses and tight smiles.

At first, nothing happened.

People kept their masks in place. Toasted politely. Laughed too loudly at bad jokes. Daniel smiled that politician’s smile, Carly beamed at anyone who glanced her way, and I focused on breathing evenly.

I thought maybe I’d survive the night.

Until Carly made a mistake.

A tiny one. Barely noticeable.
She caught the edge of her heel on a corner of the rug near the buffet table, stumbled just slightly. Daniel caught her elbow, steadying her — but the quick movement tugged her dress higher than intended.

And for a heartbeat, one sharp, devastating second, the edge of the foam padding flashed under her blouse.

It wasn’t much. A flicker. A detail almost too small to register.

But it was enough.

Sabrina saw it first.

She froze. Her glass of wine halfway to her mouth. Eyes narrowing like a cat spotting a mouse.

And then she pounced.

“What the hell is that?” Sabrina’s voice cracked across the room, cutting through the laughter and music like a blade.

People turned. Heads craned. Conversations died mid-sentence.

Carly’s hands flew to her dress, yanking the fabric down. Her face went pale.

“It’s not what you think—” she started, voice trembling.

“It’s exactly what it looks like,” Sabrina snapped, marching toward her in heels that suddenly seemed rock steady. “That’s fake. That’s a damn strap.”

A ripple of shock rippled through the party. Daniel turned to Carly, blinking like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or drowning. His mother gasped. His father’s mouth flattened into a grim, furious line.

“Is this true?” his mother demanded, each word sharp as broken glass.
“You were never pregnant?”

Carly’s voice cracked. “I—I did it for him. I didn’t want to lose him. I just—needed time—”

But his mother wasn’t waiting for excuses. “You humiliated us,” she hissed. “You paraded this lie in front of the entire company—”

“Maybe,” Sabrina said, her voice syrupy-sweet, “if Daniel could produce an heir, women wouldn’t have to fake it.”

Daniel’s face snapped toward her.

“What did you just say?”

“You heard me.” Sabrina stepped closer. “Four years married, and nothing. Now this? What does that tell you?”

His mother folded her arms. Cold. Final.

“All these years,” she said, shaking her head. “And still no legacy.”

Daniel looked at Carly. Then at his parents. Then, finally, at the sea of faces waiting for him to collapse under the weight of it.

And he did the only thing Daniel knew how to do.

To get the attention off him, he used me.

“She’s pregnant!” he shouted, thrusting his hand out, straight at me.

“Elena’s pregnant. It’s mine.”