Four weeks.
Four damn weeks of tension so thick it could be bottled and sold as perfume.
I'd survived the storm of Naomi's passive-aggressive comments, Ian's haunted gazes, and my own relentless craving for something I had no right wanting.
But I hadn't survived the nausea.
Every morning like clockwork.
A wave of dizziness. A sudden hatred for coffee. And the weirdest cravings for orange juice and saltines.
I wasn't stupid.
I'd counted the days.
And yeah, I'd had a hunch.
But it was easier to pretend. Easier to push it down. Because if I admitted it—even just to myself—it would make everything too real.
Until today.
Until the stairs.
It started small.
A printer jam. A passive comment from Naomi. Something about how "some girls get promoted faster on their backs."
I bit my tongue. Walked away.
I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction.
But she followed. Like a damn mosquito in heels.
We were alone on the third floor stairwell. I was halfway down when she hissed, "How far along are you?"
I froze. "What?"
"Don't play dumb, Rosewood. You've got the glow, the nausea. The special treatment."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Naomi smiled, but there was no kindness in it. "You think you're special because you slept with the boss? I saw you."
I turned, heart pounding. "You don't know anything about me."
She stepped closer. "I know enough. And you? You're nothing but a pretty little mistake."
That's when it happened.
I didn't see her hand.
Just the blur. The sudden lurch. The sickening tilt of the world.
Then—air.
And stairs.
So many damn stairs.
Ian's POV
The call came through during a board meeting.
My phone vibrated once. Then again.
Then Steve's name flashed on the screen.
Bianca. Accident. Hospital.
I didn't hear another word of that meeting.
Bianca's POV
I came to in a white room with too many machines.
My head pounded. My ribs ached. But all I could think was—
Please, don't let it be true.
Becky was crying quietly in the corner. Ian stood near the door, fists clenched, eyes bloodshot.
When the nurse came in, she smiled gently. "You're lucky. A few bruised ribs, a mild concussion—but the baby's okay."
Silence.
Thick. Choking.
I couldn't breathe.
Becky gasped.
Ian stepped forward, mouth opening, then closing. Becky left the room to give them space to talk.
"I…" I whispered. "I didn't know for sure."
Now I did.
And I wasn't sure if the weight in my chest was terror or something terrifyingly close to joy.
I barely had time to process the word baby before Ian sat beside me, his expression unreadable.
"I want to be involved," he said, voice low. "In your life. In the baby's life. Whatever you need—I'll give it."
My heart stuttered. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. He wasn't supposed to want this. We were a mistake. A one-night burn that should've turned to ash. But here he was, heat in his eyes, sincerity in his voice, and—
The door slammed open.
"I KNEW IT!"
I froze.
The world spun again—not from the fall, not from the nausea, but from the sight of her.
Vivian Stone.
Every glossy magazine's cover girl. Every man's walking fantasy. The wife.
Her heels clacked like gunshots against the hospital floor as she barreled toward me.
"You whore!" she screamed, eyes wild, perfectly lined lips twisted into something vicious. "You disgusting little homewrecker!"
Ian leapt to his feet, arms out, stopping her just inches before she could grab me.
"Vivian—stop!"
But she didn't. She thrashed against him, trying to claw her way past his arms like she could tear my skin with her rage alone.
"You slept with her? That's who you've been creeping around with?! Some secretary slut? In a hospital gown, Ian?!"
I blinked at her, stunned. My mouth opened, but no sound came out.
She wasn't just angry—she was deranged. A woman, betrayed and broken, lashing out like a wounded animal. I wasn't sure if I should feel terrified… or pity.
Ian grunted as she elbowed him. "Vivian! That's enough!"
"Oh shut up, Ian! You won't even deny it?" Her eyes flashed toward my stomach. "And she's pregnant? You put a baby in the office tramp?"
A chill crawled up my spine.
It was the first time anyone had said it aloud.
Ian stepped between us, forcing her back, holding her wrists. "We'll talk outside."
Vivian spat on the floor. "You two deserve each other."
And then she stormed out—every stride of her thousand-dollar heels a promise of war.
The door slammed again.
Silence.
I looked down at the scratch on Ian's arm, left by his wife's manicured nails.
As soon as the door closed behind Vivian, silence stretched between us like a noose.
I stared at Ian. My breathing shallow. My fingers clenched into the hospital sheets.
"You're married."
It wasn't a question. It was a goddamn fact. A bomb dropped too late.
He didn't deny it. Didn't blink.
"I was going to tell you—"
"You're married!" I shrieked, louder this time. My voice cracked with the kind of fury only betrayal can birth. "You were inside me! You said you wanted to be in my life—in this baby's life! And you have a wife, Ian?!"
He flinched like I'd slapped him.
"I swear to you, it wasn't—Vivian and I, we've been falling apart for years. We're barely—"
"Don't you dare give me that bullshit!" I snapped, throwing off the blanket. "You don't get to play the sad husband now!"
He stepped closer. "Bianca—please."
"Leave!"
"No."
My chest heaved. My hands trembled. "Get out before I do something stupid. Just—go!"
I could feel hysteria clawing its way up my throat, fast and choking. The monitors around me started beeping louder, responding to the spike in my pulse. The baby.
His eyes flicked to the machines.
He stepped back.
"Okay," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Okay, I'm going. I don't want to hurt you. Or the baby."
I turned away from him, tears blinding me.
And still, he hesitated at the door.
"Bianca, I didn't plan for this. But you and this baby... you're everything now."
"Then you should've come clean," I whispered. "Before you put me through this."
He didn't argue.
Just left.
And with him, the dam broke.
I curled into myself, sobbing so hard I couldn't breathe. My body shook with it—rage, grief, and fear. My heart felt like it was breaking bone.
I didn't even hear the door open again.
"Jesus, Bee…"
It was Becky.
She was at my side in seconds, arms around me, holding me the way I didn't know I needed until she did. She smelled like shampoo, club perfume, and comfort.
"Ian called me," she whispered. "Said you needed someone."
I laughed bitterly into her shoulder. "Now he decides to care."
"Shhh. Don't talk. Just cry it out. I've got you."
And I did.
I cried.
For the one-night stand that became too much.
For the boss who turned out to be a liar.
For the baby growing inside me, already tangled in a world of secrets.
And somewhere deep down… for the girl who'd thought she could outrun love and lies by starting over.