Chapter 2

Maya's POV

Ethan went quiet for several seconds. He didn't deny it.

He pulled out a chair across from me and reached over to take my hand. I pulled back immediately. He didn't get angry, though; his voice simply softened. "Maya, getting married was my family's idea. You know how many years my mother has been waiting for this."

"Chloe... she's just a childhood sweetheart. It's not as serious as you think. From the very beginning, the only person I truly care about is you."

He tapped his foot against the hardwood floor. "This apartment still belongs to both of us. You can stay here as long as you want. I'll go through with the wedding, but it won't change anything between us."

"There's only one rule—if we happen to run into each other in public down the road, you act like you don't know me. Don't let anyone pick up on anything."

I sat there in silence, not offering a single response.

My right hand was buried deep in my coat pocket, fingers gripping the plastic pregnancy test so tightly they hurt.

When I left the clinic this morning, I had stopped by a pharmacy to buy another one. I tested twice, and both times, the two pink lines showed up clear as day.

I had rehearsed this scene in my head over and over again.

I thought I would wait for him to come home, finish dinner, sit together on the couch, and casually drop the news just to see whether his face showed shock or joy.

If he panicked, I was ready to tell him it was okay, that I could wait for him to sort things out.

I even thought that once our baby arrived, he would finally have to take me home to meet his parents. He would have to let them know whose child it was.

I had staked my entire invisible existence on this one secret I hadn't yet shared.

Now, I understood completely. He had already neatly arranged the next few decades of my life.

I would keep living in his apartment, he would marry his bride, and we would act like strangers in public.

There was no room for a baby in that arrangement.

In his neat little blueprint, my only role was to pretend I didn't know who he was whenever people were watching.

The plastic casing grew scorching hot against my palm.

Right then, Ethan's phone buzzed loudly against the wood.

The caller ID flashed a single name: Chloe.

He answered almost instantaneously, his tone tightening with urgency. "What happened?"

Whatever came through the speaker made his brows knit together. He grabbed his coat from the back of the sofa and bolted straight toward the entryway. "Stay right where you are and don't move. I'm coming over right now."

Before I could even step aside, his shoulder clipped mine hard, knocking me off balance.

I stumbled backward, my wrist slamming violently against the sharp corner of the shoe console. A sickening, searing pain shot straight up my forearm.

A choked groan slipped past my lips as I sank onto the floor, clutching my right wrist with my left hand, cold sweat beading instantly across my forehead.

Ethan had already yanked the door open. His footsteps paused for a fraction of a second, and he glanced back at me as if about to say something.

From the phone receiver, a woman's tearful sobbing broke through the line.

He simply threw a single sentence over his shoulder: "I have to run. Ice that yourself."

The heavy front door slammed shut.

His hurried steps echoed down the hallway before fading into silence.

I remained crouched on the cold tile of the foyer, watching my wrist swell into an angry purple lump.

When he looked back that one time, a foolish part of me had actually waited.

I had waited for him to walk back, pull me up from the floor, and ask if I was hurt—even just once.

A breathy laugh escaped my throat, trailing off into tears that dripped heavily onto the back of my hand.

Past midnight, I woke up slumped against the couch.

The bakery box sat untouched on the coffee table.

I reached for my phone and opened my feed. The very top post had been shared by Chloe ten minutes prior.

In the picture, Ethan wore dark loungewear with his back turned to the camera, leaning over to pour hot water into a mug on the nightstand.

The location tag showed the penthouse suite of a luxury downtown hotel.

Below the photo, a mutual friend commented: *Mr. Vance treats you like an absolute queen.*

Chloe had replied with a blushing emoji.

I pinched the screen, zooming in on the picture over and over again.

In all these years, I had never seen him take care of anyone like that.

The last time I burned up with a fever of a hundred and two, he simply had his assistant drop off medicine, claiming he was trapped in an important meeting and couldn't get away.

It turned out he knew perfectly well how to pour someone a glass of warm water; he just never felt the need to pour one for me.

Whatever I had planned to say tonight no longer needed to be spoken.

A man who panicked and raced across town in the dead of night for someone else was never going to stay for the baby growing inside me.

I pushed myself up and began packing.

I had never owned much here to begin with. Six deep drawers were mostly empty, barely filling half a single suitcase.

My reporting notebooks were stacked neatly next to my bag—twenty-nine volumes filled with every hard-hitting piece of investigative journalism I had worked on over the years.

I took the pregnancy test and dropped it into the trash can without giving it a second glance.

By the time the sky began to turn gray, I pulled out my phone and sent Ethan a single text: *We're over.*

The moment it sent, I blocked his number.

I tapped open my chat thread with Mrs. Vance, typing out a message, deleting it, and typing it again.

Her kindness toward me over the years had been real. Every meal and treat she brought me had come from a genuine heart.

I couldn't just vanish without a word. I owed her a proper goodbye face-to-face.

Around eight in the morning, I finally dialed her number.

There was a lot of background noise on the other end.

Mrs. Vance's voice sounded cheerful and bright. "Maya, dear? Chloe is trying on wedding dresses today, but I'm completely tied up with other errands. If you're free, could you pop over to take a look and give her some advice? You have such great taste, and Ethan is already there anyway. It would be a wonderful chance for you two to get acquainted!"

I clutched the phone tightly, unable to squeeze out a single word.

Taking my silence as an agreement, Mrs. Vance rattled off an address, added, "I'll have the driver pick you up," and hung up.

I stood in the hollow living room, staring at my half-packed suitcase.

I wanted to offer a sincere farewell, yet Mrs. Vance had arranged for me to go give fashion advice to her son's bride.

*A wonderful chance for you two to get acquainted.*

The words echoed in my mind twice as my throbbing wrist continued to pulse with dull pain.

Half an hour later, I found myself standing outside the bridal studio.

Pushing open the heavy glass door, my eyes immediately landed on Ethan standing before the three-way fitting mirror.

Dressed in a tailored blazer, he was gently adjusting the lace veil resting over the woman's hair.

Hearing footsteps, he glanced back. The moment his gaze locked onto me, his face hardened instantly.

He shifted a step forward, shielding Chloe behind him. He glared at me, his jaw tightening and his lips parting slightly, but no sound came out.

I knew that cold, defensive look all too well. It was the exact expression he wore last night when he ordered me to act like strangers.