The elevator doors slide open, and I don't make it three steps before Jake's arms are around me.
The world narrows to this—his chest against mine, his hands spanning my back like he's trying to memorize the shape of me through silk and distance. I press my face into his shoulder and breathe him in, weeks of separation dissolving in the warmth of his body.
We don't speak. Words feel insufficient for this particular reunion, so we let touch carry the weight instead. His hand moves to cup the back of my head, and I feel the tension drain from his shoulders as he holds me tighter.
"God, I missed you." His voice rumbles through his chest, rough with emotion he doesn't bother hiding.
"I'm right here." I pull back just enough to see his face, and the way he's looking at me makes my breath catch. "I'm not going anywhere."
His hand slides down, finding my belly with careful reverence. The touch is gentle—wondering—like he's still adjusting to the reality growing between us.
"How's the baby?" The question comes out soft, almost shy.
"Fine." I cover his hand with mine, pressing his palm more firmly against the barely-there curve. "Everything's fine."
Relief floods his expression, and he leans down to kiss me properly. The kiss tastes like homecoming.
When we finally break apart, I lead him toward the kitchen, suddenly aware of how strange my apartment must feel with another person living in it.
"So Violet's moved in." I glance back at him, watching his reaction. "She's staying here for a while."
Jake's eyebrows rise. "The girl who spent a week trying to seduce me is now your roommate?"
"And Zachary's new assistant." I can't help the smile that tugs at my mouth. "Which means she's officially someone else's problem now."
He laughs—genuine and surprised and exactly what I needed to hear. "Poor Zachary. He has no idea what he's signed up for."
"Oh, he's learning." I pull ingredients from the refrigerator, assembling something resembling dinner on autopilot. "They've been arguing since nine this morning. Something about Comic Sans being a violent threat to corporate communications."
"That sounds like Violet." Jake settles onto one of the barstools, watching me move through my own kitchen like I'm performing. "And you're sure about this arrangement?"
"She had nowhere else to go." I set vegetables on the cutting board, reaching for a knife. "Victoria was... brutal. Violet confronted her about everything, and her mother basically confirmed every fear she's ever had about not being good enough."
Jake's expression softens. "So you took her in."
"So I took her in." I start chopping with more force than necessary. "She's family now. Or she will be, once we figure out what that actually means."
The word hangs between us—family—and suddenly we're not talking about Violet anymore.
I set down the knife and turn to face him directly. "We need to announce the engagement. Soon. Before Walter can use our relationship as ammunition."
Jake's jaw tightens. I watch the shift happen—warmth cooling into something guarded.
"Adison—"
"Just the engagement." I press forward before he can derail this. "We can wait to reveal the pregnancy until later. But people need to know we're together. That this is real and intentional."
"It won't matter when we announce it." His voice drops, carrying weight I wasn't expecting. "People are going to see exactly what they want to see."
Something cold settles in my chest. "What does that mean?"
"It means I'm a ranch hand who got the Manhattan heiress pregnant." He meets my gaze directly, and the resignation there cuts deeper than anger would. "No matter how we spin this, they're going to paint me as the gold digger who trapped you with a baby."
The words land like betrayal.
"You don't actually believe that." I searched his face, looking for the man who told me he loved me, who promised we'd face everything together. "Jake, you can't—"
"I believe that's what everyone else will think." He stands, crossing the kitchen until there's barely space between us. "And I need to be prepared for that. We both do."
"So what?" My voice rises despite my efforts to control it. "We just hide? Keep this secret until Walter detonates it himself? That's your solution?"
"I'm not hiding anything." His own frustration surfaces now, sharp and defensive. "I'm trying to protect you from the shitstorm that's coming when Manhattan society decides I'm the villain in your story."
"You're not the villain." The crack in my chest widens. "How can you even think—"
"Because I know how this works." He gestures toward the window, toward the city glittering beyond the glass. "You think your world is going to welcome me? Accept that you chose someone like me over every eligible heir your father probably had lined up?"
"I don't care what they think." The words tear out desperate and honest. "I care what you think. And right now, it sounds like you're doubting us. Doubting me."
"That's not—" Jake stops, running a hand through his hair with visible frustration. "Adison, that's not what this is."
"Then what is it?" My voice cracks on the question. "Because it feels like you're looking for reasons why this can't work instead of fighting for reasons why it should."
The tension coils tighter between us, words sharpening into weapons we're both too hurt to sheathe. I'm opening my mouth to say something I'll probably regret when the front door crashes open.
"I'm starving." Violet's voice cuts through the apartment like a blade. "Zachary literally starved me all day. Do you know what that man considers an acceptable lunch break? Seven minutes. Seven."
She appears in the kitchen doorway, completely oblivious to the battlefield she just walked into.
"Oh." She stops, glancing between us with sudden awareness. "Did I interrupt something?"
"No." I force the word out steady, even as my hands shake. "We're just making dinner."
Violet slides onto the barstool Jake just vacated, reaching for the wine bottle on the counter before remembering she's nineteen. She settles for water instead, watching us with sharp attention.
"So how did you get here, Jake?" She asks it casually, like she's making normal conversation. "And are you excited for tomorrow morning?"
Jake's confusion is immediate. "Tomorrow morning?"
"The ultrasound appointment." I keep my eyes on the vegetables I'm no longer actually preparing. "We have an appointment with the doctor. We'll be able to see how the baby's grown."
The information lands in the space between us—a reminder of what we're fighting about, what we're fighting for, why any of this matters beyond pride and fear.
Violet looks between us again, and something in her expression shifts. Understanding replacing curiosity.
"I'll just..." She stands, backing toward the door. "I'll order takeout. You two should talk."
But I can't. Not right now. Not with exhaustion pulling at my bones and Jake's words still cutting through everything I thought we'd already decided.
"I'm going to bed." I set down the knife, not looking at either of them. "I'm exhausted."
"Adison—" Jake starts, already moving toward me.
"Don't follow me." The request comes out quiet but absolute. "Please. Just... not tonight."
I walk away before he can argue, leaving him standing in my kitchen with Violet and all the words we couldn't say properly suspended in the air between us.
The bedroom door closes behind me, and I press my back against it, sliding down until I'm sitting on the floor with my knees pulled to my chest.
Tomorrow we'll see our baby. Tomorrow we'll figure out how to navigate the mess we've made tonight.
But right now, I need to be alone with the crack spreading through my chest and the fear that maybe Jake's right—maybe Manhattan will destroy us before we even get the chance to fight back.