Adison’s POV
The bathroom tile is cold beneath my bare feet, but I can't feel it. Can't feel anything except the plastic stick gripped between my fingers and the seconds stretching into something infinite.
The result window stares back at me. Empty. Waiting.
My reflection in the mirror looks like a stranger—pale, hollow-eyed, the kind of woman who stands in bathrooms wondering if her entire life is about to change.
Come on. Just show me.
The stick doesn't answer. Time doesn't move. Everything exists in this terrible suspended moment where possibility hangs heavier than certainty ever could.
A knock splinters the silence.
"Miss Adison?" Maria's voice carries through the door, careful and apologetic. "Zachary has arrived. He says that something urgent is happening, so he is bothering you again today."
My breath catches. The test—still unread, still holding answers I suddenly can't face—trembles in my grip.
"I'll be right out." My voice sounds wrong. Too controlled. Too normal for someone whose hands won't stop shaking.
I don't look at the result. Can't. Not now, not with Zachary waiting and professional obligations pressing against me like walls closing in.
The cabinet beneath the sink opens with a soft click. I shove the test inside, face-down, hidden behind spare towels and toiletries. My fingers linger on the cool plastic for one heartbeat. Two.
Then I force myself to stand. Smooth my blouse. Walk calmly toward the living room like nothing is wrong.
Like my entire future isn't waiting beneath a bathroom sink.
I go to the living room, even thanking Zachary for interrupting the moment of truth. Because most likely I am not ready for this kind of truth.
Zachary stands by the window, tablet in hand, silhouette sharp against the Manhattan skyline. He turns when I enter, and something in his expression feels different now. More intense. More present.
"Adison." He nods, professional as always. "I apologize for bothering you again. There were several items requiring your attention."
"Of course." I settle onto the couch, grateful for the distance between us. "What do we need to discuss?"
He sets his tablet on the coffee table and takes the chair across from me. His movements are deliberate. Measured. Like he's rehearsed this moment in ways that have nothing to do with quarterly reports.
"The Henderson contract requires your signature by Friday." He slides a folder toward me. "Legal has reviewed the amendments. Everything appears in order."
"Fine." I reach for the folder, and our fingers almost brush. I pull back faster than necessary. "What else?"
Zachary is quiet for a moment. Watching me with those dark eyes that see too much.
"I wanted to discuss something more personal." His voice drops. Careful. Weighted. "If you'll permit me."
My stomach turns—not from nausea this time, but from something colder. Something instinctive and unwelcome.
"Zachary, I'm not sure—"
"Please." He holds up a hand. "I've worked beside you for weeks now. Through your father's illness. Through everything that followed. I've seen you at your worst and your best, and I've never wavered."
"I know that." My voice is steady, but my pulse isn't. "Your dedication has been invaluable. I told you something like this at my father's funeral."
"Dedication." He repeats the word like it tastes bitter. "Is that what you think this is?"
The question hangs between us. Heavy. Dangerous.
"I think you're an exceptional assistant." I choose my words carefully, building walls with each syllable. "That's why I asked you to be my right-hand man."
"I didn't really want a promotion." Zachary leans forward, elbows on his knees, closing the distance I desperately need to maintain. "I'm asking you to understand that my feelings go deeper than professional obligation."
The implication lands like a stone in still water. Ripples spread outward, disturbing everything they touch.
"Zachary—"
"If you want me as your right-hand man—truly want me there—you should know there's more beneath my dedication." His gaze holds mine, unflinching. "I'm not asking for anything. I'm simply being honest about what exists."
My stomach churns. Not nausea. Something worse. The unwelcome complication he's just introduced settles into my chest like lead.
"My Father, you and I have a long professional history." I keep my voice even, practiced, the deflection rolling off my tongue with ease I don't feel. "That history speaks for itself. I value what we've built together."
"And that's all?" He doesn't look away. "Nothing more?"
"Everything will remain fine between us." I refuse to acknowledge what he's offering because I never invited it. Never encouraged it. "You're essential to Ward Enterprises. To me. That hasn't changed."
Zachary studies me for a long moment. Something flickers behind his eyes—disappointment, maybe, or determination. The tight smile that crosses his face says he isn't finished. Not by a long shot.
"Of course, Miss Ward." He stands, collecting his tablet with movements that are too smooth. Too controlled. "I'll have the Henderson documents delivered by tomorrow afternoon."
"Thank you, Zachary."
He pauses at the door. Looks back. That intensity is still burning behind his professional mask.
"If you need anything—anything at all—I'm here." The words carry weight they shouldn't. "Always."
Then he's gone. I don't move. Don't breathe. Don't do anything except sit in the silence he's left behind and feel the wrongness of what just happened crawl across my skin.
The moment his footsteps fade completely, I'm on my feet.
The bathroom door crashes open under my palms. My knees hit tile as I wrench open the cabinet, hands scrambling past towels and bottles until my fingers close around cool plastic.
The test. Still face-down. Still holding answers.
I pull it out with shaking hands. Turn it over slowly, like the motion might change what's already been decided.
Two lines.
The room tilts sideways.
I grip the edge of the sink, knuckles going white, vision blurring at the edges as the truth slams into me with the force of a physical blow.
Two lines. Pregnant. Carrying Jake's child.
And he doesn't even remember I exist anymore.
The reflection in the mirror shows a woman I barely recognize—pale, trembling, holding a pregnancy test that changes everything. Everything I thought I'd figured out. Everything I thought I could control.
Jake is in Texas. Living a life that no longer includes me because I sent him away. Because I chose reputation over love. Because I thought I was doing the right thing.
Now I'm standing in a Manhattan bathroom, gripping the evidence of what we created together, and he has no idea.
No idea that part of him is growing inside me.
No idea that everything is different now.
I sink to the floor, back against the cabinet, test clutched to my chest. The tile is cold. The silence is absolute. And somewhere inside me, cells are dividing and multiplying and becoming something that will bind me to Jake Sullivan forever—whether he knows it or not.
Two lines.
Two lines that change everything.