Jane’s POV
“Some queens are made of gold, and some are made of grit.”
I whispered it to myself as I tied my apron, standing in front of the mirror nailed crookedly to the wall. My hair was pulled into a ponytail, my eyes were tired, and my was belly just barely starting to show beneath my loose t-shirt.
The apartment was tiny. One-bedroom, creaky floor, no hot water on Mondays, and a heater that worked only when it felt like it. But it was mine. Well—ours, I guess. Me and the little heartbeat growing inside me.
I stepped into the small living room, which doubled as a kitchen, and sat on the couch that was more spring than cushion. I looked around. There wasn’t much—just hand-me-down furniture, a flickering lamp, and Lila’s coat hanging near the door from her last visit.
God, Lila.
I owed her everything.
When my father threw me out with nothing but my coat and my phone, she followed me outside a few minutes later. Slipped me an envelope of savings and the address to a landlord she trusted. Said she’d been putting it aside for her retirement but that I needed it more.
I cried in her arms for ten minutes straight.
“I can’t take your money,” I told her.
“You will,” she said. “Because you’re not alone, Jane. And that baby deserves better than a cold sidewalk.”
So I took it. I had no choice. And every night since, I told myself I’d pay her back. I’d pay every cent of it, even if it took me years.
The savings I had in my personal account weren’t going to last long—especially not with doctor visits and rent and baby clothes. That’s why I’d started applying for jobs like crazy. I walked block to block, resume in hand, wearing the only pair of flats I owned.
And finally—I got lucky.
A coffee shop on 3rd and Maple was hiring.
The manager looked at my resume, barely read it, and said, “Can you show up on time and not spit in anyone’s coffee?”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation.
“Cool. You start Monday.”
That was a week ago.
Now, I was surviving on tips and caffeine. Working early shifts and late evenings. My back ached more than usual, and sometimes nausea hit halfway through serving lattes, but I didn’t complain.
I couldn’t. I was going to be a single mother. There was no more pretending. No more hoping Carter would come find me, or that maybe—just maybe—he’d care.
Because he hadn’t called. He hadn’t come. And after what happened at Empire, I knew why.
He didn’t want me.
I mean—who would?
I was an Ellis.
And that name meant something ugly to him.
So I gave up hoping. I accepted it. Told myself that Carter King would never be part of this baby’s life.
And maybe that was for the best.
I finished tying my shoes and glanced at the clock. I still had ten minutes before my shift. Just enough time to grab my bag and head to the bus stop.
Knock. Knock.
I froze.
No one ever knocked.
My landlord only texted. Lila always called first. And the pizza place had stopped coming to the wrong door weeks ago.
Another knock.
I slowly walked to the door, my heart picking up speed.
Probably nothing. A mistake. I unlocked the door with trembling fingers, slowly pulling it open.
And there he stood.
Carter King.