POV Xander
“Alaina, pick up the damn phone.”
My voice cracked through the silence of my office as I slammed the end-call button again. The screen lit up with her name—no answer.
Again. Always the same.
I clenched my jaw, dialing her number once more, listening to it ring and ring until it went to voicemail.
“Alaina…” I hissed under my breath, pacing across the room. “You can’t just disappear after dropping something like that.”
My chest burned. My hands shook, not out of fear, but fury.
The audacity of her to storm out, scream those words—pregnant with your baby, you asshole—and then vanish.
No explanations. No proof. No nothing.
Just chaos left in her wake.
I threw the phone on the desk, the impact rattling the glass of whiskey I had already poured myself. My fingers closed around the tumbler, the amber liquid catching the dim light, and before I could think, I downed it in one breath.
The fire scorched my throat, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging in my head.
“Damn it!” I shouted, slamming the empty glass onto the counter so hard I thought it would shatter.
I hated her. No… that wasn’t it.
I felt nothing for her anymore, not like before.
But the words she’d thrown at me dug their claws deep. Pregnant. If she was telling the truth, then I was bound to her whether I wanted it or not.
My grandmother, the board, the entire family would cling to that heir like it was gold. And all I could think about—through the anger, through the haze of whiskey—was Norah.
Norah’s face when she saw me run after Alaina. Norah’s voice, breaking as she told me she understood.
My heart twisted because I knew she didn’t understand, and yet I let her walk away.
By the time I stumbled into my car, the bottle half-empty, all I wanted was to see her.
To hold her. To beg her to listen. But when I got home and stormed through the halls calling her name, her absence hit me like a knife.
“Norah!” I called into the darkened living room. Silence.
The kitchen. Silence.
Upstairs. Silence.
My chest caved in as I pushed into her bedroom. Empty. Her things were still there, scattered and soft, the way she left them, but she wasn’t.
My hands clawed through my hair as I cursed under my breath. Then it hit me.
Her graduation.
“God, Norah…” I whispered, sinking into her desk chair, guilt gnawing at me. “How could I forget something so important to you?”
She had told me about it weeks ago.
That proud little smile she had when she thought I wasn’t looking. And I’d been so caught up in Alaina’s games, in this nightmare she dumped at my feet, that I had let it slip from my mind. I
wanted to smash my fist into the wall, but instead I sank lower, staring at the floor, my chest tightening.
I missed her. More than anything, I missed her.
Not Alaina. Not the ghost of a life I once thought I wanted.
Only Norah. Her laugh. Her stubbornness. The way she could walk into a room and make it brighter without trying.
I wanted her here, in this bed, with me.
I kicked my shoes off and lay down on her bed, burying my face into her pillow. Her scent still lingered, soft and sweet, and it made my throat tighten.
My arms wrapped around it, as though holding onto it was the same as holding her.
“I only want you, Norah…” I whispered into the fabric. My voice cracked, hoarse and desperate.
But even with her scent wrapped around me, it wasn’t enough. The silence pressed in, heavier and heavier, until I sat up again, restless, pacing her room like a madman.
That’s when my eyes fell on the bathroom door. Half open. The light spilling out faintly.
Something inside me itched, restless, pulling me toward it.
I pushed it open, stepping inside.
Her bathroom. Her things. Her life tucked into neat little corners. I glanced around—lipstick by the mirror, her lotion, her perfume bottle tipped slightly on its side.
For a moment I just stood there, taking it in, trying to feel closer to her. Then my gaze caught on something at the corner of the sink. A small box. White and simple.
I frowned, stepping closer. My hand reached out before I could think. The words printed on the side made my heart stop.
Pregnancy Test.
The box was open.
My breath hitched as I slowly lowered my eyes to the counter, and that’s when I saw it. The test. My fingers shook as I picked it up, staring down at the little window, the faint but unmistakable mark staring back at me.
Positive.
I staggered back, the world tilting around me.
“No…” I whispered, my chest constricting. “Norah…”
The weight of it crashed into me all at once. The nights we shared. The closeness. The way she had been looking at me differently lately. And now—this.
My knees nearly gave out as I gripped the counter, the test still trembling in my hand.
Norah is carrying our child.