The elevator doors slid shut with a muted thud, sealing Adrian into silence.Inside the mirrored walls, his reflection fractured into a dozen angles. One man, many shards. He straightened his tie out of habit, fingers moving with controlled precision. But when he adjusted his cufflink, his hand lingered. Not because it needed fixing, but because his composure did.Jessica’s voice still clung to him. Not the weak, pleading tone of the woman who used to fold at the slightest storm—but something steadier. Stronger.He could still hear it.Her voice cutting across the boardroom, not trembling. Not begging. Just… standing.And the applause that followed.Adrian had told himself it wouldn’t matter. That her growth was hers, not his to interfere with. Yet the weight in his chest argued otherwise. It wasn’t pride exactly, and it wasn’t relief. It was something heavier, coiled, dangerous.A sharp chime pierced the silence.[System Alert: Emotional Test in Progress.][Subject: Jessica Benson.]

The city was alive beneath the night sky, but Adrian Cole sat in darkness. His penthouse office felt different tonight. It used to be all lit up with those glowing numbers and charts everywhere. Now, just the faint flicker from his phone screen lit the place. He sank back into the leather chair. It creaked under his weight. His eyes stayed glued to the video right there in his hand.Jessica.Her hair hung loose around her face. Nothing like the sharp, polished style from their old dinners back then. She had on a plain blouse, sleeves rolled up. And her cheeks, they had this warm glow that came from real hard work, not some fancy wealth. From purpose.“Sometimes,” her voice carried, soft but steady, “we forget that strength isn’t about never falling. It’s about standing back up—even when your knees are still bleeding.”Adrian’s thumb hovered near the pause button, but he didn’t press it. He couldn’t.On the screen, Jessica sat in a modest studio—bare white wall, a vase of fake flowe

Jessica nearly dropped her phone when the email popped up. It wasn’t from a brand. Not from a follower. Not even from one of the dozens of single mothers who now looked to her for advice. It was from Michael Kane. Her stomach turned cold the second she saw his name. She hadn’t heard from him in weeks—not since her video exposing his shameless attempt to use her pregnancy for publicity had gone viral. The subject line was short. “Let’s Talk Business.” Her hand hovered over the delete button, trembling. She should ignore it. Pretend he didn’t exist. But something made her open it. The words inside were slick, arrogant, written with the same confidence he used to wield when standing beside Adrian at glittering galas: Jessica, you’ve always underestimated me. But this time, I hold the cards. Attached is proof that Adrian Cole’s empire isn’t as clean as he makes it seem. Do you want to keep protecting your silent benefactor? Or will you expose him? Meet me tonight, or I’ll take

The kettle clicked off with that quick snap. Jessica grabbed it and poured hot water right into her old chipped mug. The tea bag just bobbed up. Its colour spreading out in slow lazy swirls.She held the mug close in both hands. The warmth soaked right into her finger. Another late night had dragged on. She answered all those comments on her vlog, hundreds of them. Then she edited footage till her eyes stung bad. Her body felt so worn out. The pregnancy weighed more every day.But tonight… the exhaustion felt different.Because when she opened her phone, the numbers didn’t stop climbing.Her vlog—the one where she had burned Michael’s contract—had gone viral.Her thumb trembled as she scrolled through the flood of notifications.“She turned down millions just to protect her baby. Respect.”“Finally, someone not selling out.”“Single moms everywhere needed this reminder—thank you, Jessica.”Some were harsher, calling her foolish for rejecting money. But even those couldn’t cut through

Jessica had put off those boxes for weeks now. The place felt way too cramped already. It was quiet. All that mess just made it seem even smaller. There was half-packed stuff in suitcases. Old clothes everywhere. Papers falling out of drawers she had not even opened yet. A dusty smell hung in the air. It was like neglect had settled in. All of it weighed on her chest. She could not shake that feeling. She really did not want to face it. Not after the mansion. Not after Adrian. Not after everything. But then the baby kicked. Hard. Sharp enough to make her gasp, curling her fingers over her stomach. “Okay,” she muttered. “Time to do something.” It wasn’t just nesting. She needed control over something. Anything. Boxes didn’t yell at her, didn’t hurt her, didn’t remind her of the man she had lost. She could fold clothes, dust surfaces, move things around. She could do. Her eyes fell on a battered suitcase tucked behind the couch. She hadn’t unpacked it when she fled the ma