The parking garage was nearly empty at nine AM on a Tuesday. Isabelle pulled into the third level and parked in the far corner, away from the elevators and security cameras. Derek's car was already there, tucked between two concrete pillars.She got out and walked toward him, her footsteps echoing off the low ceiling. Derek stood beside his car, hands shoved in his pockets, looking like he hadn't slept in days."Thanks for coming," he said."You sounded terrified on the phone." Isabelle glanced around the garage. "Why here?""Because I don't trust Catherine not to have people watching us. She knew about the gala somehow. She might know more than we think."Isabelle's stomach turned. The morning sickness had mostly passed, but anxiety still made her nauseous. "Tell me exactly what she said."Derek pulled out his phone and showed her a screenshot. The security footage—grainy, black-and-white, time-stamped. Her and Derek in the hotel corridor, his arm around her, both of them walking tow

Ethan couldn't stop watching the footage in his mind.Derek's arm around Isabelle. Both of them disappearing into her hotel room. The timestamp burned into his memory: 11:47 PM.He'd tried to dismiss it. Tried to believe his own explanation to Catherine—that Derek was just being a good friend, helping a grieving woman to her room. But the seed of doubt had taken root, and now it colored everything.The foundation meeting started at ten AM. Ethan arrived early, taking his usual seat near the head of the conference table. Board members filtered in, exchanging quiet greetings. Gerald Friedman reviewed notes. Patricia Wu set up the financial projections on the screen.Isabelle entered next. She was visibly pregnant now—the curve of her stomach unmistakable under her navy dress. She moved with the careful balance of someone still adjusting to their changing center of gravity.Derek came in behind her.Ethan watched as Derek touched Isabelle's shoulder, guiding her toward a chair. It was a

The war room was a private office three blocks from the foundation—borrowed from a lawyer friend of Marcus's who'd agreed not to ask questions. The space was small, windowless, and secure. Perfect for planning the destruction of Catherine Montgomery.Ethan arrived first, setting up his laptop and spreading architectural cost analysis across the table. Isabelle came next, moving carefully, one hand pressed against her lower back. Derek followed, not meeting Ethan's eyes. Victoria entered last, carrying a leather briefcase that contained years of carefully preserved evidence.And then there was Tyler Morrison.The journalist was younger than Ethan expected—mid-thirties, wire-rimmed glasses, the kind of intensity that came from breaking stories that mattered. He'd won a Pulitzer three years ago for exposing corruption in city planning. If anyone could take down Catherine Montgomery, it was him."Thank you all for coming," Victoria said, taking her seat at the head of the table. "Tyler, I

Derek stood outside Ethan's apartment building for fifteen minutes before he could make himself go inside.He'd been rehearsing the words all day. In the shower. During his drive over. Standing on the sidewalk staring up at Ethan's window. The confession played on repeat in his mind, getting sharper each time, more painful.I slept with Isabelle the night of the gala.Five words. That's all it took to destroy his best friend's world.Derek pressed the buzzer."Yeah?" Ethan's voice crackled through the intercom."It's Derek. Can I come up?"A pause. Then the door buzzed open.Derek climbed the stairs to the third floor, his heart pounding harder with each step. He'd thought about this moment for weeks—imagined every possible version of how it could go. Ethan's anger. His pain. The friendship shattering like glass.But he couldn't carry this secret anymore. Not after seeing Isabelle at the doctor's appointment, pale and scared. Not after watching Ethan say "our child" with that raw emot

The estate felt different in daylight. Quieter. Less haunted by Marcus's absence.Ethan helped Isabelle up the stairs to the second floor, one hand steadying her elbow as she moved slowly. The doctor had cleared her to go home with strict instructions: bed rest, no stress, and constant monitoring."I can stay at my apartment," Isabelle said for the third time since they'd left the hospital. "You don't need to—""You're staying here," Ethan interrupted. "The estate has everything you need, and I'm already here most days anyway for the restoration work.""Ethan—""And I'm staying with you. For the week." He guided her down the hallway toward the master bedroom. "You're on bed rest and you need help. That's not negotiable."Isabelle stopped at the bedroom door, looking at the bed where she and Ethan had once slept together. It felt like a lifetime ago. "Where will you sleep?""Guest room down the hall." Ethan's voice was firm. "Boundaries still exist, Isabelle. This is about the baby, no