A suffocating silence filled the office as Celia watched her friend from the corner of the room. Phoebe looked like a caged tigress, pacing behind her marble desk with an intimidating aura. The tension had reached a breaking point moment ago when Phoebe summoned the head of marketing for a progress report.
"Is this truly the extent of your capability?" Phoebe's voice wasn't loud, but it was sharp enough to cut. She tossed the leather-bound proposal onto the desk with a dull thud. "I asked for a campaign that commands the market, not a mediocre collection of recycled ideas. If I wanted average, I would have hired an intern. Do you find my standards confusing or are you simply choosing to ignore them?"
The employee stood frozen, face pale, unable to muster a single word under Phoebe's icy, unyielding stare.
"Get out!" Phoebe commanded, her eyes returning to her monitor. "And don't bother returning until you've found a brain that actually functions."
As the door clicked shut, a long, heavy breath escaped from the sofa. Celia waited until the footsteps faded before speaking, knowing she had to intervene to protect phoebe's dignity as a CEO.
"Stop. Just stop, Phoebe!" she said firmly.
Phoebe's gaze snapped toward her. "What do you mean 'stop', Cel? What exactly am I supposed to stop?"
"You can't keep being this ambitious while a being relentless perfectionist! I know who you are an I know you want the best to protect this business, but … you're forgetting about yourself!"
Genuine confusion crossed Phoebe's face, her hands were still trembling slightly as she gripped her gold fountain pen. "I don't need a lecture. I know what's best and when it's needed!"
"I know you do," Celia countered, standing up and walking toward the desk. "But don't use the weight on you shoulders an excuse to incinerate your staff. They made a mistake, fine. But your reaction? That was your mood talking, not your logic."
"They were wrong!" Phoebe insisted, her jaw set in a stubborn line.
"Maybe, but don't let your cycle turn you into someone you're not. You're usually more controlled than this. Is it day three or four of you period? I know you're always a bit more sensitive during this time."
"I am not on my period!" Phoebe snapped, the denial coming out faster than she expected.
Celia frowned, her eyes narrowing as she studied her friend's face. Phoebe looked exhausted, her skin was slightly paler than usual despite the impeccable makeup. "Are you sure? According to my calendar, your period should have been finished by now."
"I told you, I'm not! So, stop acting like you know my body better than I do!"
The room went quiet as Celia began to replay the moments between them, as phoebe felt nauseous, often dizzy, even when Phoebe told her that she suddenly didn't like the scent of Julian's perfume. Celia continued to think seriously, until her sense of humor reappeared.
"If you're not on your period …" Celia started, her voice dropping to a whisper. "When was the last time you actually had one?"
The question acted like a physical blow. Phoebe, who had been about to reach for another file, froze mid-motion. The fiery anger in her eyes flickered and died, replaced by a sudden, hollow void. She tried to count, tried to recall the last time she had reached for a box of tampons or felt that familiar cramp.
"Phoebe," Celia asked again, stepping closer until she could see the slight tremor in phoebe's hands. "When was the last time?"
Phoebe's mind raced back to that night, the heat, the reckless abandon, and the scent of expensive cologne. She did the math in her head, and her heart began to hammer against her ribs with a violence that made her dizzy.
"After our talk that night, when you mentioned the nausea and we suspected you might be pregnant, did you ever make it to the Doctor?" Celia's voice tight with concern.
Phoebe simply shook her head, her gaze fixed on a distant point on her office wall.
"Why not?"
"How could I possibly find the time with a schedule this packed?" Phoebe's voice regaining a hint of its usual defensive edge. "And even if I did go … what if the result is positive? Who can guarantee that a Doctor would keep their mouth shut, especially considering who I am?"
Celia let out a sharp, frustrated breath. She understood Phoebe's paranoia. As a high-profile CEO and a renowned model whose name was already trending due to the fallout with Nick and her recent major ad campaigns, any leak regarding a pregnancy would be a media wildfire.
"I get it. I really do. But you can't just ignore this, if you're pregnant, you need to start taking extra care of your health immediately and if you aren't, you still need a check-up because it's not like you to miss your period for this long!"
Every word Celia spoke was rooted in genuine care for her best friend, but Phoebe remained stubbornly silent, the idea of a medical exam still feeling like too much of a risk.
"Okay, look. It's impossible for you to go buy a pregnancy test yourself, that would spark way too much suspicion and you certainly can't ask anyone else in this office to do it. I'll go. I'll buy the test for you."
As Celia reached for her bag, Phoebe suddenly remembered something. "Wait," Phoebe stopping her. "You don't have to go. Zara is out on an errand and hasn't made it back to the office yet. I'll just have her pick one up."
Celia nodded in agreement. She knew that the bond between Phoebe and Zara went far beyond a standard boss-and-assistant relationship, they were close friends who could be trusted with a secret this heavy.
"That's good idea. Call, her."
*****
The executive bathroom felt smaller with every passing second, the air growing heavy with the scent of expensive soap and Phoebe's own rising panic. On the marble counter sat not one, but two pregnancy tests. Phoebe had insisted on using both, a final, desperate attempt to find a flaw in the data. If one wrong, the other would prove it. That was how her mind worked, triple-check every contract, every figure, every outcome.
"Come on … please, just give me one reason to doubt it," she whispered, her voice trembling.
She paced the floor, her heels clicking hollowly against the tile. Outside the door, the muffled sounds of Celia and Zara's hushed voices only added to her agitation. She had locked them out, needing to face this verdict in isolation. Her skin was clammy, a cold sweat dampening her blazer as the whirlwind of consequences spun in her head.
The timers on her phone chimed simultaneously. The wait was over. Phoebe's heart hammered against her ribs, a violent, suffocating rhythm. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for a glitch, a mistake, a miracle. Then, with a breath that felt like her last, she forced herself to look down at the vanity.
There they were. Two devices, lying side by side.
One the first, two bold, crimson lines. On the second, the word 'pregnant' glared back at her sharp, digital clarity.
The irrefutable proof hit her like a physical blow to the chest. The air vanished from her lungs, and for a moment, the world tilted on its axis. The data was consistent. The result was absolute.
"No … on God, no!"
A strangled, broken scream erupted from her throat, a raw sound of pure terror that shattered the silence. The realization that she had lost control over her body and her future was too much to bear. Her knees gave out, and she slumped against the cold marble, the tears finally crashing down in a relentless wave.
Outside, the scream triggered an immediate reaction. The door burst open as Celia and Zara rushed in, their faces etched with dread.
"Phoebe! What is it? Talk to us!"
Even though Celia had suspected the truth, seeing the confirmation in black and white was a different kind of shock. Zara, on the other hand, looked like her world had been tilted on its axis. Realizing they had to keep it together for Phoebe's sake, they quickly guided her out the bathroom and back into her office.
Zara hurried to the door, clicking the lock into place. She knew that even though the staff always asked for permission before entering, she couldn't risk a single soul seeing the CEO in this state of total collapse.
"I can't be pregnant! I am not allowed to be pregnant!" Phoebe's voice cracked as she paced the room, her composure completely shattered. "Everything will turn into a disaster if this gets out!"
"Phoebe, please … you have to calm down," Celia urged, grabbing her hands to stop their trembling. "We have to think clearly."
Phoebe slumped into her chair, her face buried in her hands. The silence that followed was heavy, filled only with the sound of her jagged breathing.
"But … forgive me for asking, but this isn't Nick's, is it?"
"Absolutely not!" Phoebe snapped, her head snapping up. Even in her panic, her pride remained unyielding. "I never let that man near me in that way. I have my dignity!"
A brief, heavy silence filled the room. Celia exchanged a look with Zara before turning back to Phoebe, her expression grave. If it wasn't the man she had been with for years, then the reality was even more complicated.
"If it's not Nick's, then … who's the father?"