Fiona woke to laughter drifting through the thin walls—deep, familiar, polished. The kind of laugh Marcus used in boardrooms and on phone calls with investors. Her stomach dropped before her eyes were fully open.
She lay still, sheets tangled around her legs, hand instinctively curling over her stomach. The baby fluttered—soft, curious, like it sensed the shift in her pulse.
Marcus.
Here.
In her apartment.
She sat up slowly, heart thudding. Rain still tapped against the window, softer now, like the storm had tired itself out. She listened.
His voice—smooth, confident—floated in from the living room.
"…and the Peaks venue has that perfect sunset view. Fiona always said she wanted something romantic, right, Elara?"
Elara's laugh followed—bright, excited. "Exactly! My girl deserves the fairy tale. I've got florist contacts who can do wonders with coastal blooms. We'll make it unforgettable."
Fiona's throat closed.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Bare feet hit the cold floor. She pulled on the oversized hoodie from last night, the one that still smelled faintly of rain and her own perfume. No time to change. No time to hide.
She walked to the door, cracked it open just enough to see.
Marcus sat on the couch, legs crossed, looking every inch the perfect fiancé—crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, that million-dollar smile aimed at Elara like nothing had ever been wrong. He held a coffee mug like he belonged there.
Elara perched beside him, wedding magazines open on the coffee table, swatches fanned out like a rainbow. She looked up first.
"Fiona! Sweetheart, come join us. Marcus brought croissants—and ideas!"
Marcus turned.
His smile widened—warm, easy, practiced.
"Morning, love."
The word hit like a slap.
Love.
The same word he'd used the night he proposed.
The same word he'd stopped using when he told her Clara understood his trajectory better.
"I… need coffee," she said, voice thin.
Marcus's smile didn't falter. "I'll get it for you, love."
He moved toward the kitchen like he owned the place.
Elara patted the couch. "Sit, sweetheart. You look tired. Long day yesterday?"
Fiona walked slowly, legs heavy. Sat on the edge of the cushion like it might bite.
Elara looked up from the couch, magazines spread around her like petals, smile bright and expectant.
"Your mom was just telling me how excited she is."
Fiona's throat closed.
"Mom," she started, voice small. "There's something I need to tell you."
Elara's smile softened. "About the wedding? Or the job? You know you can tell me anything."
Fiona swallowed. Looked at the magazines. The swatches. The life her mother had already built in her head.
"The engagement…" she began.
Marcus shifted closer subtle, thigh brushing hers. His hand rested on the couch back behind her, casual to Elara, possessive to Fiona.
Elara leaned forward. "Yes? What about it?"
Fiona's eyes flicked to Marcus. His smile didn't waver, but his fingers tightened on the cushion.
She forced the words out. "It's… it's over."
Silence.
Elara blinked. "What do you mean, over?"
Marcus laughed light, easy, like she'd told a joke. "Fiona's just tired, Elara. Work stress. She's been saying that for weeks."
Fiona turned to him. "No. I'm not"
Marcus's hand slid to her shoulder gentle, warning. "Love, let's not do this now. Your mom just got here. We can talk later."
Elara's smile faltered. "Fiona? Is something wrong?"
Fiona looked at her mother's hopeful face. At the magazines open to floral arrangements and cake designs. At the joy she couldn't bear to shatter.
She opened her mouth.
Marcus's fingers squeezed her shoulder subtle pressure.
She closed it.
"Nothing," she whispered. "Just… tired."
Elara exhaled, relieved. "See? Work's getting to you. You two need a weekend away. Marcus, tell her about the Peaks idea again."
Marcus's smile returned—warm, victorious. "Of course. Sunset vows. Intimate. Perfect for us."
Fiona stared at her hands.
She didn't speak again.
When Elara went to the kitchen to make more tea, Marcus leaned in close, voice low against her ear.
"I couldn't break your mom's heart," he murmured. "Not today."
Fiona turned to him. "Why are you doing this?"
His eyes met hers—cool, calculated.
"Because you're mine, love. And I'm not ready to let go."
He stood, kissed the top of her head—gentle, possessive...