Fiona's fingers hovered over the keyboard, the cursor blinking accusingly on the same half-finished sentence for the third time in ten minutes. The rain had returned—soft, steady, drumming against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the 38th floor like it was trying to get inside her head. The bay outside looked flat and gray, the Elyrian Peaks swallowed by low cloud. Everything felt muted. Heavy. Wrong.
She hadn't slept. Not really. She'd lain awake most of the night, replaying the kiss in Martin's office over and over until her lips felt raw from the memory. The way he'd grabbed her face like he couldn't wait another second. The way his mouth had crashed into hers—desperate, possessive, tasting like coffee and fury and something dangerously close to need. The way she'd kissed him back without thinking, hands fisting his shirt, body arching toward him like it remembered exactly where it belonged.
And then the moment she'd pushed him away.
The look on his face shock first, then cold, quiet anger had followed her all the way home. He hadn't said another word. Just turned to the window and stared at the rain like she'd already left.
She had left.
She'd walked through the lobby in a daze, rain soaking her coat, tasting salt on her lips that wasn't from the weather. She'd come home to Elara's excited voice and Marcus's polished smile and wedding magazines spread across the coffee table like a trap she couldn't escape. She'd sat on the couch, let her mother talk about venues and flowers and "the perfect day," while Marcus watched her with that knowing, smug little smile, his hand resting too casually on the back of the cushion behind her.
She hadn't told them anything.
She couldn't.
Not when Elara's eyes were shining like that. Not when Marcus was calling her "love" in front of her mother like the ring was still on her finger. Not when the baby inside her was the only thing keeping her from screaming the truth.
No one knew.
Not Elara. Not Marcus. Not Riley. Not Maya. And especially not Martin.
The secret sat in her chest like a stone—cold, heavy, growing heavier every day.
She pressed her palm flat against her stomach under the desk, hidden by the blazer. The baby moved—slow, rolling pressure, like it was stretching, settling, reminding her she wasn't alone.
She closed her eyes for a second.
"I'm sorry," she whispered so quietly even she barely heard it. "I'm trying."
Riley's chair rolled up beside her without warning. The sound made Fiona flinch.
"Hey." Riley's voice was softer than usual. No grin. No teasing. Just quiet concern. "You've been staring at that email like it owes you money. What's going on?"
Fiona opened her eyes. Forced a smile that felt like cracking glass.
"Just… tired."
Riley studied her for a long beat.
"Bullshit. You've been off since yesterday. And don't tell me it's the rain or the workload. I've seen you power through worse with a smile. This is different."
Fiona looked away. Toward the window. Toward the gray bay that matched her mood.
Riley waited. Patient. Unmoving.
The silence stretched until Fiona's throat burned.
She spoke without looking at Riley.
"Marcus was at my apartment this morning."
Riley's breath hissed out. "Your ex? The one who dumped you for Miss Corporate Climb?"
Fiona nodded.
"My mom flew in. Surprise visit. She doesn't know the engagement is over. She thinks we're still planning the wedding. She had magazines, swatches, venue ideas… she was so happy. So excited. And Marcus just… sat there. Smiling. Calling me 'love.' Acting like nothing happened. Like he didn't take the ring back and walk out with someone else."
Riley's face hardened. "That manipulative son of a—"
"I tried to tell her," Fiona whispered. "I opened my mouth to say it's over. And he… he just cut in. Smooth. Charming. Said I was tired, work stress. And I let him. I couldn't do it. I couldn't watch her face fall. She looked at me like I was still her little girl with the fairy-tale ending. And I just… sat there. Like a coward."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Riley reached over, squeezed her hand hard.
"You're not a coward. You're protecting your mom. That's love. But Fiona… you can't keep carrying him. He doesn't get to pretend he didn't break you. And you don't owe him your silence."
Fiona's eyes filled. She blinked fast.
"Seeing him act normal like that… it hurt more than the breakup. Like I never mattered. Like I was just… replaceable. And now he's back, playing the perfect fiancé, and I don't know how to stop it without breaking her heart."
Riley pulled her chair closer. Voice low, fierce.
"You don't have to do it alone. Tell me when you're ready and I'll be there. I'll hold your hand, bring tissues, curse him out in three languages if you want. But you deserve to be free of him. You deserve to breathe."
Fiona let out a wet laugh. "Thanks. I just… I feel so stupid. So trapped."
"You're not trapped," Riley said. "You're pregnant, you're brilliant, and you've got a job here that's yours. Marcus doesn't get to rewrite your story."
Fiona's breath hitched.
Riley didn't know.
No one knew.
She hadn't told a single soul about the baby.
Not yet.
She squeezed Riley's hand back.
"I know. I just… need time."
"Take it," Riley said. "But don't take it alone."
She stayed a minute longer—hand warm on Fiona's, quiet solidarity—then rolled back to her desk.
Fiona stared at her screen.
The baby moved again—slow, rolling pressure, like it was settling in for the long haul.
She whispered, so quiet it was only for herself:
"I'm sorry. I'm trying."
The rest of the morning passed in fragments. Emails. Slack messages. Small tasks she could do on autopilot. She answered when spoken to, smiled when expected, kept her voice steady. But every time she blinked, she saw Marcus's smile. Elara's shining eyes. Martin's dark gaze when she'd pushed him away.
At lunch she skipped the cafeteria. Ate a protein bar at her desk. Drank water. Let the baby flutter whenever it wanted—small, secret reminders that she wasn't completely alone.
Riley swung by again around 2 p.m.
"Still okay?"
Fiona nodded. "Getting there."
Riley didn't push. Just left a ginger ale on her desk—unopened, cold—and rolled away.
Fiona stared at the can.
Smiled—small, real.
She opened it. Took a sip.
The baby fluttered—soft, grateful.
She leaned back in her chair.
Looked toward the elevators.
Wondered if Martin was up there right now—thinking about her the way she couldn't stop thinking about him.
Wondered how long she could keep the truth hidden.
Wondered when the weight of it would finally crack her open...