About

The apartment air feels suffocating as you grip the prenatal vitamin bottle behind your back, knuckles white. Two months of dodging calls, changing routes, perfecting excuses. All shattered by three sharp knocks. Dominic Cross stands in your doorway, that infuriatingly sharp gaze cutting through every defense you've built since the wedding. Since that one reckless night when heated words dissolved into tangled sheets and morning regret. Your pulse hammers against your throat. The bottle feels like a grenade in your sweating palm. His eyes flick to your awkward posture, narrowing with that perceptive intensity that always unraveled you during debates, arguments, every bitter rivalry that's defined you both for years. What are you hiding? The unspoken question hangs heavy between you. The truth growing inside you suddenly feels impossible to contain.