The next morning, the sun was too bright. It glared off the white sheets, mocking Nancy's headache.

She hadn't slept. She had spent the night dragging suitcases out of the closet and throwing clothes into them. She needed to leave. Staying here, in his space, smelling his cedar and bergamot scent, was torture.

The front door beeped.

Nancy froze. He wasn't supposed to be here. He usually stayed at the club or... with Fiona.

Julian walked into the bedroom. He was wearing the same suit from last night, but the tie was gone and the top button was undone. He looked tired.

He stopped when he saw the suitcases.

"You're packing," he said. It was a statement, not a question.

"You wanted me gone," Nancy said, not looking at him. She folded a silk blouse with mechanical precision.

"I said you had a few weeks." He walked further into the room. "You don't have to run away like a refugee."

"I'm not running. I'm complying."

She turned to grab a stack of books from the nightstand, but her hand knocked over her purse. It fell off the bed, spilling its contents onto the hardwood floor.

Lipstick. Wallet. Keys. And a long, white plastic stick with a purple cap.

The pregnancy test.

Nancy's heart stopped. The object clattered loudly against the wood, sliding to rest near Julian's polished dress shoe.

Julian frowned. His eyes tracked the object.

"What is that?"

Nancy threw herself at the floor. She ignored the bruising impact on her knees. She snatched the test up, shoving it into her closed fist before Julian could take a step.

Julian's eyes narrowed. The suspicion was instant and sharp. He crossed the room in two long strides and grabbed her wrist.

"What are you hiding?" His voice was low, dangerous. "Bank transfers? Are you stealing from the accounts?"

"No!" Nancy tried to pull her hand back, but his grip was iron.

"Show me."

"It's trash, Julian. Let go."

"Open your hand, Nancy."

He squeezed her wrist. Pain shot up her arm. She was backed against the wardrobe now. Sweat pricked at her hairline. If he saw the two lines in the small window...

She needed a distraction.

Nancy squeezed her eyes shut and let her knees buckle. She doubled over, clutching her lower abdomen with her free hand, and let out a low, guttural groan.

"Ow..." she gasped. "Please..."

Julian froze. He looked down at her, confusion warring with his anger.

"What? What is it?"

"Cramps," she lied, her voice breathless. "It's... it's my period. It's bad this month. The stress..."

She slumped further, sliding down the wardrobe door until she was sitting on the floor. She kept the plastic stick balled tight in her fist, pressing it against her stomach as if to soothe the pain.

Menstrual cramps. The one thing that made men like Julian Sterling uncomfortable enough to back off. If she had her period, she couldn't be pregnant. It was the perfect lie.

He released her wrist instantly, stepping back as if burned. He ran a hand through his hair, looking awkward.

"You... do you need a doctor?"

"No," she wheezed. "Just... painkillers. And rest."

She looked up at him through her lashes. Her face was genuinely pale from the morning sickness and the fear, which sold the lie perfectly.

Julian looked at her for a long moment. He saw the sweat on her brow, the shaking hands. He let out a sharp breath, a curse word slipping under his breath.

He bent down.

Before Nancy could protest, he scooped her up into his arms.

She stiffened. Being this close to him was agonizing. She could smell the stale scotch and the faint, cloying scent of vanilla perfume-Fiona's perfume-clinging to his jacket.

"Put me down," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the tears.

"Shut up," he said, but there was no heat in it.

He carried her to the bed and dropped her onto the mattress. It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't rough either. He stood over her, adjusting his cuffs.

"You have zero physical resilience," he scoffed, retreating into his usual coldness to mask the moment of intimacy. "How are you going to survive out there without the Sterling safety net?"

Nancy turned her face into the pillow. "Just go, Julian."

He lingered for a second too long. He looked at her curled form, at the fist still clutched against her stomach.

"I hope it is just cramps," he said darkly. "Don't let me find out you're plotting something."

He turned and walked out.

Nancy waited until she heard the front door close. Then she scrambled into the bathroom. She smoothed out the tissue she had wrapped around the stick.

She wrapped it in layers of toilet paper, then shoved it deep into the bottom of the trash bin, covering it with used cotton pads.

"That was close," she whispered to the empty room. "Mommy has to be careful."

Julian came back that evening. He wasn't supposed to. They were separated in all but address, yet he kept returning to the penthouse like a ghost haunting his own life.

Nancy was on the balcony. The wind was howling tonight, whipping around the high-rise and masking the sound of the city below. She was holding her phone, staring at a food delivery app, trying to find something that wouldn't make her stomach turn.

Because of the wind and her own anxious thoughts, she didn't hear the glass door slide open.

"Who are you waiting for?"

Nancy jumped violently. Julian was standing right behind her. He snatched the phone from her hand before she could lock the screen.

He looked at the screen. It was just a menu for a noodle shop. But his eyes were wild, irrational.

"Is this why you were packing so fast?" he demanded. "Is there someone else?"

Nancy stared at him. "You asked for a divorce yesterday. Why do you care?"

"I care about my reputation," he snapped. "I won't have my wife running around with some low-life while we're still legally married."

He was jealous. It was absurd, but he was jealous. He looked at her with a possessiveness that made her skin prickle.

If he thought she was moving on... maybe he would let her go faster. Maybe he wouldn't look too closely at her changing body.

Nancy straightened her spine. She looked him in the eye.

"Yes," she said. "There is someone."

The air left the balcony. Julian's hand tightened around her phone until the plastic case groaned under the pressure.

"Who?" The word was a growl.

"His name is Jack," she lied. The name came from nowhere. "He's... nice. He listens to me. He doesn't treat me like a transaction."

Julian stepped closer. He crowded her against the railing. He was so angry he was vibrating.

"Jack," he mocked. "Does Jack shop at Walmart? Does he drive a Honda? Is that what you're worth, Nancy? Average?"

"He's kind," Nancy said, her voice shaking. "Something you wouldn't understand."

"Kindness doesn't pay the bills," Julian spat. "You think some mediocre nobody can give you what I gave you?"

"You gave me nothing but a checkbook and a cold shoulder!"

Julian grabbed her shoulders. His grip was bruising. For a second, she thought he might kiss her. His gaze dropped to her lips, hungry and furious.

The smell of his cigarette smoke hit her.

Her stomach lurched. The nausea was instantaneous and overwhelming.

Nancy shoved him away, hard. She clamped a hand over her mouth and ran for the bathroom inside.

Julian stumbled back. He watched her run. He didn't see a sick woman. He saw a woman repulsed by his touch.

"Fine!" he roared after her. "Go vomit! Am I that disgusting to you now?"

He kicked a terracotta pot near the door. It shattered, sending soil and shards across the deck.

Inside the bathroom, Nancy retched into the sink, tears streaming down her face.

"I'm taking the Hamptons house off the table!" Julian yelled through the door. "You and Jack can live in a box for all I care!"

Nancy rinsed her mouth. She looked at her reflection. Her lip was bleeding where she had bitten it.

"Good," she whispered. "Hate me. Please, just hate me."

She heard the front door slam.

She walked back out to the balcony. She knelt down and began to pick up the pieces of the shattered pot. A sharp edge sliced her finger. She watched the blood drip onto the dark soil, bright red and undeniable.

Later, in his car, Julian dialed his private investigator. "I want a name. Jack. Associated with Nancy. Check her call logs, her gym, everything." He stared at the phone. "If he exists, I want him buried." But deep down, the lack of any digital trail for a "Jack" in the preliminary reports his security team ran earlier gnawed at him. Was she lying? Or was she just hiding him that well?

The next day was hell.

A courier arrived at noon with a velvet box. Inside was a ruby necklace. The card read: Happy Anniversary. Wear this tonight. - J.

Nancy knew Julian hadn't sent this. The handwriting belonged to Liam, his executive assistant, who likely had a recurring calendar alert for "Wife - Anniversary Gift." Julian probably didn't even know it had been delivered.

Nancy stared at the red stones. They looked like drops of blood. Tonight was the family dinner at the Sterling estate. They had to pretend.

She went to the kitchen. She needed to do something with her hands. She baked. It was a Black Forest cake, Julian's favorite, but she made it with a special sugar-free recipe for his father.

When Julian came home to change, the cake was cooling on the counter.

He walked into the kitchen, adjusting his cufflinks. He glanced at the cake.

"We're not bringing that," he said.

Nancy paused, the frosting knife in her hand. "Why? It's your favorite."

"Fiona ordered dessert," he said, checking his watch. "She got a Michelin pastry chef to make those gluten-free tarts everyone likes. We don't need your... homemade attempt."

Nancy felt the sting of tears. It wasn't about the cake. It was about the erasure.

"Right," she said. "Of course. Fiona."

"Hurry up," Julian said. "Put on the necklace. It cost enough, you might as well display it."

He walked out to the garage.

Nancy stood alone in the kitchen. She looked at the cake. She looked at the ruby necklace that felt like a collar.

A dark, destructive impulse seized her. She felt like she was disappearing. She needed to feel something other than this hollow ache.

She cut a slice of the cake.

She knew the recipe. She knew she had used hazelnut flour for the base.

Nancy was severely allergic to hazelnuts. Not instantly fatal, but enough to cause agonizing hives and swelling that would make her unrecognizable.

She picked up the fork. Her hand trembled. Just a little, her mind whispered. Just enough to make the pain physical. Just enough to punish yourself for still loving him. She wasn't thinking clearly; the hormones and grief were a toxic cocktail.

She took a bite. Then another.

She swallowed the sweet, deadly crumbs.

Within minutes, her throat began to itch. Her lips tingled. Heat rushed to her face.

Panic set in. The baby.

"No," she gasped. She dropped the fork. What was she doing? She was a mother now. She couldn't be reckless.

She ran to the sink and drank glass after glass of water. She opened the medicine cabinet and frantically swallowed two antihistamine pills. She stuck her finger down her throat, forcing herself to retch, expelling the cake into the disposal.

She coughed, her eyes streaming. Her neck was breaking out in red blotches. Her breath hitched.

She grabbed her purse, fumbling for her EpiPen. She held it over her thigh.

But she hesitated. Was epinephrine safe for the baby? She didn't know. The antihistamines should hold off the worst of it. She couldn't risk the shot unless her throat closed completely.

Honk. Honk.

Julian was in the driveway.

Nancy ran to the bathroom. She grabbed a bottle of heavy concealer. She slathered it over her neck, covering the angry red hives. She put on the ruby necklace. The large gems hid the worst of the swelling. She prayed the dim lighting of the restaurant would hide the puffiness around her eyes.

She took deep, wheezing breaths, willing her airway to stay open.

She walked out to the car.

"Finally," Julian muttered as she slid into the passenger seat. He didn't look at her. If he had, he would have seen the sweat on her upper lip, the way her hands were gripping her knees.

"Sorry," she croaked.

"You sound terrible," he said, putting the car in gear. "Don't get anyone sick."

Nancy leaned her head against the cool glass of the window. She focused on breathing. In. Out. Survive.