The dinner was a blur of noise and light. Nancy picked at her food, her throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper.

Halfway through the main course, Julian's phone buzzed.

He looked at the screen. His face went pale.

He stood up abruptly. Arthur was in the middle of a toast about family legacy.

"I have to go," Julian said.

The table went silent.

"Julian?" his mother, Victoria, asked.

"It's Fiona," he said. "She's... having an episode. Severe nerve pain. She needs me."

He looked at Nancy. There was no apology in his eyes, only urgency.

"You can take a taxi back," he said.

And then he left. He walked out of his father's house, leaving his wife alone at the table with twenty guests staring at her.

Nancy felt the blood rush to her face. The humiliation was hotter than the allergic reaction.

"He has a... business merger," Nancy said to the table, her voice shaking but clear. "Very time-sensitive. He apologizes."

Arthur looked at her from the head of the table. His old, sharp eyes lingered on her flushed face. He knew. But he nodded.

Nancy lasted ten more minutes. Then she excused herself.

She walked out of the estate. It had started to rain. A cold, hard downpour.

She declined the valet's offer to call a car. She needed air. She walked to the gate, the rain soaking her silk dress.

She made it to a flowerbed before her stomach rebelled. She vomited violently, her body expelling the rest of the toxins and the stress. To any onlooker, it looked like a reaction to bad shellfish or too much wine, not pregnancy.

She got a taxi back to the apartment and collapsed on the sofa.

At 2:00 AM, her phone rang.

It was Sebastian, Julian's best friend. Sebastian was a chaos agent, a man who thrived on drama and cared little for propriety.

"Nancy," Sebastian shouted over a thumping bass line. "You need to come get him."

"Where is he?" she whispered.

"The Box. He's wasted, Nancy. He's trying to fight the bouncers."

"Call Fiona," Nancy said bitterly. "She's the one he left for."

Sebastian laughed, a cruel sound. "Fiona took his platinum card and went home hours ago. She doesn't do 'messy'. You're the wife. It's your job. Besides, his security detail is stuck in traffic on the bridge. If the press sees him like this, the stock tanks. Do you want that on your conscience?"

Nancy closed her eyes. Fiona took the card. Of course she did.

"I'm coming," she said.

She put on a trench coat over her pajamas. She grabbed the keys to the black Range Rover kept in the garage for 'family errands'-a tank of a car that felt safe.

The club was a nightmare of neon and smoke. She found Julian in a private booth. He was slumped sideways, his tie undone, a bottle of vodka half-empty in front of him.

Sebastian was sitting across from him, looking bored.

"Took you long enough," Sebastian sneered. "Traffic bad in the suburbs?"

Nancy ignored him. She walked to Julian.

"Julian," she said, shaking his shoulder. "Time to go."

He opened his eyes. They were unfocused, red-rimmed.

"Nancy?" he slurred. Then his face twisted. "Liar. You're all liars."

He shoved her.

It was a clumsy, drunken push, but Nancy wasn't expecting it. She stumbled back. Her hip checked the sharp corner of the glass table.

The corner dug into her lower abdomen.

Pain flared-sharp and terrifying.

Nancy gasped, clutching her stomach. She doubled over, her face going white.

"Hey!" Sebastian stood up, alarmed. He saw the way she protected her midsection. "Easy, Jules."

Nancy bit her lip until it tasted like copper. Please be okay. Please, baby, be okay.

She forced herself to straighten up. She grabbed Julian's arm, her grip surprisingly strong.

"We are leaving," she hissed. "Now."

Julian blinked, cowed by her intensity. He let her pull him up. He leaned his entire weight on her.

Nancy staggered under the burden, her stomach throbbing, but she didn't let go. She dragged him toward the exit.

They spilled out of the club's back exit into the alley, Nancy breathing hard. Sebastian followed, carrying Julian's coat.

Just as they reached the car, a group of men turned the corner.

Nancy froze.

It was Harrison Sterling-Julian's father-and three members of the board. They had likely been at a private cigar meeting nearby.

Harrison stopped. He looked at his son, who was swaying and muttering incoherently. His expression was thunderous.

"Julian?" Harrison barked. "What is the meaning of this?"

The board members exchanged looks. A drunk CEO was bad for stock prices.

Julian groaned. He looked like he was about to vomit.

Nancy reacted on instinct. She whipped off her trench coat and threw it over Julian's head and shoulders, hiding his disheveled state.

She stepped in front of him, blocking their view. She forced a sad, wobbly smile onto her face.

"Oh, Harrison," she said, her voice trembling perfectly. "I'm so glad it's you. Julian... he's so upset."

Harrison frowned. "Upset?"

"It's Fiona," Nancy lied smoothly. "Her nerve pain was terrible tonight. Seeing her suffer... it just broke his heart. He had a few drinks to cope. You know how deeply the Sterlings feel for their friends."

She looked at the board members. "Loyalty is a Sterling trait, isn't it?"

The tension broke. The board members nodded sympathetically. "Poor girl," one muttered. "Good man, Julian."

Harrison's eyes narrowed. He looked at Nancy. He saw the rain-soaked pajamas, the pale face, the protective stance. He knew it was a spin.

"Get him in the car," Harrison said quietly. "Good work, Nancy."

Nancy bundled Julian into the passenger seat. Sebastian stood by the open door. He looked at Nancy with a new expression. Respect.

"That was... impressive," Sebastian muttered. "You lie better than he does."

"I learned from the best," Nancy said, slamming the door.

She drove away.

Ten minutes later, her phone rang through the car's Bluetooth. It was Arthur.

"Harrison told me," the old man's voice rasped.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I handled it."

"You did more than handle it. You saved the morning share price," Arthur said. "Check your personal account tomorrow. Consider it a... wardrobe stipend."

"I don't want your money, Arthur," Nancy said softly.

"I know," Arthur replied. "That's why you're the only one worthy of it."

He hung up.

Nancy looked over at Julian. He was passed out, his head lolling against the window.

Suddenly, he groaned and shifted. His hand flailed out and landed on her thigh.

Nancy flinched, but she didn't move it.

His fingers curled, gripping her leg gently.

"Nancy..." he mumbled in his sleep. Not Fiona. Nancy.

His thumb stroked the fabric of her pants. It was a soft, seeking touch.

Nancy felt a tear slide down her cheek. She focused on the road, the rain blurring the red taillights ahead into long, bloody streaks.

Getting him into the apartment was a wrestling match. Nancy was sweating by the time she dumped him onto the king-sized bed.

She knelt to take off his shoes. Her stomach still ached where she had hit the table, a dull, throbbing reminder of the night's chaos.

She stood up to leave, to get water, to escape.

Julian's hand shot out. He grabbed her wrist.

"Don't," he rasped.

He pulled. Nancy lost her balance. She fell onto the mattress, landing beside him.

He rolled over, pinning her. His body was heavy, hot. He smelled of vodka and rain.

He stared down at her. His eyes were open, glassy but intense.

"You're here," he whispered.

"I'm here," Nancy said, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was terrified he would hurt the baby, but she was also paralyzed by his proximity.

He buried his face in her neck. He inhaled deeply.

"You smell like... home," he mumbled. "Don't be like her. Don't leave."

He was confusing her with Fiona. He had to be.

"Julian, you're drunk."

"No," he groaned. His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His leg tangled with hers.

For a moment, Nancy let herself sink into it. The warmth. The weight. This was what she had wanted for three years. To be held.

Then, a sound cut through the room.

Ring. Ring.

It was a specific ringtone. A harp melody. Fiona.

Julian stiffened. His hand fumbled for his pocket.

Nancy reached it first. She pulled the phone out. The screen lit up the dark room: Fiona Q.

She pressed answer. She didn't speak. She held the phone out.

"Julian?" Fiona's voice was sugary sweet, dripping with fake vulnerability. "Are you awake? My legs hurt so bad. The storm makes it worse. Can you come rub them?"

Julian froze. He looked at the phone. Then he looked at Nancy.

He saw the exhaustion in Nancy's eyes. He saw the wet hair. He felt her body beneath his.

Something shifted in his drunken haze. A flash of clarity.

He reached out. He took the phone from Nancy's hand.

And he pressed the red button. End call.

He tossed the phone onto the floor.

Nancy stared at him, shocked. "You hung up on her."

"I'm tired," Julian muttered. He rolled off her, collapsing onto his back. "Just... turn off the light."

Nancy lay there for a minute, listening to his breathing even out into sleep.

She got up and went to the guest room. She didn't sleep.

The next morning, she woke up scratching.

She went to the mirror and gasped.

The concealer had worn off. The allergic reaction had rebounded with a vengeance. Her neck, chest, and arms were covered in angry, red, raised welts. Her face was swollen.

The door opened.

Julian stood there, holding a cup of coffee. He looked hungover, but when he saw her, the coffee cup rattled in the saucer.

"My God," he said. He crossed the room in two strides. "Nancy? Your face."

"It's nothing," she said, turning away.

He grabbed her arm, spinning her around. "This isn't nothing. You're breaking out."

He pulled out his phone.

"I'm calling Dr. Walker. Now."