Kacy Gordon POV:

The world spun around me. Kennedy's words—"My husband, Cameron Roberts"—roared in my ears. The photo on her phone burned into my retinas. My Cameron. The man I had loved for ten years, the one I had built my life around, was married. He was Kennedy's husband.

Everything clicked into place with horrifying clarity. His reluctance to talk about marriage, always brushing it off as "the right time hasn't come yet." His frequent overseas "business trips," always so vague about the details. "Client meetings," he would say, "critical negotiations." I had believed him. I had admired his dedication. Now I understood. He wasn't working. He was living another life. A married life. With my best friend.

The anger surged, hot and bitter, quickly followed by a crushing wave of humiliation. I had been a fool. An oblivious, trusting fool.

"Kacy? What is it?" Kennedy's voice cut through the fog of my shock. She reached for my hand. "You're still so pale. Are you feeling sick?"

I couldn't answer. My throat was tight, my tongue heavy. The apartment felt suffocating. I needed air. I pushed myself up from the couch, my legs unsteady.

"I… I need some air," I mumbled, stumbling toward the door.

Kennedy, still focused on her own pain, nodded. "Okay, let's head downstairs. We need to go anyway. The Zenith Tower. We have to confront him. Right now." She grabbed her bag. "We can grab a cab outside."

We walked out of my apartment building and toward the street. The sun felt harsh, the city noise overwhelming. As we waited for a taxi, a wave of nausea washed over me. My stomach churned. I bent over, clutching my midsection.

"Kacy? What's wrong?" Kennedy asked, her voice laced with concern.

I couldn't stop it. I retched violently into a nearby flowerbed. My body convulsed, emptying the contents of my stomach onto the pristine urban landscaping. Tears streamed down my face, hot and stinging, mixing with the sweat on my forehead. It was more than just physical sickness. It was the complete implosion of my life, manifesting itself in a brutal, visceral way.

Kennedy rushed to my side, her hand rubbing my back. "Oh my God, Kacy! Are you okay? You're crying too! Did you eat something bad?"

I shook my head, unable to speak, still heaving. The metallic taste of bile filled my mouth.

"Here, use this." Kennedy handed me a tissue from her purse. "You're really shaking. Your hands are freezing."

I wiped my mouth, my chest burning. My hand, still trembling, brushed against my purse strap. Something crinkled inside. The doctor's report.

I had picked it up yesterday, planning to tell Cameron tonight. A happy surprise.

I had missed my period. The tiredness. The morning nausea. I had blamed stress, a busy work schedule. But a visit to the doctor confirmed it. I was two months pregnant. With Cameron's child.

The thought, once a source of quiet joy and hopeful dreams, now brought a fresh wave of agony. A baby. Our baby. I was going to tell him tonight, over that romantic dinner. He would be thrilled, I thought. We would start a family. Now, the image of that future turned to ash. There was no "our baby." There was only a child conceived in a decade of lies.

A child born from a lie would live a lie. I wouldn't let that happen.

And I had no idea if I could keep it—or if I even should.

My fingers tightened around Kennedy's hand. I looked into her worried eyes, a desperate plea forming in my throat. I had to tell her. I had to tell her everything.

"Kennedy," I said, my voice hoarse, "there's something—"

"Kacy, we need to go! I just hailed a cab!" Kennedy exclaimed, pulling me toward the waiting taxi. Her focus was entirely on her mission. "We can't let that bastard get away with it! He's probably up there right now, celebrating with his mistress!"

She shoved me into the back seat. "Come on, Kacy! We have to go!"

"Kennedy!" I cried out. My secret, my pregnancy, the crushing weight of being the "other woman"—it all surged to the surface. I needed to confess. I needed to tell her that her husband was my partner. That his mistress was me.

She glanced at me, her brow furrowed. "What is it, Kacy? We're almost there. We can't lose momentum now."

I met her gaze, her eyes full of righteous anger, focused on the betrayal of her marriage. How could I say it? How could I tell my best friend that her pain was my pain, that her betrayer was mine? The words choked in my throat, trapped by shame, guilt, and the horrific irony of my situation.

I fell silent, my secret a crushing burden. The cab sped toward the tower. Each red light was a countdown to destruction.