The phone clattered onto the granite countertop. The small plastic stick slipped from her numb fingers and bounced onto the tiled floor.
Bianca didn't move. She couldn't. She just stared at the glowing screen.
Billionaire Eddie Blackwell and fiancée Tasha Pearson joyfully announce they are expecting...
A sound ripped out of her throat, a choked, terrible gasp that was half-sob, half-laugh. It couldn't be real. This was a nightmare. This was a sick, twisted joke.
She sank to the kitchen floor, her back sliding down the cabinets, her legs giving out.
Pregnant. Tasha was visibly pregnant.
Bianca's mind, the sharp, analytical mind that had helped in Eddie's deal, started doing the math.
"Five months," she whispered to the empty room. "She looks... at least five months."
Her hand flew to her own flat stomach. She was, at most, a few weeks.
Five months ago. He was already expecting a child with his fiancée when he met her at that bar. He was expecting a child when he cornered her in the conference room. He was expecting a child when he told her, with those sincere, ice-blue eyes, that his engagement was just a "debt of honor."
And he was expecting a child when he kissed her in that war room.
The roses on her counter, the ones from that morning, suddenly smelled sickly sweet. Their rich, intoxicating scent filled the room, and Bianca gagged. She crawled to the sink, her body convulsing as she threw up, the morning's nausea returning with a violent, emotional force.
It was all a lie.
Every word. Every shared look. Every late-night confession about his father, his "duty," his trapped life. It was all a performance. A calculated, cruel game to get her into bed.
You're the most genuine, rational light I've found...
You, Bianca, are the best thing that's ever happened to me.
He had written those words, had them delivered with roses, all while his fiancée was at home, carrying his child.
The man who was afraid of becoming his cold, calculating father was indeed his father's son. Or worse. At least Harry Blackwell had been honest about who he was.
Bianca's tears, which had been frozen in shock, now came in a hot, furious rush. She wasn't just heartbroken. She was humiliated. She was a fool. She was the other woman, the cheap affair, the "mistake" he'd needed to get out of his system.
She thought of her mother, of all the times she'd watched her cry over a man who had promised her the world and left her with nothing. Bianca had built her entire life, brick by painful brick, to not grow to become her mother's story. She'd gotten the degree, the high-paying job, the new apartment. She had built an armor of success, and Eddie Blackwell had shattered it in a single night.
And now... a baby.
The sob died in her throat, replaced by a cold, hard dread. She was pregnant with his child. She was repeating her mother's cycle in the most spectacular way possible.
She picked up her phone, her fingers shaking with rage. Her first instinct was to call him. To scream at him. To demand an explanation.
Her thumb hovered over his name.
But what was the point? What could he say? Sorry, I forgot to mention the other baby.
The screen was still on the news article. Tasha, glowing. Eddie, smiling that perfect smile, his hand on her back.
He had made his choice. He had a legitimate heir on the way. A public, perfect family.
And what was she?
She was the secret. The dirty one.
If she told him, what would happen?
She knew exactly what would happen. He was a billionaire. He would try to manage her. He would throw money at the situation. To try and buy her silence, to hide her and his child away so they wouldn't inconvenience his perfect life.
A new, fierce, protective instinct flared inside her, eclipsing the heartbreak.
Her child would not be a dirty secret. Her child would not be the "other" one, the bastard hidden in the shadows while the "legitimate" heir got the name, the wealth, the father. Her child would not grow up in the chaos of a man who was torn between two families.
She had seen that life. She had lived that life. And she would die before she put her own son or daughter through it.
Her child would have her. Her child would have her love, her protection, and her stability. It would be enough. It would have to be.
The decision was instant and absolute.
Eddie Blackwell could never know.
Her resolve solidified, turning her pain into ice. He didn't deserve to know. He had given up the right to be a father to this child when he lied to her.
She stood up, her legs still shaky, but her purpose clear. She walked to her laptop, her movements stiff. The Blackwell deal was closed. Her work there was done. She had no professional reason to ever see him again.
She opened her email. She needed to get away. She needed to think, to plan.
She typed a message to Ms. Parker.
Subject: Personal Emergency
Dear Ms. Parker,
Due to an urgent and unexpected family matter, I need to request an immediate, indefinite leave of absence, effective immediately. I apologize for the abrupt timing, but it is unavoidable. I will ensure all my files are ready for hand-off.
Sincerely,Bianca Carter
It was a career-killing move. She knew that. She was walking away from the job she had just celebrated. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered.
She picked up her phone. She looked at the glowing screen one last time, at the picture of Eddie and his pregnant fiancée.
Her eyes glanced at the roses on her counter, the love letter still sitting among them. 'You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.'
"Liar," she whispered.
She blocked his number. She deleted his contact.
She hit "send" on the email.
It was done. She was on her own.