The elevator ride back up to the penthouse was suffocatingly silent.
Hart Matthew stood in the corner of the lift, loosening his tie with a sharp, irritated motion. He hadn't said a word since the incident at the restaurant, but the air around him crackled with tension.
Eunice stood a few feet away, clutching her clutch bag like a shield. She was exhausted. The emotional toll of the dinner, combined with the physical drain of the pregnancy, was making her legs tremble.
Ding.
The doors opened, and Hart strode out first.
"Go to bed, Miss Vance," he said over his shoulder, his voice rough. "We have an early start tomorrow."
"Yes, sir. Goodnight."
Eunice practically ran into her guest suite. She didn't just close the door; she leaned against it, closing her eyes for a moment to breathe.
Safe.
But she wasn't done yet. Her phone alarm had vibrated silently in her bag ten minutes ago. It was time for her evening dose of prenatal vitamins and progesterone—crucial for keeping the twins healthy in the first trimester.
She walked into the ensuite bathroom and turned on the tap. The bright vanity lights illuminated her tired face. She placed her makeup bag on the white marble counter and dug out the large orange prescription bottle.
The label was bold and damning: PRENATAL CARE - HIGH RISK - TWIN GESTATION.
She set the bottle down on the counter and grabbed a glass of water. Her hands were shaking as she twisted the cap off.
Click.
The sound of the main bedroom door opening made her jump.
"Eunice?" Hart's voice came from the living room, closer than she expected. "I need the physical file for the merger. I think you have it in your bag."
Eunice froze. "I... yes, sir! Just a moment!"
She heard his footsteps. He wasn't waiting in the living room. He was walking toward her bedroom door. The door she had been ordered to leave unlocked.
The bottle.
It was sitting right there on the counter, the words TWIN GESTATION facing outward like a neon sign.
Eunice lunged for it. Her elbow knocked against a glass jar of cotton balls, sending it crashing into the sink with a loud clatter.
"Eunice?"
The bedroom door handle turned.
In a panic, Eunice swiped the orange bottle and shoved it behind a stack of towels on the shelf just as Hart appeared in the bathroom doorway.
He filled the frame, his tie completely undone now, looking at her with narrowed eyes.
"What happened?" he asked, scanning the room.
Eunice was standing in front of the counter, gripping the edge of the sink behind her, trying to block his view of the shelf.
"Nothing!" she squeaked, her voice an octave too high. "I just... I dropped my face cream. Everything is fine."
Hart didn't look convinced. He stepped into the bathroom. The space was suddenly too small. He walked slowly toward her, his eyes moving from her flushed face to the sink, and then to the shelf behind her.
Eunice stopped breathing. If he moved one towel, it was over.
"You're hiding something," Hart murmured, stopping just inches from her.
"I'm not," Eunice whispered.
Hart reached out. Eunice flinched, preparing for the end.
But his hand didn't go to the towels. He reached past her and picked up the glass of water she had poured. He held it up to the light.
"You were taking medicine," he stated. It wasn't a question.
"Just... aspirin," Eunice lied quickly. "For a headache. The champagne toast... the smell gave me a migraine."
Hart stared at her for a long, agonizing moment. Then, his expression softened, just a fraction.
"You don't have a migraine," he said quietly. "You're stressed. And you're terrified."
He set the glass down.
"Get the file, Eunice. Then go to sleep. I don't want a sick assistant tomorrow."
He turned and walked out.
Eunice slumped against the counter, her knees giving way. She grabbed the orange bottle from behind the towels and shoved it deep into her suitcase, burying it under her socks.
She had survived. But as she lay in the massive king-sized bed ten minutes later, staring at the ceiling, she realized something else.
Hart hadn't left the penthouse. She could hear him pacing in the living room. Back and forth. Back and forth.
The man never slept.
And for some reason, the sound of his restless footsteps made her feel strangely safe.