Nicky exhales sharply. “Holy shit.”
I stare at the stick; my throat goes tight, and my eyes sting.
“April,” Nicky says softly. “How do you feel?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
Relief hits first, hot and immediate, because it means Ava gets to keep getting treatment. It means Angela can breathe, and it means all of this wasn’t for nothing. Then comes fear, icy and sharp, because now it’s real. Now it’s inside me. Now there’s no pretending this is some reckless fantasy that can be undone. Then the hollow ache hits. The expiration date on Anthony, on us, on whatever this has become, has hit. My voice comes out thin. “I don’t know if I’m happy.”
Nicky steps closer, eyes searching mine. “Are you at least a little happy?”
I swallow hard, staring at the test like it’s staring back. “I’m… definitely something.”
Her lips purse. “You should probably call him.”
The thought makes my stomach flip again, but this time it isn’t nausea. It’s nerves. It’s dread. It’s a sharp, strange longing I don’t want to name. “Probably.”
Telling Anthony means watching his face change, watching him become the CEO again, watching him claim it like property, watching him pull away like he always does once he gets what he wants. If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t know if I can handle that right now. So I just keep staring at the tiny smiley face and those two pink lines, and let it rewrite my future in silence.
Chapter 18
Anthony
April is never late. That’s the first thing I notice when I walk into my office and see her desk unattended through our joint door. Her screen is dark, the chair pushed in, that neat little stack of folders absent. The empty seat pulls my attention like a hook. I check my watch. Eight forty-two.
She should be here.
The fact that she isn’t feels wrong, like a sentence missing punctuation.
I set my briefcase down harder than I intend to. The day is already scheduled to be a headache. Board meeting at nine. Press pre-brief at eleven. A donor dinner next week in preparation for the charity gala in a few weeks. A market analyst call I’d rather swallow glass than sit through, and all of it anchored by the knowledge that Karen has been prowling for weeks, waiting for an opening.
I glance at my phone. No messages. No missed calls. April isn’t the type to vanish without a word.
For a moment, I consider calling her, but I don’t. I don’t chase. I don’t reveal concern. I don’t give anyone leverage, not even her. Especially not her. But the thought lands anyway, unwanted and persistent.I want to see her.Not for efficiency,not because she keeps the day moving, not because she’s the only person in this building who can look me in the eye and tell me I’m being an asshole. But because I just want to see her. I swear under my breath and head toward the boardroom.
The table is already full when I arrive. Face’s turn, and polite smiles sharpen into professional neutrality. The atmosphere in here always has the same feeling: money and control, disguised as “fiduciary responsibility.” Karen sits two seats down from Joseph Brant, spine straight, hair immaculate, expression serene in the way only dangerous people can be serene. She’s dressed for war.
I take my seat at the head of the table and open my folder. “Let’s begin.”
The first fifteen minutes are routine. Numbers, projections, supply chain updates, and a brief argument about international expansion that makes me want to throw my pen through the window. I handle it all with my usual calm. I’m a controlled, unreadable, man made of steel.
Then Karen clears her throat. “I’d like to raise a matter of conduct.”There it is.I don’t look at her right away, just focus on my papers and listen as if she’s discussing changing our stationery provider. “The company’s reputation is not separate from its leadership,” she continues with a smooth voice that’s deceptively reasonable. “Lately, there have been concerns. Concerns that our CEO is engaging in an inappropriate relationship with an employee.” A couple of board members shift. One looks down at the table. Another glances at me and then away, pretending he isn’t interested. Karen’s eyes stay on me, bright and certain, and thoroughly enjoying this.
“It creates liability,” she continues. “It invitesscandal. It compromises the integrity of our reputation and exposes us to claims of coercion, favoritism, and abuse of power. In light of this, I think it is appropriate to discuss whether Anthony Vossshould step down as CEO before we are forced into a crisis that damages the company.”
The room goes quiet. I let the silence linger long enough that it turns uncomfortable, long enough that everyone remembers who’s actually in charge. Then I set my folder down with a sigh and look at her.
“You’re making a serious accusation,” I say evenly. “Do you have proof of wrongdoing?”
Karen’s lips curve faintly. “Do you deny that the relationship exists?” I could deny it. I could lie. I could bury it with words of confidentiality and power, but lying implies guilt. “No,” I say. A couple of men inhale sharply. One woman’s eyes narrow. Joseph Brant doesn’t move at all. He just watches me with that old, heavy patience of his, like he’s seen this exact maneuver fifty times in fifty different boardrooms. “I don’t deny it,” I continue, keeping my voice casual. “But I reject the implication that it makes me unfit to lead.”
“It’s an employee,” Karen says, pressing. “A younger employee. Someone vulnerable.”
I let my gaze drift around the table. “She’s twenty-eight, Karen. This isn’t uncommon.”
Karen recoils slightly. “So that makes it acceptable?”
“It makes it a reality,” I reply. “And if we’re suddenly holding the CEO to a moral standard none of you have ever applied to yourselves, then we’re going to be having much more interesting discussions. Joseph.”
