I just stand there. Out of control.
I shouldn’t have let April work from the office today.
No, I should have just told her before today, should have taken out a sliver of the calm we’ve had the last few days and sacrificed it.
April looks at me—eyes glossy, face pale, mouth parted as if she’s trying to force air into her lungs—then turns to me fully.
“What did she mean?” She demands, voice trembling, anger and hurt tangled together. “Anthony—what did she mean you announced our engagement?”
I take a breath. Then another.
I’ve faced hostile takeovers. Courtrooms. Scandals. Men who wanted my head on a platter. A wife who wanted to be with anyone other than me.
None of that feels like this.
“Sit,” I say instinctively.
“I’m not sitting,” she snaps, and her eyes stare at me from behind her lenses. “Answer me.”
I drag a hand through my hair, the gesture uncharacteristically raw. “It was a board meeting,” I say. “They were threatening a vote. They were questioning stability. The trust clause?—”
“So you lied?” she asks, the words cracking on the edge of disbelief.
I meet her gaze. “Yes.”
Her throat bobs. “Aboutme.”
“It was the fastest way to shut them down.”
April’s eyes shine, tears gathering. “You didn’t even warn me.”
“I didn’t know how.”
She laughs once, sharp and broken. “You didn’t know how?” she repeats. “You couldn’t figure out how to tell me that in thelast three days, but you could decide on a whim to tell them I’m your fiancée?”
The word hits harder than it should.Fiancée. It sits in the room between us like something alive.
I open my mouth, close it, then force myself to speak the truth I’ve been circling for weeks. “I didn’t realize until recently,” I say, voice low, “that it wasn’t just an heir the clause required.”
April’s brows draw together. “What?—”
“I need a wife,” I say, and it comes out blunt, like tearing off a bandage. “The clause is structured that way. An heir isn’t enough to secure control long-term. They want… legitimacy. Family structure. Permanence. I didn’t know how to tell you, and then we found out you were pregnant, and you were locked in, and I couldn’t—I didn’t know how to drop that on you, April. I’ve been trying to figure it out.”
Her face crumples slightly, like she’s trying to hold it together and failing. “And that’s why you’ve been nicer to me? That’s why you’ve been affectionate?” She whispers, voice unsteady.
I don’t answer fast enough.
Her eyes glisten, and something in my chest shatters. “That’s why you wanted me to move in,” she says, voice rising. “That’s why you’ve been sweet. That’s why you’ve been—” she swallows hard, a tear spilling, “—holding me like I matter. Because you were warming me up to the idea of marrying you?”
“No,” I say immediately, too sharp. “No.”
She flinches like I’ve struck her with the force of the word.
I step closer, then stop myself, hands curling into fists at my sides. If I touch her right now, she’ll either melt or break, and I don’t trust myself to tell which it is. “I wanted you close,” I say, voice rougher. “That was unrelated.”
April’s breath stutters.
“I didn’t plan it,” I continue, and I hate how human I sound. “I didn’t—this—it wasn’t a strategy. The board forced my hand,and I made a decision in a room full of vultures. I never expected any of this. I never expected this to become real, and I?—”
