Hardwired.
Used only when discretion mattered more than traceability.
He lifted the receiver, pressed a short extension, and waited.
A few seconds of silence stretched between the clicks of the line.
Then his voice came, flat and controlled.
“Congratulations.”
He hung up before a response could even come through.
The receiver clicked back into place.
And then—he walked back toward me.
I tensed slightly without meaning to.
He moved past me—and sat.
Directly opposite.
In a leather armchair positioned with intention.
Facing me.
He leaned back slightly, legs spread, elbows resting on the armrests, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
Watching.
The silence stretched.
And stretched.
Until it wasn’t just quiet anymore—
it was pressure.
Heavy.
Like something physical pressing down on my chest, making it harder to breathe.
Then—
“Violet is pregnant.”
The words detonated. Like a shaped charge.
Everything inside me shifted at once.
My spine stiffened.
My balance—already fragile—tilted slightly even though I was sitting still.
My throat tightened instantly.
Saliva disappeared.
