Celeste moves me to a private mansion the next day. It is in a quiet environment and far from the city, surrounded by tall gates and a garden that smells of roses. 

“You’ll be safe here,” she tells me, holding and squeezing both my hands. “No one will find you here. I promise.” 

I nod slowly, though the fear in my chest doesn’t fully leave. 

Over the next few weeks, she visits almost every day. She brings me homemade soups and fruit, pregnancy pillows in soft pastel colors, and gifts in boxes wrapped in ribbon. It is expensive, I can tell. A necklace with a pearl, earrings, a robe made of the finest silk. 

I can hardly bring myself to touch them. Ever since the divorce, it feels like I am standing on a thin edge. Best not to get used to her kindness which could be ripped away at any moment. 

She spends time with me as always. Watching her touch my belly, fuss over the baby things makes my chest tighten with sadness for her. 

You don’t need a magician to see just how badly she wants this child. I can see it in the way her eyes light up every time she talks about the little clothes she bought or the crib, like she is already imagining holding and rocking her. 

It makes me forget, for a moment, that she is also the reason I am hiding away with a stranger’s dark secrets tangled around my life. 

One afternoon, as she is leaving, I walk her to the door. Outside, under the porch light, she turns around and pulls me into a hug. “Thank you, Evelyn. I had a wonderful time as always,” she whispers. 

I hug her back, feeling the warmth of her, and for that second, none of it feels complicated anymore. 

We are just two women who have grown close, waiting for a baby. 

Then she gets into her BMW and leaves, and I go back inside. 

I barely cross the threshold when I hear my phone beep. It is in the living room. I slowly walk up and pick it up. 

It’s a text from Thomas. 

I almost ignore it but my curiosity gets the better of me. 

Thomas: Hey, beautiful. 

Before I can respond, a picture comes in. It is of me and Celeste from moments before, clearly taken outside the mansion. 

My heart drops instantly. My fingers begin to shake. 

More texts come in. 

Thomas: So this is what you’re hiding? You’re pregnant. 

And what the hell has someone like Celeste Cross got to do with someone like you? 

A chill runs down my spine. What do I say? How do I avert this? 

This is bad. If the Crosses find out I am having his heir — like Celeste said, the divorce might turn messier. 

Thomas: No answer? 

I’m at the door. Your damn guard won’t let me in. 

Might want to fix that before I sell these photos to a blog. 

Me: Don’t. I’ll call him. 

I call Ramirez and as the phone rings, I take deep breaths to calm my unsteady nerves. 

“Yes, Ms Lily?” 

“There’s a man outside. Please let him in.” 

“Noted.” 

Then the call clicks. A few minutes later, the door opens and Thomas walks into the house. He looks around the place in obvious awe, like he’s never seen anything this polished. Knowing his background, he probably hasn’t. 

Eventually, his eyes fall on me, then my stomach and he lets out a low whistle. 

“Wow. You even got bigger,” he says with a loud laugh. 

I try not to let the words bite. “How did you find me?” I ask, my voice tight. 

He shrugs, dropping onto the couch like he owns the place. “I have my ways,” he says, looking around the room again. “Cozy place they got you in. You’re living large — no pun intended.” 

The words land harder than the first. But just as before, I choose to stay calm. I swallow down and step closer to him. “Tom, please. Delete the pictures.” 

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Well, sugar plum, you’re not being very hospitable to be asking me for favours. Aren’t you going to offer me a drink at least? Some of that fancy stuff you’ve been drinking that got your skin so radiant?” he says with a devilish grin. 

I hesitate for a moment. Should I just send him away? Take my chances and report him? 

He knows he has me cornered. And I know he isn’t just going to bend for a drink. Still I think about Celeste — about how I’d rather not cause any more drama that could take her child away. 

I simply nod, then move toward the nearby stocked bar to pour him a glass of whisky. My hands still shake when I return and hand the glass over to him. 

He takes it slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. “Thank you, Sugar Plum.” Then he takes a sip and hisses with delight. “Mhm!! This is some good stuff. Why don’t you be a darling and bring me the full bottle? You don’t need it after all… in your state.” He smiles sweetly. 

I don’t hesitate. I grab the bottle from the counter and drop it on the table in front of him, my steps slow and wary. 

He nods in approval, then pats the cushion beside him. “Take a seat, Sugar plum. Be a good girl and fill up my glass for me, will ya’.” 

I stand still, just staring at him. 

He gives me a thin smile, then pulls out his phone. I give in instantly, dropping in next to him. 

“Whoo! Now that’s one hell of a dip,” he says, referring to the couch pressing with my weight. I look away and hot tears burn behind my eyes. 

He notices. “Oh now dear, dear. Don’t be like that,” he says, “you know you’re beautiful. And even though you’re a little bigger now, that didn’t change. Actually you look better. Money looks good on you, hun.” 

“What do you want?!” My voice comes out sharp. 

He stares, but he’s not surprised. I’ve always been more daring with him. He sets the glass down and then leans in closer, and runs a finger along my cheek. 

I freeze. 

“Sugar plum… you know what I want,” he says softly. “Come on, Evie. Just give it to me one more time. For old times’ sake.” 

I’m up before he even finishes his statement, my face twisted in disgust. I could legit throw up right now. “No.” 

Thomas’ face hardens, the fake softness vanished. “Fine,” he says, stands up. “I’ll just leave, then.” 

He starts toward the door. 

My mind races as he walks away — thinking about the pictures, Celeste and all the trouble he would bring if he leaks them. And it isn’t just her too. I have a lot to lose too if he moves on with it. 

“Wait!” I call out, desperate. 

He stops and looks back at me, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Hm? Are you calling for me, Sugar Plum?” 

“Thomas, please I’m begging you.” 

“I’m begging you too, sweetheart,” he says, stepping up to me again. His rough thumb brushes my cheek again and his foul scent curls around me. I resist the urge to recoil. 

“So, what’s it going to be, Evie?” he asks as he moves toward the couch again, dropping onto it. Then his eyes meet mine. “Yes… or no?”