Thora’s POV
The pounding outside my building started before sunrise.
At first I thought it was construction — heavy boots on pavement, voices in the dark. But when I pulled back the blinds, the flashbulbs blinded me.
Reporters.
Dozens of them.
They stood in a tight cluster at the curb, cameras lifted, voices colliding into one cruel chorus.
“Thora, is it true you’re pregnant?”
“Is Luke Palmer the father?”
“Do you think this proves Quentin Palmer’s case?”
My stomach churned. My hand flew instinctively to my belly, as though I could shield the baby from the noise.
Avis padded into the room, hair tangled from sleep. “Why are people yelling?”
I dropped the blinds fast. “Just… reporters, baby. Nothing to worry about.”
But my voice shook, and her eyes narrowed. Too smart. Too aware.
