SCARLETT
My hands trembled as I stared at the white bedsheet in the hospital room. Pregnant. That word kept ringing in my ears like an alarm I couldn’t shut off. My heartbeat was too loud, my skin was too hot. I could still hear the doctor’s voice in my head, cheerful and clueless. Congratulations, ma’am.
What was there to congratulate? This wasn’t a miracle. It was a disaster.
The door closed softly. Zayden and I were alone again. I didn’t even look at him. I just kept staring down like the answer was written somewhere in the folds of the sheet. But of course, it wasn’t.
Then I heard his voice—cold, sharp.
“We can’t let this get out. Nobody can know this child is mine.”
My stomach clenched.
“What do we do now?” I whispered, finally turning to face him. I’m pregnant. We have to do
