CHAPTER SIX: The First Crack
1158 Words
Tessa’s POV
It had been three days since Charlotte Ashford strutted into the penthouse and dropped her poison like perfume. And even though she left in a cloud of power and disdain, her presence lingered in the air like smoke. Her words curled around my thoughts, louder in silence than they had been in real time.
Guest.
Temporary.
Disposable.
I wasn’t sure why it hurt so much. It’s not like I didn’t already know it deep down, I knew I didn’t belong here. Not in this penthouse. Not in Liam Ashford’s perfect, polished world.
But when he called me his partner in front of her? That changed something.
Partner.
Not surrogate. Not carrier. Not contract.
Partner.
He hadn’t said another word about it since. But I hadn’t stopped thinking about it for a second.
And now, here I was, barefoot in the kitchen, trying to convince myself that a bowl of strawberries and yogurt could fill the knot sitting heavy in my chest.
I heard his steps behind me before I turned.
“Morning,” he said.
His voice was soft, but there was something guarded about it. Like he wasn’t sure where we stood now either.
“Morning,” I said without looking at him.
He crossed the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. I could feel the weight of his eyes on me, and the silence between us thickened like honey.
“About last night” he started.
“You called me your partner,” I interrupted. “In front of your family. Your board. The whole room.”
He set the glass down.
“Yes.”
I finally turned to look at him. “Why?”
He paused.
“Because it felt true.”
My breath caught.
He stepped closer.
“I didn’t plan to say it,” he said. “But I looked at you, and it didn’t feel like I was lying. It felt like the only honest thing I’ve said all year.”
“Then why haven’t you said anything since?”
“Because if I do, I won’t be able to stop.”
He was close now. Too close. My skin buzzed just from the nearness of him.
“You’re making this harder than it has to be,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“I didn’t sign up to fall for you, Liam.”
“And I didn’t sign up to feel anything at all.”
There was a beat of silence.
And then we broke.
He reached for me at the same time I rose onto my toes, and our mouths collided in the middle.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was everything we’d held back for weeks, crashing into one breathless kiss.
His hand cradled the back of my head, the other pressed carefully against my lower back, avoiding my stomach. My fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt as his lips moved with mine, and for the first time in months, I forgot about everything else.
When we finally pulled apart, I was gasping. So was he.
His forehead rested against mine, our breathing tangled in silence.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
I didn’t.
He kissed me again. Slower. Like a question. Like he was giving me a chance to change my mind.
But I didn’t want to.
I wanted him.
I wanted this.
And it terrified me.
Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.
I finally pulled back, heart thudding. “I can’t think when you do that.”
He gave a breath of a laugh. “Neither can I.”
I stepped away, creating space. We needed space.
Later, I found myself in the sunroom. I painted until my arms ached, until my emotions bled onto the canvas. It was the only way I knew how to process what I was feeling.
The painting was messy. Passionate. Chaotic.
Like us.
Liam didn’t disturb me. But that night, he left a note on the coffee table:
You don’t have to carry this alone.
The next day, everything exploded.
I was in the hallway when my phone rang. Genevieve.
“Tessa, someone leaked your identity to the press.”
My stomach dropped.
“They know you’re pregnant. With Liam’s child. They’re calling you his kept woman.”
Her words didn’t make sense at first.
“How bad is it?” I whispered.
“It’s everywhere. Blogs, social media, even a few tabloids. They have photos. Of you two at the fundraiser. The garage. The penthouse.”
The world tilted under me.
By the time I reached Liam, his phone was already buzzing nonstop. His face was blank. His jaw is tight.
“Genevieve told me,” I said.
He nodded. “The board is already on damage control.”
“What are they going to say?”
“They’re preparing a statement.”
I stared at him. “Are they going to tell the truth?”
He looked up.
“No. I am.”
He called a press conference. The entire PR team tried to talk him out of it.
He didn’t budge.
When we arrived at the Ashford building, the sidewalk outside was swarmed with reporters and cameras.
I almost turned around.
Liam reached for my hand.
Held it.
Didn’t let go.
Inside, he stood before the press like he had nothing to hide.
“Tessa Monroe is not a scandal,” he said. “She is not a secret. And she is not disposable.”
The cameras flashed like lightning.
“She is carrying my child. And more than that, she matters to me.”
My chest tightened.
“This isn’t just a contract anymore,” he said. “It never was.”
---
That night, we didn’t talk.
We didn’t need to.
He found me sitting in the nursery, curled up in a chair. The bassinet sat in the corner, untouched. The room smelled like paint and possibility.
He sat beside me on the floor. Rested his head against my leg.
I ran my fingers through his hair.
And I thought:
Maybe this wasn’t survival anymore.
Maybe this was... home.
Maybe this was the beginning of something I hadn’t dared to hope for. Not since I signed that contract. Not since I stepped into Liam’s world believing I would be just a name on paper and a womb for hire. But now there was more.
He was more.
He wasn’t perfect. But he was trying. And that mattered more than all the money, all the press statements, all the risks.
I looked at him, sleeping against my leg like the weight of the world had finally eased off his shoulders.
He trusted me. Maybe even needed me.
And I... I didn’t know how to protect my heart anymore.
But maybe I didn’t need to.
Because for once, I wasn’t alone.
I wasn’t surviving.
I was living.
And maybe just maybe I was falling in love with him.
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