Brinda's P. O. V
Jason paced the room like a man on edge, his steps tracing the same line over and over, like a scratched vinyl stuck on a chaotic loop. He looked like a psycho—no steering wheel, no brakes—just bottled rage spinning in circles.
I watched him, my arms folded across my chest, silently daring him to explode.
He paused, one hand rubbing his jaw like he could massage the truth out of it. His eyes lifted—sharp, unblinking—and locked on mine.
“You should’ve told me,” he said flatly. But that look… that look could’ve stripped the paint off walls.
I stepped forward, heart racing, fists clenching. “Do you f*****g think I knew I was carrying your baby, Jason?” My voice cracked under the weight of unshed tears. “Seriously?”
A beat of silence pulsed between us. He stared, lips dr
