Arabella tapped through the final slide of the pitch deck, her voice crisp and clear in the QuinVale boardroom.
"…and that's our projected reach by Q3. If we merge influencer marketing with the new luxury motherhood campaign, we'll have a real edge."
The room burst into polite claps. Her baby bump pressed lightly against the sleek blush power suit she'd tailored herself. She looked every inch the boss—minus the tired eyes she hoped no one noticed.
Cassian gave her a nod from the end of the table. It wasn't just approval. It was pride. And it meant the world.
But that moment shattered the second her phone vibrated.
MOM.
We need to talk. I'm in your office.
Arabella's throat tightened. She hadn't seen her mother in over four months. Not since the last argument—where she'd thrown away three pink suitcases and told Arabella she was "ruining the brand."
She excused herself and walked quickly, heels tapping like anxious drums against the polished floor.
Her mother was already seated when she arrived—crossed legs, Chanel sunglasses, and a disapproving frown that could wither roses.
"You didn't answer my calls," her mother said, standing to hug her with too much perfume and too little warmth. "Look at you! You've… grown."
Arabella held back a sigh. "Hi, Mom. Yes, the baby's growing well."
Her mother stepped back and gave her a once-over. "Couldn't you at least wear something soft pink? Or heels that don't look like you're working in finance?"
Arabella blinked. "I am working in finance."
Her mother waved her hand. "You were supposed to be Barbie. The It-Girl. The Fantasy. Not this… corporate matron."
Arabella folded her arms. "I'm building my legacy, not just my closet."
"That's not what people want to see. You're being watched, darling. The press is whispering. They say you've gone dull since the wedding. That Cassian is bored."
A chill ran down her spine.
"That's not true," Arabella said softly.
Her mother arched a brow. "Isn't it?"
Arabella didn't reply. Not because she believed it—but because somewhere in the deep recess of her insecurities, she feared becoming too real, too raw. Would Cassian still want her without the glitter?
Her mother touched her arm. "You were raised to be a showstopper. Not a boardroom strategist. Let the business be his thing. You? You make the world love you again."
Arabella slowly removed her mother's hand. "The world will love who I am now. Not who I used to pretend to be."
The older woman's lips thinned. "Don't say I didn't warn you when he finds someone younger. Shinier. Easier."
Arabella bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood. "Cassian married me. Not an image."
Her mother scoffed and walked toward the door. "Images are easier to love."
She left behind the smell of roses and regret.
Arabella sank onto her chair, hand brushing her belly.
"She's wrong," she whispered to her unborn child. "We don't need to be perfect. We just need to be true."
But somewhere in her chest, the old insecurities scratched like thorns on silk.
And she had no idea… someone had been listening from the slightly opened hallway door.
---
Cassian stood frozen, having heard everything.
From the shadows, his heart clenched at Arabella's silence in the face of that venom. His wife—the girl with pink heels and a steel spine—had faced her mother's poison with dignity.
But Cassian knew the lies would fester if he didn't remind her of the truth.
That night, as she curled up in bed with her back to him, he whispered, "You don't need glitter for me to see you."
She didn't respond.
"You don't have to sparkle. Just stay."
Still silence.
So he wrapped his arm gently around her, resting his palm over the bump.
"I fell in love with the Barbie who fought for herself. And the woman who built her own empire. You're both."
Arabella blinked against the pillow. "What if the world thinks I've changed too much?"
Cassian pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
"Then the world's about to meet the best version of you."
And for the first time that night, Arabella smiled.
---