Two weeks passed. Two weeks of the most agonizing silence Bianca had ever endured.
The deal had closed. There were no more war rooms, no more late-night emails, no more "accidental" dinners. The professional reason for them to be in the same room had evaporated, and along with it, Eddie.
He had gone completely radio silent after the gift.
Bianca had read the letter several times over the weeks, because that's what it was, a love letter, until the words were imprinted on her mind.
She'd typed out a dozen messages to reach out to him, deleting every single one. What could she possibly say? 'I love you too, but what about your fiancée?'
So she had said nothing. And there was also no response from him.
Now, Bianca was sitting in her office, staring blankly at a contract for a new, much less exciting client. She felt… off.
She'd been feeling off for days. A strange, persistent nausea that hit her every morning. A bone-deep exhaustion that coffee couldn't touch. She told herself it was stress. It was the comedown from the intense Blackwell deal. It was heartbreak.
But deep down, a tiny, terrifying voice was whispering another possibility.
She ignored it until she couldn't.
On a Tuesday morning, after getting sick in the firm's pristine bathroom for the third day in a row, Bianca stopped at a pharmacy on her lunch break. She bought the test, feeling like a criminal, hiding it deep in her hermés bag.
Back at her apartment that evening, she sat on the edge of her bathtub, staring at the little plastic stick.
Please be negative. Please be negative.
It wasn't.
Two distinct, undeniable pink lines stared back at her.
Positive.
The world tilted. The bathroom walls seemed to close in. Pregnant. She was pregnant.
Memories flooded her mind. The first night at the hotel. The reckless, champagne-fueled passion. They hadn't used protection. She had been so desperate to be free, so caught up in the moment, she hadn't even thought about it.
And the second time... in the war room. It had been just as intense, just as unplanned.
She was carrying Eddie Blackwell's child.
Panic clawed at her throat. This wasn't the plan. This was a disaster. She was repeating her mother's mistakes, falling for a powerful, unavailable man and ending up alone with a child. She was going to be a single mother. Her career, which she had just jump-started, was in jeopardy.
But then... another thought. A wild, desperate hope.
Eddie's letter.
You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.
He said he was trapped. He said he hated his life. Maybe... maybe this baby wasn't a disaster. Maybe it was a way out. For both of them. If he truly loved her, if his engagement was just a "debt of honor," surely a child, his child, would change everything. He wouldn't let his own flesh and blood be a secret. He wasn't his father.
She stood up, her hands shaking, clutching the positive test. She had to tell him. She couldn't do this over text. She would call him. Tonight.
She walked out of the bathroom, her heart pounding with a terrifying mix of fear and hope. She picked up her phone from the kitchen counter.
The screen was lit up with a dozen notifications. Texts from Ava. News alerts.
One headline, bold and flashing from a celebrity gossip site, caught her eye.
BREAKING: BLACKWELL HEIR TO BE A FATHER!
Bianca froze. Her thumb hovered over the screen. It couldn't be. They couldn't know yet. She just found out five minutes ago.
She tapped the notification.
A photo filled her screen. It was Tasha Pearson and Eddie, standing on the steps of a beautiful estate. Tasha was glowing, dressed in a perfectly tailored white dress, her hand resting conspicuously on a small but visible baby bump.
Eddie stood beside her. He was smiling, a practiced, media-perfect smile that didn't reach his eyes. His hand was resting protectively on Tasha's lower back.
The caption read: "Billionaire Eddie Blackwell and fiancée Tasha Pearson joyfully announce they are expecting their first child! Sources say the happy couple is 'over the moon' and planning a summer wedding before the baby arrives."
Bianca dropped the phone. It clattered onto the countertop, the screen still glowing with the image of the happy couple.
She stared at it, then down at the positive pregnancy test still clutched in her other hand.
Pregnant. Tasha was pregnant. And she was showing.
The math hit her like a physical blow. Five months. Tasha looked at least five months pregnant.
Which meant...
While Eddie was sleeping with Bianca in that hotel room, his fiancée was already pregnant with his child.
While he was writing Bianca that beautiful letter about how she was the "only genuine thing" in his life, he was preparing to announce a baby with another woman.
He lied. He lied about everything. The engagement wasn't just a "family obligation." It was real. There was a baby. A real, legitimate heir.
And Bianca? She was just the mistress. The mistake. The complication.
A sob ripped through her chest, so violent it hurt. She wasn't just repeating her mother's mistakes. She had made a profoundly worse one.
She was pregnant with a billionaire's secret baby, on the exact same day he announced his legitimate one to the world.