The boutique was quieter than usual when I walked in that morning, the faint smell of fresh linen and lavender diffusers floating in the air. I'd been working here for a week now. It wasn't my dream job—not even close—but it was something. A place to focus. A reason to get up and do more than lie in bed missing someone who'd made it clear he couldn't be mine.
Except… it was never that simple with Denzel Wilson.
I walked past the front desk and gave a polite smile to the two girls who clearly had a problem with me. They never said it directly, but the way they looked at me—with curled lips and lifted brows—told me everything. I was the "pretty girl" who just landed a job out of nowhere. I could hear the jealousy even when they pretended to whisper.
I was arranging a rack of dresses when I heard them behind me, their voices low but not low enough.
"She doesn't even have qualifications. I heard she didn't even finish school."
"She probably slept her way into this job. Just look at her—always acting like she's better than the rest of us."
I turned slowly, my heart racing. My hands were shaking, but I kept my expression calm as I walked toward them. They didn't expect that. Their faces dropped.
"I heard what you said," I said, voice steady. "And if you have something to say to me, say it to my face."
They blinked, stunned into silence.
"I got this job because someone believed in me. And whether or not I have papers doesn't give you the right to tear me down. I wake up every day, show up, and do my best—just like everyone else. So if you think gossiping about me makes you powerful, it doesn't. It makes you pathetic."
One of them looked away. The other opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
I smiled. "Have a good day, ladies."
As I walked back toward the front counter, I heard someone clap softly behind me.
"You were amazing just now."
I turned to see a girl I hadn't really spoken to yet. She was petite, with short curly hair and a warm smile that made her seem safe.
"I'm Liana," she said. "And I've been dying to say something to those two."
I smiled back, genuinely. "Nice to meet you, Liana."
"Lunch together? My treat. You earned it."
We sat outside during lunch, sipping iced teas and chatting about everything from favorite foods to the craziness of life. It was the first time in weeks I felt like I could breathe a little.
But that peace didn't last long.
When I knocked off, I was just unlocking the car—yes, the one Denzel bought for me—when I saw a familiar black SUV pull up across the street. The window rolled down and I saw him. Mason. Denzel's bodyguard.
"Miss Jones," he nodded. "Mr. Wilson would like to see you."
I froze.
"Right now?" I asked.
"Yes, ma'am. If you're willing."
Was I willing? My heart thudded as I nodded and got in the car. The entire ride I couldn't breathe properly. What did he want? Did he know?
When I walked into the lounge of his penthouse, he was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands in his pockets, the late afternoon sun spilling behind him like gold.
"Denzel," I said softly.
He turned around slowly, eyes drinking me in like I was something rare.
"You look tired," he said.
"I've been working."
He nodded once. "How are you?"
I folded my arms. "You didn't call me here just to ask that. What do you want?"
There was a pause. He walked toward me, each step deliberate, controlled, like he was holding back a storm.
"When were you going to tell me you were pregnant?"
My mouth dropped open.
"What?" My voice came out as a whisper. "How… how do you know?"
"I have eyes everywhere, Star," he said quietly. "People talk. People notice. You've been sick. You've been skipping meals. And someone I trust saw you walk into a clinic with your best friend."
I blinked, my throat tight. "I wasn't sure yet. I… I didn't know how to tell you."
"You were going to keep it from me?" he asked, eyes darkening.
"No," I said quickly. "I just… I didn't know what you'd say. You ended everything. I didn't think you'd care."
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Of course I care. That's my child, Star. Our child."
The room was spinning. His words were like weights—heavy, dangerous, unexpected.
"Denzel—"
"You're not working anymore," he interrupted.
I frowned. "Excuse me?"
"You're pregnant. You don't need to be stressing yourself over boutique drama. I want you to go back to the apartment."
"No."
His brow lifted. "No?"
"I'm not going back to being your kept secret. I want to do something with my life. I want to earn something."
He didn't argue. Instead, he reached into his wallet and pulled out a sleek, black card.
"This is under your name. The funds will take care of you and the baby. And when you're ready—after giving birth—you can use it to start something for yourself. A business. A brand. Whatever you want."
I stared at the card, trembling. "Why are you doing this?"
He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek.
"Because I care. Because I'm not good with words, but this… this is my way of showing it. You might think I left you because I didn't feel anything, but the truth is—I left because I felt too much."
Tears stung my eyes. "Then why not stay?"
"Because I don't know how to love without destroying things. And you deserve better than that."
My body leaned into his. His hands were warm as they held my face. And even though I knew this wasn't forever, it was something. A flicker. A thread.
I whispered, "I still want you."
"I never stopped wanting you," he murmured.
And then he kissed me—deep, aching, and full of every word we couldn't say.
We stood there, lost in each other.
Two people who couldn't be together, but couldn't seem to stay apart.
And in that moment, nothing else mattered.
Not the contract. Not the past.
Just us. And the tiny heartbeat we both now shared.