Ch. 71..75: My Husband Wants An Open Marriage Chapter 71-75

CHAPTER 071: However Long TTakes

uh...

jumbled in my head. "I, uh... that's why I called."

"What did she say?"

I start to answer, then stop, then start again. Damn it, Julie, just say it. "She... she said she's done answering questions. That she already talked to the police and her shrink. She said Juan is gone, and none of this will bring him back. And, um... she said you need help." Silence.

Then a dry laugh. "Of course she did. Sara spent five years in prison, and she's still the same. Still full of herself. Still thinks she's the victim." "Luke-"

"You don't know her like I do. Sara believes violence solves everything. You ask her a simple question, and she lashes out, trying to scare you into silence. She didn't even apologize, Julie. Not once. Hell, she didn't even cry. You know what everyone said? That mothers love their children differently, and maybe Sara justi had a hard way of showing it. But that's bullshit. If she loved Juan, she wouldn't have taken her bags and left him. If she loved him, she wouldn't have picked him up from school that day drunk. And now she has the audacity to tell me I need help?"

His words pour out like a burst dam. I let him go on, knowing he needs to get it out. But when he finally stops, there's silence.

"Julie? Are you there? Are you okay?"

I take a deep breath. "Yeah. I'm okay." Other than this ceaseless need to pee. "Luke, you're one of the best things that's ever happened in my life. And I don't know anyone stronger than you. But..." My voice catches, and I force myself to push through. "I think Sara's right. Not about everything. But about one thing. You do need a little help. Professional help. What happened with Juan... it's too big for anyone to handle alone. You've been carrying this pain for so long, and it's eating away at you. I can see it. You deserve to heal. And Juan- you need to let him go."

The line goes silent. My heart thuds painfully. It makes me question if I've ruined everything.

"Luke?"

"I'm here." His voice is quiet, steadier than I expected. "I'm... I'm grateful, Julie. That you took time out of your day to do this for me. Every day, my heart grows fonder. You didn't have to do this. But you did. Thank you" "My pleasure." There's another pause. "I gotta... I gotta go. Call you tomorrow?"

""Yeah. Sure."

"Goodnight, Julie."

"Goodnight, Luke."

As the call ends, I stare at my phone, my reflection dimly visible on the black screen. This is going to be tougher than I thought. But I meant what I said. He deserves to heal. And I'll be here, however long it takes

CHAPTER 072: Emotional Support

Ryan O'Brien~~

It's been a week since the lump was surgically removed from Ryan's chest, and he's at the hospital, waiting for Elaine Jenkins, Julie's mother.

The hospital parking lot feels like purgatory-just endless rows of cars and the low hum of fluorescent lights that turn every reflective surface into a pale green.

Ryan is sitting in the back seat of his car, fidgeting with the leather strap of his watch. He doesn't know why he called Elaine of all people. Maybe because her number is there, wedged between his lawyer and his financial advisor, or maybe because she looks a lot like Julie.

The thought of Julie sends a pang through him. She hasn't been taking his calls. Yeah, he did say he'd let her have the divorce, and he might have threatened her while doing it. But she should know he doesn't mean any of that. Even if she's leaving him, they could be friends, right? Friends are allowed to call each other when they're falling apart.

He catches sight of Elaine's car-a white convertible-pulling into a spot two rows down. Even her parking is aggressive, the wheels jerking to a halt. She steps out of the car, and Ryan holds his breath, already feeling like this was a bad idea.

Now that he thinks about it, she is Julie, but cranked up a notch: a sharp blazer in hot pink with exaggerated shoulder pads, a pencil skirt, and sunglasses that probably cost more than she can afford. Her heels click as she struts over, radiating the energy of a woman who takes no prisoners.

Elaine opens the backseat door, slides in, and crosses her legs as if she's about to negotiate a hostile takeover. She removes her sunglasses and folds them, setting them in her lap. Her piercing eyes fix on Ryan. "Alright," she says. "What's this about?"

Ryan opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Why did he call her? The truth is there, tangled somewhere in his chest, but saying it feels like trying to cough up barbed wire. He rubs the back of his neck, staring down at the faint stitching on his jeans.

"I just... There's a probability I have cancer," he says.

Elaine blinks. Then she tilts her head, her expression unreadable. "A probability? I don't follow. Do you have it

or not?"

"I don't know yet."

"So you're telling me you dragged me all the way here for potential bad news? What do you want? Money for chemotherapy? Now you want me to repay all the money you've spent on me? Because I'm going to be honest with you-" "Elaine."

-you'd have to throw me in jail, because I don't have it."

Ryan exhales, the sound almost a growl. "Can you stop talking? Jesus Christ, I called you here because I needed emotional support. They removed a lump from my chest. I'm getting the results today. I just... didn't

CHAPTER 072, Emotional Support

want to do this alone."

"Emotional support?" she says, looking like she'd just tasted bile. "Where's your mother?"

"If I wanted my mother, she'd be here, wouldn't she?"

"So what, then? You want a shoulder to cry on? Someone to hold your hand while you wait for your scary little test results? I must warn you, I don't do emotions very well."

Ryan runs his hands down his face, muffling a groan. "God, why did I think this was a good idea?"

"I'm wondering the same thing."

"You know what? Forget it. I'll go in alone."

She sighs, the sound is more theatrical than necessary. "Oh, stop being such a baby. I'm already here. Might

as well use me."

"Right."

Elaine's expression shifts, softening just enough to be noticeable. "All this is because of Julie, isn't it? She's the one you want holding your hand down the hospital's hallway, but you kind of fucked that up, and now I'm the next option. You know, Ryan, if you're lonely, I could give you another daughter. It seems you have a thing for the Jenkins. And I promise you, this one won't leave you."

"Gosh, you're even worse than Julie said. I'm not in love with your genes, Elaine. I'm in love with Julie. And

she's the only one who ever cared about me."

"That's not true," Elaine says. "I care."

Ryan snorts. "You care about my money."

"Touché."

For a moment, they sit in silence. Ryan's fingers drum against his knee, his nerves fraying with each passing

second.

"I'm scared," he admits.

"Of course you are. Anyone would be."

He swallows hard, staring at his hands. "What if it's bad news? What if-"

"Stop," she cuts him off. "You're getting ahead of yourself. You don't know anything yet. And sitting here, spiraling, isn't going to help."

"I just... I can't stop thinking about all the times I could've done better, been better. And now, what if it's too

late?"

Elaine reaches over and places a hand on his arm, surprising him. Her touch is firm. "Ryan, you've made your fair share of mistakes. Hell, we all have. But if there's one thing I know, it's that you're not the kind of man who gives up. So whatever this is, you'll face it. And you'll figure it out."

He blinks, taken aback by the unexpected pep talk. Julie once swore her mother doesn't have a conscience.

"Don't look so shocked," she adds with a smirk. "I can be nice. Occasionally. When the mood strikes."

CHAPTER 072: Emotional Support

"Well," he says, "I'll be damned."

"Yes, you will. But not today."

For the first time since Ryan got the news about the lump, Ryan feels his chest loosen, just a little. Elaine Jenkins might be a walking headache, but in this moment, she's exactly what he needs.

"Alright," he says. "Let's go see that doctor.".

The hospital's hallway smells like antiseptic and faint despair. It's bright, too bright, just enough to set Ryan's nerves on edge. He's walking beside Elaine, who, in her towering heels, strides like they're heading to a cocktail party instead of a potential death sentence. Elaine looks over. "You're awfully quiet. Having second thoughts?"

"Maybe."

"Too late."

When they arrive at the reception, Ryan mutters his name and appointment time while Elaine leans against the counter, inspecting her manicure.

"Have a seat," the receptionist says without looking up.

Elaine tosses her hair over her shoulder. "Charming. I'll make myself comfortable in your five-star waiting area."

Ryan steers her toward a row of hard plastic chairs. "For once, could you not antagonize someone?"

"Antagonize? That was me being polite," she says, sitting down.

He doesn't bother responding, too busy staring at the door that leads to the doctor's office. Every second feels like it's being stretched on a medieval rack. He glances at Elaine, who's now scrolling through her phone, her face impassive. "How are you so calm?" he blurts.

She doesn't look up. "I'm not the one dying."

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You're unbelievable."

"I know." She puts her phone away and looks at him. "Relax. Whatever it is, you'll deal with it. Or you won't. Either way, panicking isn't going to help."

Before he can respond, a nurse steps out. "Mr. O'Brien? The doctor will see you now."

Ryan's stomach lurches. His legs feel like rubber as he pushes himself up from the chair, each movement heavier than the last. Beside him, Elaine stands too, brushing imaginary dust off her skirt.

"You don't have to come," he says.

+25 BONI

CHAPTER 072: Emotional Support

"Don't be ridiculous." She links her arm through his. "I've already invested my time. I'm seeing this through."

He doesn't argue. What's the point? Elaine isn't the type to back down from anything once she's decided. Together, they head down the hallway. He feels like he's marching to his doom, his shoulders slumped, every step reluctant.

The doctor's office is modern and spotless, all clean whites and calming grays. A massive mahogany desk anchors the room, polished so perfectly it réflects the overhead light like a mirror. Diplomas and certifications line the walls. To the side, a towering window offers a breathtaking view of the city skyline, the kind of view that feels out of place in a moment like this

Behind the desk, the doctor stands to greet them. He's a man in his late fifties, with a kind, rounded face framed by a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. His eyes are sharp but warm, and his suit-a perfectly tailored navy number-suggests he's not just a doctor but someone who believes in making an impression.

"Mr. Ryan O'Brien, welcome," the doctor says. Then he glances at Elaine. "I see you brought someone. Your wife?"

Ryan freezes. He notices Elaine has stopped too. For a split second, her face betrays her-eyes wide, jaw slack, like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. It's rare to catch Elaine off guard, and Ryan would laugh if he wasn't feeling nervous. Elaine recovers quickly. "Oh, please, doctor," she says. "Stop flattering me. I'm his mother."

Ryan turns toward her, his jaw dropping. "What the hell"

"Oh," the doctor says. "Nice genes."

Elaine beams, her usual confidence snapping back into place. She practically glows under the compliment, flashing the doctor one of her signature smiles. "Aren't they? I was just saying that to him some minutes ago!"

Before Ryan can process what's happening, Elaine unlinks her hand from his, glides over to one of the chairs in front of the desk, and sinks into it, crossing her legs. She doesn't even look at Ryan as she folds her hands in her lap, her focus entirely on the doctor. Elaine waves Ryan over. "Don't keep the good doctor waiting."

Ryan walks forward and sits beside her. He hasn't even gotten comfortable before Elaine starts speaking.

"So, tell me, Doctor," she says. "Is my son going to die?"

 

CHAPTER 073: Play Nice

"Elaine!" Ryan hisses.

"What?" she says, looking unfazed. "I'm cutting to the chase. No one wants a dramatic buildup, especially not you."

The doctor clears his throat, adjusting his glasses. "Well, let's start with the biopsy results, shall we?"

Ryan feels his pulse quicken as the doctor pulls up a file on his computer. The room feels hot. His eyes dart to Elaine, who's looking at the doctor like he's about to offer her stock tips instead of potentially life-altering

news.

The doctor's face is neutral as he scans the screen. Ryan wonders if they can hear his heart pound.

"Alright," the doctor says, looking up. "The lump we removed was benign."

Ryan blinks. "What?"

"Benign," the doctor repeats. "Non-cancerous. No further treatment is required, though we'll want to monitor you with regular check-ups to ensure no changes over time."

For a moment, Ryan doesn't breathe. The words hang in the air, refusing to sink in. Then the relief hits him. He slumps back in his chair, his head falling into his hands. "Oh, thank God."

Elaine claps her hands together, the sound sharp and startling. "Well, isn't that wonderful?" she says. "I guess we don't have to start shopping for coffins after all."

Ryan lifts his head to glare at her. "Do you ever stop?"

"Not when I'm having this much fun."

The doctor clears his throat. "I understand this has been a stressful time for you, Mr. O'Brien. If you have any further concerns, we can discuss them now."

Ryan shakes his head, still dazed. "No, I... I just... thank you."

The doctor nods. "Of course. Take care of yourself."

"Actually," Elaine says, "I have a concern."

Ryan's head snaps toward her. He doesn't know why, but he's suddenly nervous.

Elaine leans forward, her elbows resting on the desk. "I'd like to know what it would take to get a positive diagnosis."

The room freezes.

"I beg your pardon?" the doctor says.

"You see, my son here is going through a rough time with his wife. It's gotten to the point of a divorce. The trial is next week. And, well, I really wished he had cancer. You know, something to keep her from leaving him. Nothing too serious, of course. Just enough to pull on those heartstrings."

Ryan's jaw drops, but no sound comes out. He feels like he's been hit by a bus, his brain struggling to catch up

CHAPTER 073: Play Nice

with what just came out of her mouth.

Elaine doesn't even glance at him. She's too busy giving the doctor her most sympathetic, woe-is-me expression. "If that's the only thing I can do for him before I die, I'd empty my bank account for it." She leans in closer, lowering her voice. "You see, I have just three months left on this earth."

The doctor stares at her, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. He finally finds his voice, though it's strained at best. "I... I don't think I understand-"

"Oh, come now," Elaine cuts him off. "Surely there's a way to tweak those results. A little creative paperwork, maybe? I won't tell anyone, I promise." She flashes him a wink that makes Ryan want to crawl under the desk and die. "Elaine!" Ryan says.

She turns to him. "What? I'm trying to help."

The doctor clears his throat again, but this time it's less polite, more like he's trying to choke down the urge to yell. "Mrs. O'Brien, I'm afraid I must remind you that falsifying medical records is not only unethical but also illegal. And frankly, this suggestion is-"

"Oh, spare me the lecture. You don't understand. I'm a mother at the end of her rope. My son is falling apart before my very eyes, and if there's even the slightest chance I can save his marriage, I'll do whatever it takes

Ryan slumps in his chair, his face buried in his hands. He can't believe this is happening. "Elaine, stop," he says, though it's more to himself than anyone else.

"Mrs. O'Brien," the doctor says. "I must insist-"

"Oh, don't Mrs. O'Brien me," she snaps. "You don't know what it's like to watch your child lose everything! You sit there in your fancy office, with your fancy degrees, judging me while my heart is breaking!" Ryan lifts his head just in time to see the doctor's face shift from professional patience to thinly veiled annoyance.

"Mrs. O'Brien," he says, his voice measured but firm. "This is a medical facility. I have other patients to attend to. If you're done, I'd appreciate it if you both left."

"You're throwing us out? After I've poured my heart out to you?"

"Yes," the doctor replies. "I am."

Ryan doesn't wait for Elaine's rebuttal. He's already out of his chair, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her toward the door.

"This isn't over!" Elaine hisses as they exit. "Mark my words, Dr. Fancy Suit, you'll regret this!"

Ryan keeps his head down as they pass the receptionist. This, he thinks, might be the worst day of his life.

And yet, as they step into the parking lot, he can't help but marvel at Elaine's sheer audacity. For all her flaws -and there are many-she could've had a stellar career on Broadway.

"What the hell was that about?" he asks, as soon as they're near his car.

"What was what about?"

CHAPTER 073: Play Nice

"Oh, cut the bullshit," he snaps, spinning to face her. The afternoon sun beats down on them, glinting off the glossy surface of his car. He folds his arms. "I called you here for emotional support, and that's what I thought you'd be giving. But what you just pulled in there? That wasn't support. That was insanity."

"Insanity? I call it commitment."

"By trying to bribe a doctor?"

She waves him off. "Oh, grow up, Ryan: You've lived in your cushy little bubble your entire life, and you don't know how the world works."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means," she says, stepping closer, "when you want something, you fight for it. If the easy way isn't working out-and it rarely does, by the way-you go for the jugular. You think all those couples celebrating fifty years of marriage got there because they always did the right thing? No. Sometimes, you have to go to extremes for the people you love."

Ryan blinks at her, his jaw tightening. "And you think this was about love?"

"Of course it was. I know you love Julie. You're so stupidly in love with her that it physically disgusts me. Do you think I'd waste my time on this circus act if I didn't think you had a shot?"

"There's no saving my marriage, Elaine." The words come out flat, resigned. "Julie doesn't want me."

Elaine shrugs, leaning against the car. "Maybe not. But she could still be your friend."

• "Friend? After everything?"

"Don't underestimate the power of impending death," she says. "It weakens even the strongest of hearts. Sure, you were a piece-of-shit husband. But you've been good to me. And we made a deal before my arraignment, didn't we? Let me settle my end of it." Ryan exhales, his head falling forward until it rests against the car's roof. The metal is hot against his skin, grounding him. "God, I miss her," he mutters, almost to himself.

Elaine places a hand on his shoulder. "I know. We don't need that quack doctor anyway. I'll send her a message, get things rolling. All you have to do is play nice." He lifts his head, eyes narrowing. "Play nice?"

"Drop the charges. Support the divorce. Act like you're okay with her new relationship. Be the picture of maturity and selflessness. Women adore that shit." "You think that'll work?"

"It'll at least get her talking to you," Elaine says. "And from there, who knows? You're charming when you're not being a sulking brat. You'll be fine."

Ryan smiles. "You know, you'd have made a great mother in another life."

She looks at him, her smile bittersweet. "I know," she says. "But not this one."

For a moment, Ryan thinks he sees something raw in her expression, something vulnerable and unguarded. But just as quickly, she masks it with her usual bravado.

CHAPTER 073: Play Nice

"Well," she says, clapping her hands, "let's get out of this dump, shall we? You're buying lunch." "Whatever," Ryan says. And then he watches her walk to her car.

For all her chaos and manipulation, she has a way of making him believe, if only for a moment, that maybe- just maybe-things might turn out okay.

CHAPTER 074 Boss Lady CHAPTER 074: Boss Lady

Julie

It's my first day at work, and I'm more nervous than I care to admit. The onboarding was three days ago, where I met my team and other important persons. But no amount of onboarding or pre-meetings could have prepared- me for the reality of stepping into the unknown. Everything is different. Everything is fresh. And mostly not in a bad way.

the

I walk into the meeting room, and a half-dozen faces turn toward me, all of smiling. Brightly. Too brightly. "Good morning, Ms. Jenkins!" says a brunette near the head of the table. "We're so excited to have you on board!" I nod, mustering my best confident boss sinile. "Thank you Let's get started, shall we?"

They exchange eager glances, and the meeting begins. A sleek presentation flashes on the massive screen at the far end of the room. Charts, projections, strategies-it's polished, professional, everything I expected. I scribble notes, interject where needed, and offer insights.

They're good. No, they're great. Efficient, enthusiastic, and clearly talented. But as much as I try to focus, my mind drifts. Each smiling face morphs into a ghost from my past. That redhead across from me? She has Samantha's laugh. The guy in wire-rimmed glasses? He's got Colin's quiet intensity. My old team at Paragon Jewels was a family, flawed and messy, but ours.

I blink hard, gripping my pen tighter. What the hell's wrong with me? They're not Paragon. And that's a good thing.

The meeting wraps up smoothly, the team dispersing with murmurs of excitement about the campaign.

• Before I can escape, a woman with a megawatt smile runs toward me.

"Ms. Jenkins!" she calls.

I smile back at her. "Yes?"

"You're amazing! That was amazing!" she exclaims. "Oh, sorry, I'm Marissa, the VP of Marketing. I know you're still getting a hang of our names. I just have to say, I am so thrilled to work with you. Your reputation precedes you."

"Oh. Thanks, Marissa. That's... kind of you," I say, already feeling a headache coming on. It's crazy to get nauseous and fatigued on your first day, but yeah, the universe has never been fair to me. Marrisa walks alongside me as I leave the conference room

"I was thinking," she continues, "if you ever need anything-anything at all-I'm your girl. We should do lunch! Or coffee. Or drinks. Whatever works for you. Honestly, I'll work around your schedule."

Her enthusiasm is exhausting, but I can't deny that having her on my side could be useful.

"Actually, lunch sounds great," I say. "Today, maybe?"

Her face lights up. "Really? Oh, I'd love that!"

"Great."

I watch as she practically skips away.

As I turn to head toward my office, I catch a familiar face across the room. It's her-the cold woman from my interview. Ayumi. She's the company's COO, as I've discovered. She's perched by the elevator, her expression cold

CHAPTER 074 Bosa Ledy,

enough to freeze lava.

I pause and wave.

She stares for a moment, her lips pressing into a thin line, then turns sharply and steps into the elevator without so much as a nod.

Weird, I think, though not surprising. There's always one, isn't there? Every workplace has its designated asshole.

"Ayumi's a softie once you get to know her."

The voice startles me, and I spin around. Standing behind me is a man in a tailored suit. His grin is casual, his posture relaxed, like he owns the room-or at least a good chunk of it. "Sorry," I say. "Do I know you?"

"Not yet," he says, extending a hand. "Sebastian Knight. Investor, occasional meddler, and, incidentally, the husband of the woman you were just waving at."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Oh."

He chuckles. "Yeah. Don't take it personally. She's... well, complicated."

"Good to know," I say, shaking his hand. "And what brings you here, Sebastian?"

"I wanted to introduce myself," he says. "I'm a close friend of Luke's, and he asked me to keep an eye on you."

Luke. I guess he isn't mad at me after all. "How very chivalrous of him. Should I thank you for your noble service?" "Not necessary." He grins. "But I'll take the sarcasm as a thank-you."

• "Need my itinerary too?"

He laughs. "Luke said you were funny. He wasn't wrong. You'll fit right in with the gang.

"Right," I say. "Well, nice to meet you, Mr. Knight."

"Please, call me Sebastian."

"Noted."

"And another request," he says. "Could you round up that divorce thing quickly? Luke's making our lives miserable by constantly talking about it."

I smile. "I'll try my best."

As he strolls away, I let out a sharp breath, mentally drafting a list of ways to murder Luke. Slowly. Creatively. I can't believe he unleashed his friend on me like that. Luke is something else.

By the time I reach my office, my secretary is waiting by the door, holding a bouquet of fresh flowers.

"These just arrived for you," she says, beaming.

Luke, again. The delicate blend of roses, lilies, and eucalyptus gives off a subtle, luxurious fragrance that somehow makes me feel both pampered and embarrassed. He might as well just stamp a neon sign on my forehead that says, "She's Lucas Martinez's girlfriend." "Thank you," I say, taking the bouquet.

I push open the door to my office. The space is both inviting and oppressive-large windows overlooking the city, sunlight bouncing off the glass desk, and minimalist decor Everything here screams polished perfection, like it's

CHAPTER 074 Boss Lady

daring me to make myself at home.

I set the flowers on the table by the window, glancing at the crisp white envelope nestled between the stems.

Sliding the card out, I read Luke's neat handwriting:

'Congratulations on your first day, boss lady. You've got this. Love, Luke.

I smile. Any more of this sweetness and I might get tooth cavities.

Before I can overthink it, I grab my phone and dial his number. It rings twice before he answers, his voice warm and smug, like he's been expecting my call.

"Well, well," he says. "If it isn't the new queen of Illusionaire. How's the throne?"

"Uncomfortable," I say, pacing the room. "And overly accessorized, thanks to you."

"You're welcome," he says, and I can practically hear his grin.

"Seriously, Luke. Flowers? On my first day? You trying to make me look like the boss's girlfriend or what?"

He laughs. "You are the boss, Julie. Own it. Besides, I thought you'd appreciate the gesture. Did you at least like the arrangement?"

Lglance back at the bouquet. It's beautiful, but I'll be damned if I admit that to him.

"It's fine," I say. "A little over the top, but fine"

"You're impossible to please, you know that?"

"Yeah, and you're impossible to ignore."

He chuckles, and for a brief moment, the tension of the morning melts away.

I sink into the chair behind my desk, ready to say something snarky, when my phone buzzes with a new text. My mother's name flashes on the screen, followed by a preview of the message: 'Ryan is dying. Cancer. He has one year to live.'

I stare at the screen, rereading the text as if the meaning might change.

"Julie, are you there?" Luke's voice pulls me back.

"Yeah," I say.

"You okay? You went quiet."

I swallow hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. "I just... got a weird message. Can Leall you

back?"

"Of course. Take your time."

I hang up without another word, still staring at the screen. My stomach twists into a knot, a hundred questions. racing through my mind. Ryan? Cancer? One year to live?

I'm frozen, trying to process the absurdity of it all, when there's a knock at the door.

"Come in," I say.

My secretary, Susan, steps in.

"Sorry to bother you," she says, "but there's a Ryan O'Brien asking to see you."

CHAPTER 075: Two Lines Or One?

Ryan? Here? In my office?

I sit there for a second, gripping the arms of my chair. Susan stands by the door, clearly uncomfortable with the tension I'm radiating.

"Should I... send him away?" she says.

The temptation to scream, 'Yes, send him back to whatever rock he crawled out from,' comes for a second. But instead, I smooth my expression, plastering on a look of indifference. I can be professional about this. "No," I say. "Send him in."

Susan gives me a small nod, relief flashing across her face as she retreats.

My stomach twists in anticipation, a mixture of anger, confusion, and-God help me-curiosity. What the hell is he doing here? And right after my mother's bombshell text?

The door opens, and there he is. Ryan O'Brien, in the flesh. He looks the same as he always has: tall, broad-shouldered, exuding that maddening air of effortless charm that first drew me to him. His suit fits perfectly, of course, dark navy that probably cost more than most people's cars.

His eyes sweep the room, taking in every detail of my office-the modern furniture, the panoramic window view, the small but tasteful décor that screams "new boss in town."

I stay silent, watching him as he takes it all in. Something about the way he moves, calm and deliberate, makes me feel unbalanced. My mother's text echoes in my head-Ryan is dying. Cancer. He has one year to live.

But he doesn't look like a dying man. There's no weakness, no frailty. He's still Ryan: infuriatingly vibrant, maddeningly confident, and right now, entirely out of place in my office. I guess he's still in the early stages of whatever he has.

He turns his gaze to me, and his lips curve into a faint smile. "Nice office."

"What do you want, Ryan?" I say.

"You. But that's out of the question, isn't it?"

I glare at him, unamused. "I'm not in the mood for your nonsense. Can you just get to the point?"

He chuckles, strolling further into the room and lowering himself into the chair across from my desk. He's so casual about it, like we're old friends catching up instead of two people locked in a battle of mutual resentment. "I was in the building," he says. "Had a meeting with your CEO. Decided to stop by and congratulate you." "Thank you," I say stiffly. "And... I heard about your health. Sorry."

For a moment, his expression falters. It's subtle-just a flicker of surprise before he recovers, leaning back in the chair with that same infuriating calm.

"Oh, right," he says. "My cancer. Something's got to kill a man, right?"

"I guess. You're handling it well."

"Should I cry about it?"

That makes me laugh. The sound surprises me, and I quickly straighten, schooling my face back into neutrality. There's no reason to be friendly, dying or not.

CHAPTER 075 Two Lines Or On8?

He's looking at me in a strange way, one that makes my sk crawl.

"You look different," he says, his tone almost curious.

"What?"

"I don't know," he says, tilting his head. "Your new boyfriend must be treating you right. Are those push-ups?"

I blink, completely thrown off. "I beg your pardon?"

"You've never worn push-up bras," he says, as if it's the most normal observation in the world. "Your breasts seem rounder. Higher."

For a moment, I'm too shocked to respond. Did he seriously just-?

"Thank you for stopping by, Mr. O'Brien," I say. "You can see yourself out now."

Ryan doesn't move right away. He just sits there, still staring at me with that same unsettling intensity.

"Alright," he says, standing up and straightening his jacket. He walks to the door but pauses, turning back to look at me one last time.

"See you soon," he says.

"I'll see you at the trial."

He smirks, nodding. "I'll be there."

And with that, he's gone, leaving the door ajar behind him.

For a moment, I just sit there, staring at the empty doorway. My hands tremble slightly, and I ball them into fists, digging my nails into my palms.

The nerve. The audacity. How dare he come here, waltzing into my office like he owns the place, throwing casual comments about my body like we're still married, like he hasn't spent the past few months making my life a living hell. And yet...

Something about the way he said, "You look different," niggles at me.

Different how? Different good? Different bad? And what in the world gave him the right to notice?

I shake my head, pushing away the memory. Still, my hands move to smooth my blouse, then to tug at my bra. It's not a push-up, for the record. It's just... a bra. I roll my eyes at the absurdity of even caring about his opinion. But his words won't leave me alone.

I glance at the door, half expecting him to come back and say something equally maddening. When he doesn't, I grab my phone, intending to check my emails-anything to focus on work-but my reflection in the darkened screen catches my eye. A moment later, I'm walking into the bathroom.

The mirror in here isn't kind. Overhead fluorescent lights beam down, highlighting every imperfection: the slight bags under my eyes, the stubborn pimple near my temple that refuses to leave, the faint lines starting to form around my mouth. But then... I lean closer, tilting my head. Do I... look different?

CHAPTER 075: Two Lines Or On

Luke said I was glowing the other day.

"Glowing," I mutter to myself. Glowing is just another way of saying, 'Hey, you don't look as dead inside as usual.

I step back, running my hands through my hair, studying my face like I'm some sort of specimen under a microscope. My skin does look clearer. And my cheeks... are they fuller? No, that's ridiculous.

I trail my gaze down, pausing at my chest.

Ryan's comment floats back into my head, and before I can talk myself out of it, I reach up, touching my boobs.

Oh.

They feel... different. Sore, maybe? Full? I don't know, but there's something off.

My stomach twists.

No.

Nope. It can't be.

I stare at my reflection, my brain running a mile a minute. When wa

my last period?

A pause.

It's fine, right? It's just late. I've never been regular. I mean, there was that one time in college when I went three months without one. Totally normal. Hormones. Stress. My body's weird like that. By my calculation, it's been two months.

My heart starts pounding. I think back to the morning nausea that's been plaguing me lately. The random bouts of dizziness. I thought it was just the stress of the divorce, the new job, the general chaos of my life. "Oh my God," I whisper.

I grab my purse and storm out of the bathroom. My mind is made up before I even process what I'm doing. Susan looks up from her desk as I pass, concern flashing across her face. "Everything okay, Ms. Jenkins?"

"I'll be back," I say, practically sprinting to the elevator.

*

The pharmacy is a ten-minute drive from the office. It takes a year to get there-or at least it feels like it. My thoughts are a chaotic mess, ping-ponging between panic and denial. You're overreacting. It's nothing.

What if it's not nothing?

It's definitely nothing.

By the time I push through the glass doors, my palms are sweaty, and my heart is racing like I've just run a marathon. The fluorescent lights inside feel even harsher than the ones in the office bathroom, but I march straight to the family planning aisle, determined to get this over with.

The shelves are lined with boxes-digital tests, two-packs, early detection, rapid results. My eyes dart between them, overwhelmed. Why are there so many options? Do I want something digital? CHAPTER 075 Two Linds in 28

I grab the first box that claims instant results.

At the checkout counter, the cashier gives me a polite, professional smile.

"Will this be all?"

I nod, avoiding eye contact like a teenager buying condoms for the first time.

"Have a nice day!"

+26 BONUS

I mumble something incoherent in response and bolt out of the store, clutching the small paper bag like it's a

lifeline.

The plan was to wait until I got back to the office to take the test, but patience has never been my strong suit. I run back inside, heading for the restroom.

The store's restroom is small, clean enough, and completely empty.

Perfect.

I lock myself in a stall, fumbling with the box like a lunatic. The instructions are straightforward, but my hands are shaking so badly it takes me twice as long to get through them.

Pee on the stick. Wait three minutes.

Easy.

I follow the steps, my heart hammering against my ribcage the entire time. Three minutes feel like an eternity, and I spend every second of it pacing the tiny stall, biting my nails, and debating whether I even want to look. *What do I want to see?

Two lines or one?

My palms are sweaty, and I rub them on my skirt. I've never been good with uncertainty. I like answers, conclusions, clear-cut paths. This? This is torture.

The seconds crawl by, each one dragging its feet like it's relishing my torment. I check my phone. A mistake. Only a minute has passed.

"Come on, come on, come on," I whisper, glaring at the test from faraway like I can will it to speed up the process. My voice bounces off the walls, and I realize how pathetic I sound, talking to a piece of plastic soaked in my own urine. The timer on my phone goes off, startling me. My fingers fumble as I silence the alarm. The moment of truth.

I take a deep breath, my hand trembling as I reach for the test. I can't tell if it's excitement or dread coursing through me.

The test sits in my hand, the results staring back at me.

Two lines.