𝗙𝗹𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘀𝗶𝘅 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗴𝗼:

The pregnancy test lay on the bathroom sink like a loaded gun.

Two lines. Bold. Unforgiving.

Leila stared at them in silence, her knees pressed to the cold tile floor. Her heart beat so loudly in her chest, she could hear it in her ears. Or maybe that was just panic humming in her blood.

It wasn’t possible.

It couldn’t be.

She’d been careful. She had to be.

She reached for the stick again like maybe—just maybe—the result had changed in the last five seconds. It hadn’t.

Pregnant.

A laugh broke out of her throat. Dry, humorless, cracking like a snapped bone.

Her fingers trembled as she gripped the sink. “This isn’t happening,” she whispered.

But it was.

She was pregnant.

With Roman’s baby.

After breaking his heart in the very bakery where he’d dropped to one knee.

She’d watched the light in his eyes dim when she said no. She’d told him she couldn’t marry him, hadn’t told him why. Hadn’t told him the entire truth: only that her sister was in love with him, and Leila was too loyal or maybe just too scared to let herself be happy at her sister’s expense.

Talia had always wanted everything Leila had. She was the wild one, the beautiful one, the one who spun chaos like silk and expected the world to bend around her. And for once, Leila had given her the one thing she thought she could never have—Roman.

She’d told herself she was doing the right thing.

That one day she’d heal.

That love could be sacrificed for family.

But now…

Now she was carrying his child, and no one—not Talia, not Roman, not even her own mother—knew.

Her phone buzzed on the floor beside her. A text from Nathan lit up the screen.

Nate:

You good? Want me to bring cinnamon buns? You always think better with sugar.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

Nate. Her best friend since forever. The only person who might understand.

But could she even tell him?

Another buzz. This one from a number she hadn’t saved but knew by heart.

Roman:

Leila, I just want to talk. Please. Just once.

Her chest caved in on itself.

She hadn’t answered him since that night. Not the texts. Not the calls. Not the letter.

Because if she saw him, she’d crumble.

And now it was too late.

Now she carried a secret made of cinnamon curls and storm-gray eyes.

She sank back against the wall, her arms wrapped around her knees, and let herself cry.

Not just for the baby.

But for everything she’d lost the moment she told Roman Vance goodbye.

Roman Vance stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse, the city glittering beneath him like spilled diamonds. But even the skyline couldn't distract him.

"Tell me again how the zoning permits got delayed?" he asked, voice low and clipped.

Across the sleek glass table, Jax Maddox—his business partner and longtime friend, ran a hand through his tousled hair. “It’s not delayed, it’s being reviewed again. There’s a new councilman in charge, and he’s either crooked or trying to look like a hero.”

Roman turned, jaw tight. “We don’t have time for political games. That waterfront hotel is on a deadline.”

“I know.” Jax held up his hands. “I’ve already got Ellis talking to their office. Give it forty-eight hours.”

Roman didn’t answer immediately. He paced to the espresso bar and poured himself a shot—black, no sugar. But the bitter heat couldn’t scald away the image in his mind.

The little boy.

Eli.

Storm-gray eyes. Cinnamon-brown curls. A crooked smile that made Roman’s chest twist in ways he wasn’t prepared for.

"You've gone quiet," Jax said, leaning back in the chair. “What’s on your mind?”

Roman set the tiny cup down and turned slowly. “Leila.”

Jax raised an eyebrow. “Leila Hart? Bakery girl?”

“She’s not just a bakery girl,” Roman said flatly. “She’s the girl I asked to marry me five years ago. The one who said no.”

“Right,” Jax said, drawing out the word. “And now?”

“She has a kid,” Roman said. His voice was tight. Controlled. “A boy. Looks about five.”

Jax whistled low. “Damn.”

Roman didn’t move. “He has my eyes.”

That hung between them like smoke.

“You sure?” Jax asked after a beat.

“No,” Roman said. “Not yet. But he walked up to me like he knew me. And when I looked down at him… it was like looking into a mirror I didn’t know existed.”

Jax blew out a breath. “If that’s your kid…”

“I want to know.” Roman crossed his arms, voice colder now. “I deserve to know. And if she lied to me—”

“Do you really think she would?”

Roman hesitated. “I don’t know. Five years ago, I thought I knew everything about her. And then she threw my proposal back in my face without explanation.”

“Did you ever ask why?”

“I was too hurt to ask,” Roman said quietly. “And she was too scared to say.”

They stood in silence for a moment. The city buzzed on below them, unaware that one man’s world had tilted on its axis.

“Roman…” Jax finally said, “what are you going to do?”

“I’m going back,” he said. “To the bakery. Today. I want answers.”

“About Leila or the boy?”

Roman’s jaw flexed.

“Both.”