The Performance

The morning sun poured through Marcus’s mansion windows, golden and unbothered by the chaos that lived inside its walls.

Marcus stood by the edge of his office table, jaw tight, voice slicing through the silence like a whip.

“Tessa, I don’t care if Dorcas is pregnant, or Chloe, or the entire damn neighborhood is walking around with swollen bellies,” he snapped, slamming his palm against the desk. “That’s not your problem, you hear me?”

Tessa stood a few feet ...