I didn't tell anyone.
Not that day.
Not the next morning.
Not even when I woke up with the same heavy truth sitting in my chest, waiting for me before I had fully opened my eyes.
For a few seconds, I let myself pretend I had dreamed it. I lay perfectly still beneath the blankets, staring at the pale ceiling while morning light slipped softly through the curtains. The room was quiet. The mansion was quiet. Everything looked exactly the same as it always had.
But I knew better now.
Nothing was the same.
My hand moved beneath the blanket before I could stop it, resting lightly against my stomach. The gesture had become almost instinctive, something my body did before my mind could catch up. I stared at the ceiling, waiting for some kind of feeling to come with it—certainty, panic, maybe even acceptance.
But all I felt was fear.
Quiet at first.
Then larger.
Deeper.
It opened inside me slowly, spreading through my chest until breathing felt like something I had to remember how to do.
I sat up too quickly and immediately regretted it. A wave of dizziness passed through me, followed by the familiar nausea that had become impossible to ignore. I pressed a hand over my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for it to settle.
It didn't.
I barely made it to the bathroom before my body gave in.
By the time it passed, I was gripping the sink with both hands, my reflection pale and shaken in the mirror. My eyes looked too wide, too tired, too unlike myself.
Pregnant.
The word came again.
I closed my eyes.
"No," I whispered, even though there was no one to convince anymore.
The test had been clear.
Twice.
There was no uncertainty left.
Only the truth, and the impossible weight of what came after it.
I splashed cold water onto my face and forced myself to breathe slowly. In the mirror, I looked exactly like Sophie Huo. The same brown eyes. The same long hair falling messily around my face. The same person who had returned to Seoul thinking the hardest thing she would have to face was Harley Huang's coldness.
I almost laughed.
It came out as something broken instead.
Because now Harley's coldness felt like the smallest problem in the world.
I had to tell him.
Eventually.
The thought made my stomach twist for reasons that had nothing to do with nausea.
I could already imagine his face. The way he would go still. The way his expression would close, then tighten. The silence that would follow. The questions I didn't know how to answer.
Because there was one question I couldn't escape.
Why hadn't he told me?
That night in Paris existed in pieces inside my mind. Fragments. Emotions. A blur of warmth, confusion, closeness, and something I still couldn't hold clearly no matter how hard I tried. Harley had known more than I did. He had remembered what I couldn't.
And he had kept it from me.
My fingers tightened around the sink.
I didn't know what hurt more—that it had happened, or that he had let me keep walking around without the full truth.
I didn't know if I was angry yet.
I didn't know if I was allowed to be.
All I knew was that something inside me was starting to crack.
I left my room later than usual. The hallway outside was empty, the mansion still carrying that strange emptiness with Mr. and Mrs. Huang away in Hawaii. Their absence had felt quiet before. Now it felt like I had been left alone in a house too large for the secret I was carrying.
Downstairs, I heard movement from the dining area and stopped.
Harley.
I knew it was him before I saw him.
My body reacted before my mind did, my hand tightening around the strap of my bag as my heartbeat quickened.
I couldn't face him.
Not yet.
Not with this.
I turned before he could see me and took the longer route toward the entrance, moving quietly, almost foolishly, as if I were sneaking out of a place I had every right to leave.
I had almost reached the door when his voice stopped me.
"Sophie."
My entire body went still.
For a second, I considered pretending I hadn't heard him, but the silence gave me away.
I turned slowly.
Harley stood near the living room, already dressed for work, his eyes fixed on me. He wasn't holding coffee today. For some reason, that detail stood out.
"You're leaving without eating again," he said.
"I'll eat at the hospital."
The lie slipped out smoothly now.
Too smoothly.
His gaze narrowed slightly. "You said that yesterday."
I adjusted my bag. "Then I'll mean it today."
He took a step closer, and I had to fight the urge to step back.
"You look worse."
"I'm tired."
"Sophie."
My name sounded different in his voice.
Quieter.
Closer to worry.
I hated it.
I hated that he could still sound like that and make my chest ache, even now, even when there was a truth between us that he didn't know I knew.
Or maybe he did.
Maybe some part of him had already started to suspect.
The thought made my pulse jump.
"I'm going to be late," I said, turning away.
"Did you check?"
The question landed like a hand around my throat.
I stopped.
For one terrible second, I couldn't move.
Then I forced myself to look back at him. "Check what?"
His expression didn't change much, but something shifted in his eyes.
"You know what I mean."
I swallowed.
The hallway felt too quiet.
Too narrow.
Too full of things unsaid.
"I don't have time for this," I said.
His jaw tightened. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I'm giving."
I didn't wait for him to respond. I opened the door and stepped outside, the morning air hitting my face with enough force to make me breathe again.
But my hands were shaking by the time I reached the car.
At the hospital, I tried to work.
I really did.
I read charts. I checked patients. I answered questions. I smiled when I was supposed to. I kept my hands steady and my voice calm because I knew how to do that. I knew how to perform normal, even when nothing inside me felt normal anymore.
But my mind wouldn't stay still.
It spiraled.
One thought became another. One fear opened into ten more.
What if Harley already knew?
What if Samuel figured it out?
What if everyone found out before I was ready?
What if I couldn't do this?
What if I had no choice but to do it anyway?
By late morning, I was standing in the medication room with a chart in my hand, reading the same line for the fourth time without understanding a single word.
"Sophie?"
I flinched.
Samuel stood at the doorway.
His brows drew together immediately. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
"You didn't," I said quickly.
But my voice was too thin.
He stepped inside, studying me with that gentle concern I had started to dread. "Are you okay?"
The question almost undid me.
It was such a simple question.
Too simple.
Too kind.
I looked down at the chart, gripping it tighter. "I'm fine."
Samuel didn't say anything right away.
Then, softly, "No, you're not."
My throat tightened.
I hated how close I was to breaking.
I hated that it was Samuel standing there instead of no one.
And even worse, I hated that some part of me felt relieved it was him.
"I just need a minute," I said.
"Then take one."
"I'm working."
"You're barely standing."
I looked up then, ready to argue, but the words died when I saw his face. He wasn't accusing me. He wasn't pushing to be right. He was just worried.
That made something in me collapse slightly.
Not enough for tears.
But enough for silence.
Samuel stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Did you check?"
I froze.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
His expression changed—not with shock, but with understanding.
I looked away quickly. "Samuel…"
"You don't have to tell me," he said gently.
The words made my chest tighten even more.
Because they gave me permission not to say it.
And somehow that made me want to say everything.
I pressed my lips together, fighting the pressure building behind my eyes. "I can't talk about this."
"Okay."
His answer came without hesitation.
No questions.
No demands.
Just okay.
That kindness hurt more than I expected.
I swallowed hard. "I don't know what to do."
The words came out before I could stop them.
Quiet.
Broken.
Barely there.
Samuel's face softened.
He didn't move closer. He didn't touch me. He just stayed there, steady and calm, like he was giving me space to breathe.
"You don't have to know right now," he said.
My breath trembled.
"I should," I whispered. "I'm a doctor. I should be rational. I should know what comes next."
"You're also human."
The words were simple, but they struck something deep enough that I had to look away.
Human.
Right now, I didn't feel like a doctor. I didn't feel composed or intelligent or capable.
I felt like a girl standing in the middle of her own life, watching everything fall apart too quickly to catch.
Samuel's voice softened further. "Whatever it is, you don't have to face it all at once."
My fingers tightened around the chart until the edges bent slightly.
"I can't tell him," I whispered.
The silence after that was different.
He knew who I meant.
Of course he did.
Samuel was quiet for a moment before he asked, "Harley?"
Hearing his name out loud made my chest ache.
I nodded once, barely.
Samuel exhaled slowly, but there was no judgment in it. "Not today, then."
I looked at him.
He held my gaze steadily. "If today feels impossible, then don't make today the day. Breathe first. Think when you can think. Then decide."
Something inside me loosened.
Just a little.
Enough that I could take a fuller breath.
I didn't know why his words helped. Maybe because they didn't fix anything. Maybe because he wasn't pretending this was simple.
Maybe because, for one brief moment, I didn't feel completely alone.
A knock sounded faintly down the hall, and reality rushed back in.
I straightened quickly, wiping at my face even though no tears had fallen.
"I should go," I said.
Samuel nodded, but his eyes stayed concerned. "Eat something first."
I almost laughed, but it came out weak. "You're very persistent."
"When necessary."
I gave him a small, tired look. "This is necessary?"
"Yes," he said without hesitation.
And for some reason, that nearly broke me again.
By the time I left the hospital, I felt hollowed out.
The day had passed, but I couldn't remember most of it. Everything blurred together—the patients, the conversations, the halls, Samuel's worried eyes, Harley's question from that morning.
Did you check?
The words followed me all the way back to the mansion.
When I stepped inside, the house was dim and quiet, the evening light stretching long shadows across the floor.
For a moment, I thought I was alone.
Then I saw him.
Harley stood near the staircase, as if he had been waiting.
My heart dropped.
His eyes found mine, and something in his expression shifted almost immediately.
"You're late," he said.
"I had work."
"You always have work."
I looked away, suddenly too tired to argue.
He stepped closer. "Sophie."
I closed my eyes briefly.
Not now.
Please, not now.
"Did something happen?"
The question was too close.
Too dangerous.
My hand tightened around my bag.
"No."
"Sophie."
"I said no."
This time, my voice cracked slightly.
Harley went still.
I hated that he heard it.
I hated that I couldn't hide it fast enough.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then his expression changed, the concern sharpening into something more intense.
"What's wrong?"
Everything inside me panicked.
Because he was too close.
Because the truth was too close.
Because one more question might make me break open right there in front of him.
"I'm tired," I said, stepping back. "I'm going upstairs."
"Sophie, wait—"
"I can't."
The words escaped before I could stop them.
Harley froze.
So did I.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
I didn't look at him. I couldn't. I turned and hurried up the stairs, my chest tightening with every step.
When I reached my room, I closed the door and locked it.
Only then did I let myself breathe.
I leaned against the door, one hand pressed over my mouth as the panic I had been holding back all day finally rose, fast and overwhelming.
I slid down to the floor slowly, unable to keep standing.
My hand moved to my stomach again.
This time, I didn't pull it away.
The room blurred slightly as tears finally gathered in my eyes.
I was pregnant.
Harley was the father.
Samuel knew something was wrong.
And I was standing in the middle of all of it, unable to move forward, unable to go back.
For the first time since the test, the tears fell.
Silent at first.
Then harder.
I pressed my forehead against my knees and cried as quietly as I could, because the mansion was too quiet, and Harley was too close, and the truth was too big for one person to carry.
But for now, I carried it alone.
And it was breaking me.