Harley POV
Something was wrong.
I had known it for days, but today, the certainty settled in deeper, sharper, impossible to ignore.
Sophie wasn't just tired.
She wasn't just overworked.
She was hiding something.
I stood in the living room long after she had gone upstairs the night before, replaying every moment in my head. The way she avoided looking at me. The way her voice tightened whenever I asked even the simplest question. The way she moved like she was holding something in, like one wrong word would make it spill over.
That wasn't Sophie.
She had never been good at hiding things from me.
Not before.
I exhaled slowly and ran a hand through my hair, trying to push the thought away, but it didn't leave.
It stayed.
Persistent.
Unsettling.
By the time morning came, I had barely slept.
—
She was already leaving when I saw her.
Of course she was.
She had been doing that a lot lately—slipping out before I could say anything, before I could ask, before I could get close enough to understand what was going on.
"Sophie."
She stopped, but she didn't turn right away.
That alone told me more than anything else.
When she finally faced me, her expression was composed, controlled.
Too controlled.
"I have work," she said.
"You always have work."
It came out sharper than I intended.
Her fingers tightened slightly around her bag, but she didn't react beyond that.
"I'm going to be late."
She turned again, and something in my chest tightened instinctively.
"Did you check?"
The question left my mouth before I could stop it.
She froze.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
Slowly, she turned back.
"Check what?"
Her voice was steady.
But her eyes—
They weren't.
I held her gaze. "You know what I mean."
Silence stretched between us.
Tense.
Uncomfortable.
"I don't have time for this," she said finally.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I'm giving."
And then she left.
Just like that.
The door closed behind her, and the silence that followed felt heavier than anything she could have said.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at nothing.
Then I exhaled slowly.
Something was wrong.
And she wasn't going to tell me.
—
Work didn't help.
If anything, it made everything worse.
Meetings blurred together, conversations passed without meaning, numbers and reports sitting in front of me without holding my attention. I found myself checking my phone more than usual, as if expecting something to change in the time I wasn't looking.
It didn't.
She didn't call.
She didn't message.
Nothing.
I leaned back in my chair, my jaw tightening slightly as the same thoughts circled again.
Pale.
Tired.
Not eating.
Avoiding me.
My fingers tapped lightly against the desk.
Something clicked.
Not all at once.
But enough.
A memory surfaced—small, almost insignificant at the time.
The way she had reacted to the smell of coffee.
The way she had pressed her hand against her stomach when she thought no one was looking.
The way she had gone quiet when I told her to get checked.
My fingers stilled.
Slowly, I sat up straighter.
No.
The thought came quickly.
Immediate.
Dismissive.
But it didn't leave.
Because it fit too well.
Too precisely.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk, my hands clasping together as I stared at nothing.
Think.
I forced myself to go through it again, piece by piece.
The symptoms.
The timing.
Her reaction.
The way she had looked at me—
Something tightened in my chest.
No.
I shook my head slightly.
It wasn't possible.
It couldn't be.
Unless—
Paris.
The memory hit harder than I expected.
Clear.
Sharp.
Unavoidable.
That night.
The way everything had slipped out of control.
The way she hadn't remembered.
My jaw tightened.
Because I had.
Every second of it.
And I hadn't told her.
At the time, it had felt… complicated.
She had been overwhelmed, emotional, already struggling with everything between us. Telling her then would have only made things worse.
That's what I had told myself.
That I was giving her space.
That I was protecting her.
But now—
Now that decision felt different.
Heavier.
Because if this was what I thought it was—
Then it wasn't just my secret anymore.
It was hers too.
And I had taken that choice away from her.
My hand curled slightly against the desk.
If she had found out—
If she had connected it—
A sharp, unfamiliar feeling settled in my chest.
Guilt.
I exhaled slowly, my thoughts racing now.
If she was pregnant—
My chest tightened further.
If she was—
Then it was mine.
There was no question about that.
No doubt.
The realization didn't come with hesitation.
It came with certainty.
And something else.
Something stronger.
Possessive.
Protective.
Terrifying.
I pushed myself to my feet abruptly, the chair sliding back slightly behind me.
I needed to see her.
Now.
—
By the time I got home, the house felt too quiet.
Again.
It had been like this all week, ever since my parents left for Hawaii. The silence had been manageable before.
Now it felt suffocating.
I stepped inside, my gaze immediately scanning the space.
Nothing.
Empty.
My jaw tightened.
She wasn't back yet.
I ran a hand through my hair, pacing once across the room before stopping.
Think.
Don't jump to conclusions.
But every piece lined up.
Too well.
Too clearly.
And her reaction this morning—
That hesitation.
That look in her eyes—
It wasn't confusion.
It was fear.
My chest tightened again.
If she knew—
If she had already found out—
And she still hadn't told me—
Why?
The question hit harder than anything else.
Why wouldn't she tell me?
Unless—
My expression hardened slightly.
Unless she didn't think she could.
Unless she didn't trust me enough to.
That thought didn't sit well.
Not at all.
I exhaled sharply, pushing it aside.
No.
That wasn't it.
It couldn't be.
But something had changed between us.
I could feel it.
Every time she looked at me.
Every time she avoided me.
Every time she chose silence instead of answering.
Footsteps echoed faintly from the entrance.
I turned immediately.
Sophie stepped inside, slipping off her shoes, her movements slower than usual.
My gaze locked onto her instantly.
She looked exhausted.
More than before.
There was no ignoring it now.
"You're late," I said.
"I had work."
"You always have work."
She didn't respond.
That alone made my chest tighten further.
I stepped closer. "Sophie."
She closed her eyes briefly, like she was bracing herself.
Something in me stilled.
"Did something happen?" I asked.
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
Too automatic.
I took another step forward. "What's wrong?"
Her fingers tightened around her bag.
Nothing.
She wasn't saying anything.
And suddenly, I was done waiting.
"Sophie," I said, more firmly now, "did you check?"
Her breath hitched.
Barely.
But I heard it.
My chest tightened.
She knew.
I stepped closer, close enough to see the shift in her expression, the way her composure cracked just slightly at the edges.
"What did you find?" I asked quietly.
Silence.
She didn't answer.
Didn't move.
Didn't even look at me.
But she didn't deny it either.
And that—
That told me everything.
My jaw tightened slightly.
"Say something."
"I can't," she whispered.
The words hit harder than anything else.
I felt it in my chest.
Sharp.
Immediate.
"Why not?"
"I just… can't."
Her voice was breaking.
And for a second, everything else faded.
The frustration.
The questions.
The tension.
All of it.
All I could see was her.
The way she stood there like she was holding everything together by force.
My gaze softened slightly despite myself.
"Sophie…"
I reached for her instinctively, my hand stopping just short of her arm when she stepped back.
The distance between us felt sharper than it should have.
My hand lowered slowly.
And in that moment—
Something clicked fully into place.
Not a possibility.
Not a guess.
The truth.
My chest tightened as the realization settled, heavy and undeniable.
She was pregnant.
And it was mine.
I exhaled slowly, my gaze fixed on her, my thoughts racing even as everything else seemed to slow down.
"What are you afraid of?" I asked quietly.
Her eyes flickered toward mine, filled with something I couldn't fully read.
Everything.
That's what it looked like.
I took a slow step back, giving her space even though every instinct in me told me to close the distance.
To pull her closer.
To fix this.
But I didn't.
Because right now—
She wasn't ready.
And I could see that.
So instead, I said the only thing that mattered.
"We're going to talk about this."
Not a question.
Not a suggestion.
A promise.
And this time—
I wasn't going to let her face it alone.