By the time late September painted the trees of Central Park in deep shades of russet and gold, Maya had officially entered her sixth month. The subtle curve of her second trimester had transformed into a beautiful, unmistakable prominence that no tailored executive blazer could fully hide.
Running a multi-billion-dollar empire while carrying the future of the Sterling line had given Maya a different kind of presence. She didn't just command the boardroom anymore; she anchored it. She moved with a slow, deliberate grace, her mind sharper than ever, her decisions carrying the unyielding finality of a woman who had nothing left to prove to the world.
But while Maya had adapted seamlessly to her growing body, Reid was still fighting a daily, silent war against the concept of probability.
