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The phone on Alice Winston’s desk rang for the third time in as many minutes, and she answered it with the same crisp efficiency she had maintained since seven that morning.

“Mr. Mendes’s office, this is Alice speaking.”

The client on the other end was furious about a delayed shipment, his voice rising with each accusation. Alice pulled up the tracking information with one hand while reaching for her tea with the other, her expression never shifting from professional calm. Her savings account, which had been dangerously low before she landed this job two months ago, depended on this level of unflappable competence. Quitting was not an option, not with a new life on the way and only her own income to rely on.

“I understand your frustration, Mr. Chen,” she said smoothly. “The shipment left our warehouse on schedule, but there was an unexpected delay at customs. I have already arranged for expedited processing, and you will have your materials by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.” She paused, listening to his sputtering response, and added with quiet authority, “Yes, I have confirmed it personally. You have my word.”

She ended the call and immediately picked up the next one, rescheduling a meeting that had been moved three times already. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, updating the shared calendar, sending confirmation emails, and flagging the changes for her boss’s review. Around her, the executive floor hummed with controlled chaos, but Alice’s corner remained an island of perfect order. Just get through today, she told herself, a familiar mantra. Then tomorrow. Then the day after that.

The familiar wave of nausea hit without warning. Alice’s hand stilled on the mouse, and she took a slow, careful breath through her nose. The sensation passed, but it left a cold sweat on her palms. She glanced at the clock. Two hours until lunch, when she could safely retreat to the restroom without raising suspicion.

“Alice, do you have the Morrison files ready?”

She looked up to find James from accounting hovering near her desk, his expression apologetic. “They were supposed to be delivered an hour ago.”

“They are in Mr. Mendes’s inbox,” Alice replied, her voice even. “I sent them up the moment they were complete. If you need copies, I can print them now.”

“No, that’s perfect. You’re a lifesaver.” James retreated, and Alice allowed herself exactly three seconds to close her eyes and breathe.

Her reflection in the darkened computer monitor showed a stranger she was still getting used to. Her hair, the color of dark honey, was pulled back in a severe bun that highlighted the new shadows under her eyes. The professional blazer was a size larger than she needed, a deliberate choice to obscure the changes to her body. The secret growing inside her remained invisible, protected by loose clothing and careful posture. She had practiced standing sideways in front of her bedroom mirror that morning, analyzing every angle. Nothing showed. Not yet.

The elevator chimed, and Alice straightened in her chair as muscle memory took over. The new CEO was arriving today, his first official day in the office, and she had spent the past week preparing for the transition. Every file was organized, every procedure documented, and every potential crisis anticipated and solved in advance. She would make his first day seamless and prove her value immediately. After that, she could begin her quiet campaign to become forgettable.

The elevator doors opened, and Alice rose from her chair with a tablet in hand and a professional smile fixed on her face. She had rehearsed this moment a dozen times. She would provide a brief overview of the day’s schedule, offer to answer any questions, and then fade into efficient invisibility.

She looked up as the new CEO stepped onto the executive floor, and the world stopped.

For a flicker of a second, his gaze seemed to snag on hers, a flash of something other than professional assessment in its depths, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. The tablet slipped from her suddenly nerveless fingers. The sound of its clatter against the desk was lost to the roar of blood in her ears. Her carefully maintained composure shattered like glass, every professional instinct abandoning her as she stared at the man walking toward her.

It was him. The stranger from three months ago, the man whose name she had never learned, whose face had haunted her dreams and waking thoughts in equal measure. The man whose child she carried.

Harry Mendes stopped a few feet from her desk, his expression giving nothing away. His eyes swept over her once, a clinical assessment that held no warmth, no echo of that single night they had shared. He was taller than she remembered, or perhaps it was just the severe cut of his suit and the cold authority that radiated from him.

“Ms. Winston.” His voice was exactly as she remembered it, deep and measured, but stripped of all the warmth that had colored it in the dim light of that hotel room. “I trust everything is prepared for today.”

Alice’s mouth opened, but no sound emerged. Her mind, usually so quick and organized, had become a wasteland of static and panic. He doesn't recognize me, she realized with dizzying clarity. Or he's pretending not to.

“Ms. Winston?” Harry’s tone sharpened slightly with impatience. “The schedule?”

Professional instinct finally kicked in, a lifeline in the overwhelming shock. Alice bent to retrieve her fallen tablet, using the moment to force air back into her lungs and steel her expression into something approaching normal.

“Yes, Mr. Mendes,” she managed, her voice only slightly unsteady. “Everything is ready. Your first meeting is in thirty minutes with the department heads. I have the briefing materials prepared.”

“Good.” He moved past her toward the corner office, his attention already shifting to the phone in his hand. “Bring them in five minutes.”

The door closed behind him with a soft click, and Alice sank back into her chair, her legs suddenly unable to support her weight. Around her, the office continued its usual rhythm, oblivious to the fact that her entire world had just collapsed. She pressed a hand to her stomach, still flat beneath her blazer, and felt the weight of an impossible future settling onto her shoulders.

Five minutes, she thought distantly. I have five minutes to pull myself together.

It would not be enough time. It would never be enough time.