[EMY]
"Do you hear me?!" I roared with the lung capacity of a rejected soap opera extra who had trained for this moment all her life. My voice cracked across the glossy hotel lobby like a badly tuned violin. "You are NOT going to her! You are coming home—with ME—and our unborn child!"
The ripple was instantaneous. Gasps. Chokes. One woman dropped her shopping bag of luxury skincare like she'd witnessed the Virgin Mary. A man holding a caramel macchiato fumbled so hard the whipped cream catapulted into his own tie. Somewhere, a toddler let out a bloodcurdling wail as if he, too, felt betrayed by Lance's supposed infidelity.
I pressed a hand dramatically to my chest, staggered forward as if the betrayal physically stabbed me. "How dare you?!" I screamed with perfect telenovela cadence. "How dare you abandon me after everything?! After I carried your love-child through nine—no, TEN months of nausea, cravings, and emotional damage!"
I slapped my own stomach for emphasis. Spoiler: it was just rice and bloat from lunch. The sound was meaty, convincing. A lady gasped louder. Someone whispered "twins."
Lance froze mid-step, mask covering half his face but not the horror in his eyes. He tugged at my sleeve with urgency, hissing through clenched teeth, "Stop it, you absolute idiot!"
But my inner drama queen had ascended the stage, haloed in spotlight only I could see. There was no stopping her.
"And what about our future?!" I wailed, sweeping my arm so wide I nearly slapped a passing bellboy. "Our little Aurea Jr.! What will you say to them, huh? When they look into your eyes and ask, 'Daddy, why did you abandon Mommy at the Marriott for a lowly woman?!'"
The receptionist was definitely recording now. Her phone angled just right, probably tagging the video #ScandalAtTheMarriott. Oh, I was trending material.
Lance had two choices: walk away into that hotel room, or physically remove me before I unveiled Act II of "Pregnant, Alone, and Betrayed."
He chose the latter.
With a muttered curse, he grabbed my hand and yanked me forward, storming us both out of the lobby. His long strides practically dragged me across the polished tiles, while my umbrella thrashed behind us like a drunken kite.
People parted like the Red Sea—gawking, whispering, recording.
A businessman almost lost his briefcase when I twirled in his direction mid-drag and shouted, "And I'll raise our child ALONE if I must!" for extra effect.
Then we burst into the storm. The rain slapped my face sharp, cold, alive. I was soaked, ridiculous, and buzzing with purpose.
Lance didn't release me, his hand clamped to mine like a shackle. Whether from fury, embarrassment, or sheer disbelief, I couldn't tell. All I knew was—I had stopped him. At least for tonight.
Until he slammed me against a wall.
The cool alley bricks chilled through my shirt as his arms shot up, boxing me in.
A kabedon!
A real kabedon!
My heart leapt straight out of my ribcage, saluted, and fled into another dimension.
Of course it would. This was Lance, after all!
My soul ascended like a fangirl ghost finally receiving the blessing of her idol. I nearly forgot to breathe.
Then his mask ripped off with a harsh tug, his jaw set, eyes blazing.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he snarled, teeth bared.
Oh. He was angry. Very angry. But anger meant he wasn't broken. I'd take it.
"What the hell am I doing?" I snapped back, jabbing a finger in his chest for extra effect. "What the hell are YOU doing?!"
I will slap myself later for pointing at him, but right now I needed to hammer some sense into him.
For a second he shut his eyes, breathed deep, fists clenching against the wall. When he opened them, they were full of flat, heavy resolve.
"Don't interfere, Emy. This is my business."
I barked a laugh that sounded half-mad. "Business? You call selling yourself off like some subscription service business?!"
His gaze darkened, unflinching. "If I don't, AUREA dies. Our debut dies. All the blood, sweat, and years of sacrifice—we lose everything. One night is a small price to pay for our dreams."
"It's not a small price!" I spat, chest tight. "Don't you dare call it that! I know how this industry works, Lance. I've seen the euphemisms, the dirty deals, the contracts written in shame. Don't tell me you have to do this. You don't! And it wouldn't just be one night! Once you started, there's no going back!"
"You don't know anything," he bit out, low and rough. "You don't know what it's like to practice until your bones scream. To break your body, your pride, every day, just for a chance. To be told your worth depends on debut or nothing. You don't know the weight of this, Emy."
I swallowed. Maybe I didn't. But I couldn't let him fall like this.
"Then let me help." I caught his sleeve, gripping tight like I could anchor him. "Give me one week. Just one. Let me try. If I fail, I'll back off and live you be. But if I succeed . . . you will never sacrifice yourself for the team, ever!"
He blinked, startled, as if I'd just challenged gravity. "What can you possibly do?"
I stood taller, rain dripping from my hair into my eyes. "Don't underestimate me. I may look like a squishy fangirl, but I have terrifyingly effective skills."
I lowered my voice, dramatic pause. "Stalker—no, detective skills. Guardian angel slash hacker—no, tech support vibes."
He scoffed, exasperated. "You're insane. Go home."
"No." I seized both his shoulders, fingers digging into his damp jacket. "One week. I will make your debut happen. And if you dare step foot back in that hotel—even once—I will unleash sabotage like you've never seen. I'll reroute every GPS so they show up at Taco Bells instead of boardrooms. I'll replace their fancy wine with apple cider vinegar. I'll slip embarrassing sound effects into their PowerPoints—fart noises during closing statements. Don't test me, Lance. I will become their living nightmare."
He just stared at me, rainwater running down his jawline, trying very hard not to laugh—or maybe strangle me.
Finally, with a long, tired sigh, he muttered, "Fine."
Relief whooshed through me. My knees nearly buckled.
"We have a deal," I declared, way too loudly, then realized I sounded like I'd just sealed a marriage pact. "Uh—I mean—a totally professional agreement deal."
He raised an eyebrow, one corner of his lips twitching. "I'm starting to think you are stalking us."
"Wha—?! Stalker?!" I choked, backpedaling so fast I nearly slipped on wet pavement. "That's extreme! Me? Stalk? Ha! Ha ha ha!" My laugh was the sound of someone absolutely guilty.
Before he could pin me further, I turned tail and bolted, umbrella dragging behind like a limp flag.
Ridiculous? Yes. Humiliating? Absolutely. But Lance wasn't at that hotel. And that was all that mattered.