Two days later, they were back in the towering, familiar steel and glass of Sterling Holdings. Abby walked into her office, carrying a new, much larger bag. She was initiating Operation: Wardrobe Overhaul.
The first trimester exhaustion was a constant, heavy blanket, and the nausea, though manageable with crackers and ginger ale, was a persistent, low-grade thrum. She knew she couldn't rely on the tight, tailored suits much longer.
She spent her lunch hour in a strategic clothing change. She had purchased a small collection of sophisticated but subtly loose-fitting items: a collection of flowy, high-waisted skirts, and blouses made of thicker silk that draped rather than clung. The aim was not maternity wear, but simply camouflage. She wanted to look effortlessly chic, not pregnant. This was her new armor the uniform of deception.
Liam, however, was still operating in high-alert mode. He didn't say anything directly, but his behavior shifted from commanding boss to hyper-aware guardian. He started personally checking her schedule, not to add meetings, but to ensure she actually had a lunch break. He sent an administrative assistant to procure a rotating selection of herbal teas for the Strategic Integration room, ostensibly for the whole team, but Abby noticed he only offered them to her.
The most unnerving change came during a late-night session reviewing merger documents. Abby was sitting in a chair, scrolling through a document, when she felt a draft. Without a word, Liam walked over to the thermostat and adjusted the temperature.
"I noticed you've been reaching for your blazer frequently," he said, not looking at her. "The office HVAC is notoriously inconsistent. If you need anything adjusted, tell me. I don't want discomfort causing distractions."
Abby's hands clenched under the desk. Her sensitivity to temperature had increased dramatically with the pregnancy hormones, but how had he noticed? He was noticing the smallest, most subconscious deviations from her baseline behavior. He was treating her like an asset under observation, and the intensity of his focus was suffocating her fragile secret.
"Thank you, Mr. Sterling," she managed, her voice tight. "I'm sure the team appreciates the attention to detail."
He finally looked at her, and his gaze was sharp, dismissive of her attempt to deflect. "I appreciate the attention to detail when it serves the company. Right now, your comfort serves the company. Do not mistake my pragmatism for anything else."
The final sentence was delivered with a coldness that should have been reassuring a confirmation that he was just a pragmatic boss. But it didn't feel pragmatic; it felt like a warning, a deliberate push-back against the unspoken tension that existed between them. Liam was fighting his own awareness, and by defining his actions as purely professional, he was attempting to rebuild the boundary that his hand on her arm in Hong Kong had destroyed.
Abby knew she was losing the battle for invisibility. She needed to focus on her upcoming medical appointment the first sonogram. That little life was her single priority, and she had to find a way to step out of the Strategic Integration cage for a crucial hour without Liam Sterling noticing her escape.