The next three days were agonizingly slow. Abby sat at a temporary desk set up just outside Liam's private office, completing mind-numbingly simple administrative tasks. The work was easy, but the proximity to Liam was devastating. He was always nearby, either working silently behind his closed glass door or walking past her desk with a curt nod and an intense, quick assessment of her state.
The emotional volatility of the first trimester reached its peak on the third afternoon. She was reviewing his personal correspondence—a stream of highly technical but utterly dry financial reports—when a package arrived.
It was a small, plain wooden box containing the cremated remains of Liam's grandmother's favorite pet bird, sent from the facility that cared for her. It was a tiny, heartfelt piece of grief that should have been routed to his apartment, but was sent to the office.
Abby's professional facade shattered. The grief of the tiny box, combined with her own hormonal instability, the relentless stress of her lie, and the proximity to the man she secretly knew was the father of her child, overwhelmed her. She pushed the box aside, unable to open it, and instead let her head fall into her hands.
A deep, silent sob escaped her. It was an involuntary, quiet leak of all the pressure she had been holding for weeks: the fear of single motherhood, the fear of discovery, the exhaustion of constantly lying to the one person whose trust mattered most.
The glass door to Liam's office opened immediately. She hadn't even heard the soft click.
Liam was standing there, watching her. He didn't speak. He just walked over to her desk, his expression unreadable—no longer angry, but deeply concerned.
He looked at the small, plain wooden box and immediately understood. He had not expected this package to arrive at the office, and the sight of it triggered a fresh wave of his own suppressed grief over his grandmother's illness.
Liam gently placed his hand on the back of Abby's neck, a tender, slow pressure that was startlingly comforting.
"It's alright, Abby," he murmured, his voice rough. "It's too much. The Han deal, the travel, my grandmother... it's all too much."
Abby couldn't speak. She could only shake her head, her hand unconsciously pressing against her stomach. It wasn't the stress of the job she was crying about; it was the tiny life inside her and the unbearable isolation of her secret.
Liam slowly lowered himself to one knee beside her chair, a gesture that brought his intense, green eyes level with hers. He looked not at the corporate executive, but at the broken, exhausted woman. He reached out and gently pulled her hands away from her face, holding them lightly.
"I pushed you too hard, Abby. I apologize. You saved my company when I was gone. Now, take two days off. Go home, rest, and don't look at an email. I won't cancel the promotion, but I am demanding you take care of yourself."
Abby could only nod, tears still running down her face. She felt the warmth of his hands, the genuine, deep concern in his eyes. In that moment, kneeling beside her, the most powerful man she knew was simply a grieving, empathetic human being, reaching out to comfort a distressed employee. And she was hiding his secret from him, even as she fell completely apart under his touch.