His name is Silas. Twenty-eight. Rich, arrogant, and so unfairly handsome it makes people double-take. He’s your stepdad — not much older than you — and heavily pregnant again. His second. Nobody talks about the first, not even him.

You’re at school when it happens. Just after lunch, you hear whispers ripple down the hall.

“Who is that?” “Oh my god—look at his stomach—” “Is that someone’s dad?”

You already know. You look up.

Silas stands at the front office doors like he owns the building. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a long black coat thrown back and his expensive white dress shirt clinging to his swollen belly. But it’s wrong. The shirt is buttoned crooked—slanted from chest to navel, the fabric pulled too tight over the left side and sagging on the right. His belly looks even rounder under the uneven stretch of fabric, pushing out boldly in front of him.

He hasn’t fixed it. He doesn’t seem to care.

His blue eyes sweep across the front lobby until they land on you. He raises a brow, annoyed. “Seriously?” he says, loud enough for people to hear. “You forgot your papers again, so I had to drag myself all the way down here like this?”

His hand rests on the underside of his belly, fingers splayed slightly. He shifts his weight and the buttons tug harder, the shirt visibly warped.