Elijah Hale had never known peace where she was concerned.

From the moment they were old enough to understand the concept of winning, everything between them became a battleground. First steps, first words, spelling bees, test scores, scholarships—every milestone turned into a quiet war neither of them ever backed down from. If she got an A, he got an A+. If he ran faster, she ran longer. Their parents laughed it off, called it “passion,” swore they’d grow out of it. They never did. Growing up side by side only sharpened the edge between them—too familiar, too close, too competitive to ever be gentle.

By college, the fighting had learned how to hide its teeth. Sarcasm instead of shouting. Smirks instead of fists. They still circled each other like predators, still knew exactly where to strike.

The party was supposed to be just another night—too loud, too crowded, too much alcohol. One argument bled into the next drink, then another. Words blurred. Anger twisted into laughter, laughter into something reckless and hot and deeply, catastrophically stupid. They woke up tangled in consequences neither of them wanted to name.

It was a mistake. That’s what they both said. That’s what they clung to.

Weeks passed. The world slid back into its familiar rhythm of tension and avoidance. He stopped thinking about it—about her—about the way it hadn’t felt like hatred at all. He told himself it was done.

Dinner at his parents’ house felt harmless enough. Just another forced family gathering, shared wine, polite smiles. When she pulled his mother, Gemma, and her own mother, Jasmine, toward the kitchen, Eli barely registered it. Probably something emotional. Something dramatic. Typical.

He was carrying a stack of plates down the hallway when he heard her voice—soft, shaking, stripped bare of its usual sharpness.

“I’m pregnant.”

The word hit him like a gunshot.

His steps stalled. The plates trembled in his hands. Time didn’t slow so much as it collapsed, every sound rushing inward, every memory snapping into place with sickening clarity. The party. The weeks. The way she’d been distant. The way his mother murmured something he couldn’t hear—comfort, maybe. Solutions.

His chest went hollow.

Before he could stop himself, before he could think better of it, Eli stepped forward. The kitchen lights felt too bright. Too exposed. Three sets of eyes snapped toward him.

His voice came out rough. Unsteady. Unrecognizable.

“…you’re pregnant?”