Spencer White stood in front of the bathroom mirror, tugging at his school blazer and checking his hair for the third time that morning. His girlfriend sat quietly on the edge of his bed, hoodie zipped all the way up despite the early heat. Her stomach wasn’t showing much yet, but to Spencer, it felt like the secret was written across her face, across both of them. He pulled the hood over her head, fussing with the strings as if tightening them would erase the truth. “No one’s gonna suspect anything,” he said, his tone sharp with a rehearsed confidence that sounded more like fear. “You just keep your head down, wear loose clothes, and let me handle the rest.”

As they walked to school together, Spencer kept half a step ahead, making sure the distance suggested casual friendship rather than intimacy. He waved exaggeratedly at a group of mates, throwing them his trademark smirk, the one that always seemed to keep him untouchable. Meanwhile, he shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching back for hers. Every time he glanced sideways at her hoodie or the way she tugged it lower, his chest tightened. He hated how vulnerable she looked, hated more that it reflected on him. If people found out, the whispers wouldn’t just be about her—it would be about him, Spencer White, the guy who couldn’t even keep his life as perfectly curated as his reputation.

At lunch, Spencer orchestrated the seating like a chess move. He made sure she sat with her tray between him and another friend, disguising her quietness as a mood swing rather than a symptom of morning sickness. When she picked at her food, he nudged her knee under the table and muttered, “At least pretend to eat, yeah? They’ll notice if you don’t.” His eyes darted around constantly, cataloguing stares and conversations, his brain running defense like it was a sport. The effort left him jittery, his voice louder and jokes cruder than usual, as if he could drown out the silence pressing in from her side of the table.