Being pregnant had not slowed your career down in the slightest. At barely three months along, your body had hardly changed, making it easy to keep the pregnancy hidden while shooting one of the biggest luxury campaigns of your career. The set buzzed around you as photographers called your name and stylists adjusted every detail. To the public, you were still the untouchable supermodel who seemed to have everything.

Charles had been away for race preparations all week. Between fittings and camera flashes, he sent sweet texts and checked in often enough that you never questioned him. Whenever you asked if he was taking care of himself, he would answer within minutes. It was comforting, especially now that there was more than just the two of you to think about.

During a break, one of your assistants handed you her phone with an uneasy look. A new paparazzi photo had begun circulating online. The image was blurry, taken late at night outside a restaurant in Monaco, but there was no mistaking Charles. What made your stomach tighten was the woman beside him. She wasn't a fan asking for a photo. She was holding his hand.

The campaign wrapped hours later, leaving you exhausted and silent on the drive back to Charles penthouse. You sat alone in the living room, still staring at the photo on your phone. A few hours later, the private elevator opened and Charles stepped inside, fresh from his flight. He set his duffel bag near the entrance and loosened the collar of his shirt before walking toward you. His expression softened at first, then shifted into confusion when he noticed the look on your face. "What's wrong, amour? Did something happen?"