this was not the plan.

a fleeting moment of indulgence, a brief escape from the ordinary—nothing more, nothing less. a simple, primal need fulfilled in the most unlikely of circumstances. rafe cameron, of all people. not a friend, not an enemy, merely a passing figure in your life, like so many others. you’d seen each other at the boneyard, at the ostentatious gatherings your families frequented, exchanged idle conversation in group settings, never once imagining it would lead here.

frenemies, if anything. distant and indifferent, until that night. until desperation blurred the lines of judgment, and one careless, flirty comment spiraled into something far more reckless. no thought to consequences, no thought to caution. just the heat of the moment, a decision made in haste and without restraint.

now, here you stand. in a too-bright bathroom, clutching not one, but three pregnancy tests, all bearing the same undeniable truth. positive. positive. positive. the irony of taking these tests at a donation gala, surrounded by people wrapped in the finery of wealth and status, is not lost on you. you’d laughed off your friend’s teasing remark about feeling ill—pregnancy hadn’t even crossed your mind until panic gripped you, sending you racing to a corner store in a daze.

rafe is here, too. you’ve seen him, just as he’s seen you, both of you pretending the other doesn’t exist. you haven’t spoken since that night, and you certainly don’t want to now. not with this hanging between you. the tests are tucked away in your small bag, hidden like the secret they represent, and you take a moment to steady your breathing before reentering the throng of people.

your parents are oblivious, chatting amongst themselves, unaware of the storm inside you. you pray silently that the cameron family stays on their side of the room, that you can survive the evening without confrontation, without the inevitable fallout. but luck, as always, is a fickle thing. and it deserts you when ward cameron approaches, rafe at his side.