Sothing taken from him. Amara took a step back. Just one. Careful. Silent. The floor felt unsteady beneath her, like it might give way if she moved too quickly.
"I’m going to sue all of you!" his voice cracked then, rage splintering at the edges. "Who is the woman? What is her na? I want to know who is carrying my child now!"
Each question hit harder than the last. Closer. Closer. As if the distance between them was shrinking with every word.
"I will make sure they close the St. Aditya Hospital for good." That na. It didn’t just register. It struck. Hard. Cold. Final. Amara’s blood turned to ice. Not slowly. Not gradually. Instantly.
Her stomach dropped, sharp and sudden, into sothing dark and hollow, as the ground beneath her had disappeared without warning.
A thin layer of sweat prickled across her skin. Her hands felt cold... but her pulse, wild. Too fast. Too loud. Too present. Panic didn’t creep in. It surged.
Full. Imdiate. Unforgiving. No... Her mind reached for sothing, anything, solid enough to hold onto. A coincidence. It had to be.
It had to. People went there every day. Hundreds, maybe. Thousands. Nas overlapped. Situations blurred mistakes, rare, but not impossible.
It didn’t an anything. It didn’t an her. It couldn’t. Amara swallowed, the motion tight... painful. She tried to steady her breathing.
Tried to make sense of the noise in her chest. But deep down. Beneath the logic... beneath the denial... Sothing quieter whispered. And it didn’t sound like doubt. It sounded like knowing.
"When was this done?" Sebastian paused, listening to the person on the other end, before repeating the answer in a low, haunting hiss. "Last two months."
The dates lined up with sickening precision. The sa hospital. The sa day. Amara’s knees trembled so violently that she had to reach out to the cold marble wall to keep from collapsing. The room, the party, the music, it all bled into a blur of gray.
Across the curtain, the man she had tried so hard to erase from her life was might... she couldn’t even think of thinking, and beneath her heart.
The velvet curtain rippled, and before Amara could find the strength to flee, Sebastian stepped into the dim light of the alcove. The raw fury that had vibrated through the fabric was gone, replaced by a haunting, jagged vulnerability.
"Amara?" he breathed, his eyes wide as they locked onto hers. He looked unraveled, the polished veneer of the high-society bachelor stripped away. "Is that you? I... I’m sorry. I didn’t an to be so loud."
Amara couldn’t speak. Her tongue felt heavy, like lead in her mouth. She tried to take a step back, but her legs were trembling so violently she feared she would collapse at his feet.
"I can’t believe it," Sebastian whispered, his hand shaking as he gripped his phone. "A stranger. Sowhere out there, a stranger is carrying my child." He took a half-step closer, his voice cracking with a desperate, frantic energy. "I’m losing my mind, Amara. I’m so nervous. The hospital is about to call back with the na. Please... I don’t want to be alone for this. Just stay for a second? Until Julian gets back?"
The irony was a physical weight, crushing the air from her lungs. She opened her mouth to object, to scream, to run, but the sound of his phone ringing sliced through the air like a siren.
Sebastian didn’t wait. With a fumbling thumb, he hit the answer button and, in his desperation for support, thumbed the speakerphone.
"Please," Sebastian said into the device, his voice a ragged plea that echoed off the marble walls. "Tell . Tell the na of the woman."
At that exact mont, the heavy footsteps of Julian echoed from the hallway. He appeared at the entrance of the alcove, his brow furrowed as he took in the sight of Sebastian standing far too close to a pale, trembling Amara.
"Amara? What’s going on?" Julian started, his voice firm and protective.
But he went silent as a sterile, professional voice vibrated from the speaker in Sebastian’s hand, clear and cold in the sudden hush of the corridor.
"Mr. Sebastian, we have the records from that afternoon at St. Aditya. The patient’s na is..."
The world seed to stop spinning. The distant music of the party died away, leaving only the sound of three people holding their breath as the na hung on the verge of being uttered.
The air in the narrow hallway felt... wrong. Too thin. Too still.
As if soone had reached in and quietly stolen all the oxygen, leaving behind only pressure... and silence.
Amara’s heart pounded against her ribs, wild, uneven, each beat louder than the last, until it swallowed everything else. The music from the ballroom faded. The voices blurred.
All that remained... was the sound of her own pulse. Too fast. Too loud. Too close. No.
She couldn’t let it settle. Couldn’t let those words linger... not in the air, not in her mind.
Not like that. "I’m sorry, I can’t do this," she blurted. Her voice ca out thin, fragile, as it might snap under its own weight.
She didn’t wait. Didn’t turn. Didn’t even look. "I’m sure you can handle this."
The words were rushed, uneven, more escape than explanation. And then she moved. Too fast. Too sudden.
Her heels struck the marble, sharp, echoing clicks that betrayed the panic she tried to outrun. The hallway blurred at the edges as she hurried forward, her balance slipping just enough to feel it.
And then. Julian. He stood there like sothing solid in the middle of a storm. Still. Grounded. Certain. His eyes flicked between her and the man behind her.
Confusion. Concern. Sothing protective, already rising. "Can we go ho now, darling?" Her voice softened, but only because it was breaking. Her fingers curled tightly around his forearm, gripping him like he was the only thing keeping her upright.
"I feel tired. I just... I need to go." She didn’t say why. She couldn’t. Julian didn’t push. He searched her face instead, really looked.
He saw it. The faint sheen of sweat along her brow. The way her breathing didn’t match her words. The way her eyes, wide, unfocused, carried sothing deeper than exhaustion.
Fear. Not small. Not fleeting. Sothing real. Sothing urgent. He didn’t understand.
But he didn’t need to. "Okay, love," he said quietly. His voice dropped low, steady, warm... certain in a way that made space feel safer just by existing.
"Let’s get you out of here." No questions. Just action.
His arm wrapped around her waist, firm, anchoring, pulling her gently against him as if to shield her from everything behind them. Together, they turned. One step.
Then another. The exit stood ahead of them, just a few feet away. Dark. Quiet. Waiting. Freedom.
Amara exhaled shakily, her body already leaning toward it... toward escape... toward silence. "Amara Piers." The voice didn’t need to be loud.
It didn’t need to chase. It landed anyway. Heavy. Certain. Unavoidable. And just like that. Everything stopped.
The doctor’s voice didn’t just carry through the speaker. It echoed. Cold. Clinical. Detached. Each word hit the walls... and ca back sharper, like sothing thrown, sothing ant to land.
Amara froze. Not a flinch. Not a breath.
The world didn’t slow this ti. It stopped. Completely. Julian’s arm was still around her, steady, warm, real. And yet it felt distant. Miles away.
Like she was already slipping sowhere he couldn’t follow. "Are you sure?" Sebastian’s voice rose behind them. But it wasn’t the sa voice from before. This one trembled. Breathless. Shaken. Carefully... crafted.
Shock, laid on thick enough to be believed. "Are you sure?" he repeated, softer now, like the answer might change if he asked it twice.
"Yes." The doctor didn’t hesitate. Didn’t soften. Didn’t care.
"She was here two months ago with her sister." No pause. No apology. No awareness of the devastation left in its wake.
Just truth delivered like routine. Like it ant nothing. The line went dead. A soft click. Small. Final. And then. Silence. Heavy. Expanding.
Deafening. It pressed into every corner of the space, filling the air until breathing felt like an effort.
Sebastian exhaled sharply. Rough. Uneven. His hand dragged through his hair as he began to pace, tight, restless circles, like a man trying to outrun sothing that had already caught him.
"I... I don’t believe it," he stamred. His voice cracked in just the right places. Too perfect. Too asured.
His eyes lifted. Landing on Amara’s back. Still. Unmoving. "Amara?" he called, softer now. Careful. Testing.
"How is this even..." A hollow laugh slipped through, fragile and disbelieving. "What a coincidence..." The word hung there. Coincidence. It sounded wrong. It felt wrong.
Like it didn’t belong to this mont... like it was being forced into a space that refused to hold it. Julian’s arm tightened around Amara’s waist. Instinct. Protective. But sothing had changed.
His hand, still holding her, had gone rigid. Not gentle anymore. Not grounding. Still. Too still. He looked down at her.
Really looked. The way her face had emptied of color. The way her lips had parted, but no breath ca. The way she hadn’t moved... not once... since the voice on the phone spoke.
Then slowly. Too slow. He lifted his gaze.
From her... To Sebastian. And in that quiet, suspended space between them. Sothing shifted.
Confusion... gave way. Piece by piece. To understanding. And what replaced it. Was far more dangerous.
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