I pushed through the mahogany doors without knocking, my heels clicking against the polished marble.
The conference room fell silent, twenty suits turned toward me like a flock of startled ravens.
"Miss Harper—" someone started.
I swept past the analysts clutching their tablets, past the lawyers with their briefcases, straight to the head of the table where Augustus sat.
"Gentlemen," I said, turning to face the room with my brightest socialite smile. "I need the room."
Murmurs rippled through the group. A silver-haired director leaned forward.
"Ms. Harper, we're in the middle of—"
"I'm aware." My smile never wavered. "Now, everyone out."
The Harper name hung in the air like expensive perfume. Chairs scraped back. Papers rustled.
One by one, they filed out, shooting glances between Augustus and me. The heavy doors clicked shut.
Augustus leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. The late afternoon light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows cast sharp shadows across his face.
"Let me guess," he said, voice flat as steel.
"Your stylist double-booked? Or perhaps daddy's threatening to cut your allowance again?"
I crossed my arms.
"Always so dramatic, Juliette. What earth-shattering crisis requires interrupting a board meeting this time?"
The condescension in his voice made my jaw clench. Always reducing me to daddy's spoiled daughter.
I slapped the sealed envelope onto the mahogany table. It landed with a sharp crack that echoed through the empty conference room.
The pregnancy test followed—two pink lines stark against white plastic.
Augustus stared at the objects like they were foreign artifacts. His fingers remained steepled, but I caught the slight twitch in his left eye.
"What is this?"
"Use that Ivy League brain of yours." I planted my palms on the table, leaning forward.
"What does it look like?"
His gaze flicked between the test and my face. The color drained from his cheeks, leaving him pale as winter marble.
"Juliette—"
"Congratulations, Mr. CEO, you're going to be a father."
His expression didn't change. Not even a flicker.
"Very amusing." Augustus picked up his Mont Blanc pen, clicking it twice. "Though I expected better production value from you."
The dismissal hit like a slap. Heat flooded my cheeks.
"You think this is a joke?"
"Isn't it?" He set the pen down. "Another one of your elaborate schemes for attention?"
"Attention?" My voice cracked. "I'm terrified out of my mind, and you think I'm performing?"
"You've been performing since we were children, Juliette." His tone stayed level, but his knuckles whitened around the pen.
"Remember the 'pregnancy scare' junior year? Or when you claimed you were moving to Paris?"
"This is different—"
"Is it?" Augustus stood, his chair rolling back silently. "You've been pretending that night never happened for weeks."
My stomach dropped. The accusation hung between us like a blade.
"Every morning you waltz in here with your coffee and your reports, acting like we didn't—" He stopped himself, jaw working.
"Like I didn't wake up to an empty bed and a note about 'maintaining professionalism.'"
The memory burned. His apartment. Rain against the windows. My dress on his floor. The way he'd whispered my name.
"Augustus—"
"Five weeks, Juliette. Five weeks of you scheduling meetings through my secretary instead of walking ten feet to my office."
His voice stayed controlled, but something dangerous flickered in his eyes.
"Five weeks of you leaving rooms when I enter them."
I couldn't deny it. Every accusation landed true.
"And now you storm in here, interrupt my board meeting, and drop this bombshell?" He gestured at the test.
"What am I supposed to think?"
My throat tightened. This felt like a mistake—all of it. The night together. Avoiding him. Coming here.
"I thought—" My voice cracked.
"What did you think, Juliette?"
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. The words scattered like leaves in wind.
None of this was supposed to happen. We were supposed to stay in our lanes—him the golden boy, me the family disappointment.
Professional distance. Clean lines.
But it did happen. His hands in my hair. My name on his lips. And now—
"I thought you should know." The words tumbled out small and broken. "That's all."
Tears blurred my vision. I turned toward the windows, away from his penetrating stare. The city stretched below us, tiny cars threading through streets like ants.
"I'm not planning to keep it anyway."
The silence stretched between us like a chasm. I kept my back turned, watching the city blur through my tears.
Behind me, I could hear his footsteps approaching.
"Juliette." His voice had become softer, as if he had finally comprehended what I had said.
I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand.
"When did you find out?" His fingers wrapped around my wrist, gentle but firm.
"A few days ago." I couldn't meet his eyes. "I kept taking tests, thinking maybe the first one was wrong, and when the lines never disappeared… I couldn't pretend anymore."
His thumb brushed against my pulse point. I felt his hand tremble.
"Have you told anyone? Your parents?"
I shook my head. "Just you."
Something shifted in his expression, relief mixed with protective instincts.
"Good." His other hand came up to cup my face, thumb catching a tear I didn't realize had fallen.
"That's good."
The tenderness in his touch undid me completely. This was the Augustus I remembered from that night—not the CEO, not the golden boy, just him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I thought—God, Juliette, I'm so sorry."
I leaned into his palm, closing my eyes.
"What are we going to do?"
When I opened them, his face had transformed.
Gone was the uncertainty, replaced by that familiar determination that had carried him through every challenge since childhood.
"Then we'll do it my way." His hand cupped my cheek, voice low but firm.
"From this moment, Juliette, you're not just my assistant. You're my wife."