The taxi ride was a blur of neon and shame. Natalie watched through streaked windows as the glittering skyline of Adrian's world faded behind her. When the cab finally stopped at the Starlight Inn, the driver's impatient sigh as she counted out her last cash felt like a preview of her new life.
The room was exactly what she'd expected. Faded floral wallpaper curled at the edges. The air smelled of disinfectant and desperation. She dropped her suitcase by the door, the sound echoing in the silence. This was her reality now: a $79-a-night monument to how quickly a life could unravel.
Her phone vibrated in her hand. Adrian.
She let it ring three times, each tone a hammer against her ribs. Part of her, the weak, hopeful part, wondered if he'd call to apologize, to beg her to come home.
She answered. "What?"
"Come home." No greeting. No hesitation. His voice was flat, the same tone he used when correcting an underling's spreadsheet error.
"I saw the video." Her throat tightened around the words. "There is no home."
"A misunderstanding." The dismissal was so casual it stole her breath. "The real issue is this pregnancy claim. Is it even true?"
"Claim?" The word landed like a slap. "It's true."
A pause. She could picture him in his study, calculating. "The timing is problematic. With the merger and Sophia's situation, it's an impediment. I've scheduled a termination for tomorrow. Dr. Reed is discreet."
Termination. He said it like he was canceling a dinner reservation.
Her hand flew to her stomach. "No."
"Be rational, Natalie." His voice sharpened. "You have no resources. No marketable skills. This fantasy ends one way: with you failing. The appointment is at nine."
"I'm keeping this baby. I'm never coming back to you."
The silence stretched, sharp enough to cut. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped to a lethal calm. "Then you've chosen your path. All accounts are frozen. Every card canceled. When this delusion collapses, don't bother calling."
The line went dead.
She stood frozen, phone pressed to her ear. The dial tone buzzed like a trapped insect. He'd done it. Severed her completely.
The room seemed to shrink, the stained carpet and peeling wallpaper closing in. She stumbled to the bathroom, gripping the sink as nausea washed over her. Her reflection in the speckled mirror showed a ghost: pale, wide-eyed, terrified.
An impediment.
The words echoed in the tiled space. He'd reduced their child to an obstacle, reduced her to a problem to be solved.
A sound escaped her, not a sob, but a raw, guttural cry of pure rage. She stormed back into the main room, grabbing the cheap lamp from the nightstand. She threw it against the wall. It shattered with a satisfying crash, plastic shards skittering across the floor.
Good. Let something else be broken too.
She paced the tiny room: three steps, turn, three steps, her mind racing. No money. No job, with a baby on the way. The panic was a live wire in her chest. But underneath the fear, something colder was forming. Harder.
He thought she would break. He thought she'd come crawling back once reality set in.
He was wrong.
She looked at the broken lamp, then at her cracked phone screen. Something shifted inside her. The fear didn't vanish, but it now had a companion: resolve.
The phone buzzed on the floor, a glow from the cracked screen.
She picked it up. Not Adrian. The unknown number.
*You're welcome.*
The two words glowed, a fresh wave of poison. Before she could process the anger, a second vibration. An email alert.
She opened it. No subject. No message. Just a single hyperlink.
*Executive Assistant to CEO, Blackwood Global Holdings. Application Deadline: 24 hours.*
Lucas Black. Adrian's most hated rival. The man he called a shark in expensive suits.
This wasn't a lifeline. It was a weapon. And someone had just handed it to her.
She stared at the link, her heart pounding. This was crossing a line from which there was no return. It was an act of war.
But as she looked around the shabby room, at the shattered lamp and the stained carpet, she realized the war had already begun. Adrian had fired the first shot. This was simply her chance to fire back.
Her fingers tightened around the phone. The cracked screen dug into her palm.
Game on.