Silver sat in the soft morning light, a mug of tea cradled in her hands, the porcelain warm against her palms. Her small apartment smelled faintly of jasmine and fresh linen, sunlight spilling across the wooden floor, catching the scattered bouquets she had placed in delicate vases throughout the room. The bathroom tiles gleamed faintly, the mirrors spotless, and the kitchen counters carried the quiet charm of organized calm. Steam curled upward from her mug, fragrant but tasteless.
Dr. Marvin's words repeated themselves in her mind—two months along, black ink confirming it. She pressed a hand to her flat abdomen. Dizziness, nausea—ignored symptoms—were all that hinted at what she now carried.
Could she face Edward? Should she even tell him? She rose, pacing past the tiny kitchen counter, past the vases and candles, the soft clink of her bare feet against the tiles grounding her thoughts. Not while he was engaged to another. He probably wouldn't believe her.
Her phone rang sharply. Relief washed over her at Henry's name. His concern was gentle, his voice steady. She tried to sound fine, but her words came out thin. When he urged her to rest, she promised she would and ended the call quickly, adding she'd visit Emma before she left the hospital.
Moments later, the phone rang again. She answered without checking, assuming it was him again.
"Henry, I—"
"Miss Quinn?"
She froze, her eyes widening.
"Doctor Marvin?"
"I… I'm sorry to call at home," he said, uneasy. "Someone came asking for you. He was insistent. When I refused, he grew angry—threatened me."
"Threatened you?" Her voice caught.
"I told you everything," he murmured. "He mentioned my family, Miss Quinn."
Silver's fingers tightened around the phone until her knuckles ached. "Thank you for telling me."
Her mind raced. Who could it be? The thought sent nerves fluttering through her.
A knock followed almost immediately. Slow. Firm. Deliberate.
Each step toward the door felt leaden. Through the peephole, rain plastered Edward's hair to his forehead, eyes dark, unrelenting.
"Silver," he said, low and commanding. "Open the door."
Her hand trembled as she turned the lock. He stepped inside, water dripping onto the carpet.
"How did you get my address?" she demanded.
"You're pregnant, aren't you?" The words weren't a question—they were a claim.
"You threatened my doctor. That's illegal," she said, steadying herself.
"Oh, I'd like to see him try," he snapped, soaked clothes clinging, arrogance radiating.
Silver folded her arms, studying the rain tracing patterns on the windows. Edward had always been daring, insistent—but to threaten her doctor? Even so, there was something magnetic about him, something that had always drawn her in.
"I'd stay, Silver. Even if—" His voice cracked, "…even if the baby isn't mine."
Her eyes widened slightly, warmth pooling low in her stomach. She drew in a quick breath, taken aback by the weight of his words.
"But it is," she whispered.
She studied his face, searching for any hint of the man she had once thought she knew. Did he want children? Had they ever talked about this while together? Flashes of smiles over hypothetical futures, jokes about names—nothing real, nothing like this.
A fragile smile touched her lips. Rare, this seriousness between them.
His shoulders softened, gaze sharp. "Then why keep it from me for two months?"
"I just found out," she said, voice steady despite her fluttering heart.
Edward's lips twisted into that maddening, confident smile. She tossed a book lightly at him. He dodged, impossibly composed.
"Now we need to think ahead—for the baby, for everything next," he said, calm, almost gentle.
"No," she murmured, resisting softly. "I haven't decided yet."
"There's no decision. Our child is not up for debate," he said firmly.
He towered over her, presence undeniable. Broad shoulders stretched against the wet fabric of his shirt, his height casting a shadow that made her feel small, almost fragile in comparison.
"It's my body, my choice," she said calmly. "You can go back to your fiancée."
Silence settled, rain hammering the windows, soft drips from his hair onto the carpet. She had expected him to leave. She was used to that.
A stubborn, quiet part of her ached toward him—a reminder of the past, complicated and raw.
Strong, warm hands wrapped around her, possessive yet careful. She shivered, heart hammering, leaning into him. The air between them seemed charged, every nerve alive, a low hum threading through her body.
Edward tilted her chin, gaze steady, and kissed her. It began soft—hesitant, exploratory, a brush of lips that sent shivers racing down her spine. She tasted the faint salt of rain and the warmth of him. Her breath caught, mingling with his, as if their hearts had found the same rhythm after months apart.
Slowly, deliberately, the kiss deepened. His lips pressed firmly, drawing her closer. She leaned into him, letting her fingers trace the line of his shoulders, memorizing the strength she'd missed. Every inhale, every tremor tied her to him, and to the storm of desire she had denied herself.
He pulled her slightly closer, hands gliding down her back with gentle insistence. Her own hands roamed cautiously, brushing through the wet fabric of his shirt, feeling the heat of him against her palms. She shivered against him, the combination of rain-soaked warmth and tender pressure igniting something raw and urgent inside her.
When he drew back just enough to look at her, foreheads pressed together, breath mingling in soft pants, she saw the flicker in his eyes—the same intensity she felt mirrored in her own. Every raindrop hammering against the windows seemed muted, distant, as if the world had narrowed to the space between them.
Edward brushed a thumb across her cheek, tracing the contour with care. "No problem," he murmured, voice low, intimate, a rumble that resonated in her chest. "Tell me when you've decided."
She inhaled shakily. "If I keep this child… what happens to us?"
His lips hovered near her temple, voice iron beneath tenderness. "Then I do what's best. For both of you. For us."
She rested her head against his chest, letting the warmth and steady heartbeat ground her. He didn't promise to break the engagement, nor did he declare love outright. But in acknowledging her child, her choice, a fragile hope began to take root.
They stayed that way long after the storm passed, breathless and connected, aware of every subtle shift, every heartbeat echoing in the quiet. The city outside remained wet and gray, indifferent. Inside, there was only Edward, her child, and the slow, undeniable thread of trust, desire, and tentative hope weaving them together.
Her gaze lifted to his face. She let herself wonder—not about the past, not about betrayal, but about what might still be possible. And in that thought, quiet, daring hope began to bloom, full and unexpected.