Fiona woke up in the morning with a knot in her stomach so tight it felt physical. She didn't reach for her coffee; she reached for her belly. Beneath the silk of her nightgown, she felt that rhythmic, tiny flutter a gentle reminder that while her world was fracturing, another was just beginning.
"I'm sorry," she whispered into the empty room, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep and unshed tears. "I'm sorry I put us in this position."
She had officially quit. The bridge wasn't just burned; it had been detonated with high explosives. The industry grapevine in Aurelia Bay was more of a noose than a vine, and right now, it was tightening around her neck. *Fiona Flare: The Corporate Spy. The Sellout. The Traitor.*
