Marcus sat alone in the dimly lit living room of his penthouse, the city lights of Aurelia Bay glittering far below like distant stars. The half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand had gone warm, untouched for the past twenty minutes. He stared at the floor-to-ceiling windows, but his mind was somewhere else entirely — replaying Clara's words from the day before like a broken record he couldn't turn off.
*Saw your precious ex at the hospital today. She looked awful. Was hanging around the maternity wing. Interesting, isn't it?*
He had kept his face neutral when she said it. He hadn't let the disappointment show. Not to Clara. She was useful, ambitious, and always ready with a knife if she sensed weakness. But inside, the words had hit him like a punch to the gut.
Fiona. Pregnant.
