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Lowell Lombardi and I were together for seven years. He was getting married. Our last night together, he was insatiable, trying every way he knew how. He was in a good mood when I woke up. He slid a five-carat diamond ring onto my finger, his voice low and raspy. “Nothing has to change. You’ll still come here at night.” I froze. Lowell arched an eyebrow, his smile laced with contempt. “What’s that look for?” “You didn’t really think I was going to end things, did you?” “My fiancée is… possessive. I don’t want her to know you exist.” “I arranged a date for you tonight.” “Play along.” He didn’t know. The day I walked out of that apartment, I boarded a ship out of New York and never looked back. … His words were a slap in the face, my cheeks burning with shame. “What’s that look on your face?” “Don’t tell me you actually fell for me.” He leaned against the headboard, watching me. I lifted my head to his broad back, still laced with the red marks I’d scratched into his skin last night. From eighteen to twenty-five. Seven years. That’s how long Lowell Lombardi and I had lived like this. At first, his driver would pick me up from Columbia every other day. Later, outside of classes, I spent most of my time here. In this penthouse on Central Park West. The living room was a wall of glass overlooking Central Park. I had an orange cat named Cheeto. Lowell was always busy, but he’d still make time to go with me to pick out toys for Cheeto. When I caught a cold, he would make me chicken noodle soup from scratch. Sometimes, it felt like love. I glanced down at the diamond ring on my middle finger. Lowell bent to kiss me, his voice still rough with sleep. “You’ve always liked this one, haven’t you?” “Consider it a gift. For our new arrangement.” “You’re still mine, Zinnia. At work, and otherwise.” “Isabella’s career is taking off.” “And you’re making a name for yourself in the New York media scene.” “Don’t get jealous and cause a scene with the press.” “I protect my own.” It was both a promise and a threat. My eyes stung. I opened my mouth to speak, but my stomach lurched violently. I bolted for the bathroom.“Zinnia.” Lowell followed me in. His eyes dropped to my stomach, his expression turning to ice. “The Lombardis don’t accept illegitimate children.” “You’ve been with me this long.” “You should know what happens if you try to keep it.” My breath hitched, and I snatched my hand away from my stomach. I looked up at him, forcing my voice to remain steady. “I didn’t sleep well. My stomach’s just upset. I think I caught a chill.” He frowned, then turned and walked out. The moment the door clicked shut, I let out a slow, shaky breath. I hadn’t been feeling well yesterday, so I went to the hospital. The doctor told me I was pregnant. Based on the timing, it must have happened two months ago. It was Lowell’s birthday. He didn’t want to use a condom. He kept me up all night. I forgot to take the pill. I’d planned on telling him today. Now, there was no point. He was right. The Lombardis would never accept a child like this. I’d seen how they handled these things six years ago. Lowell’s brother got some model in Europe pregnant. Not long after the baby was born, they both just… disappeared. Someone sent the crime scene photos to my email. One look was all it took. I didn’t sleep right for a month. I took a moment to steady myself before pulling the ultrasound photo from my bag. It was just a tiny black dot. I traced it with my finger. Then I crumpled the photo into a tight ball, dropped it in the toilet, and flushed.When I came out of the bathroom, Lowell was already dressed. He stood before the wall of windows in a perfectly tailored dark suit, reading The Wall Street Journal. When he saw me pull out my suitcase, he lowered the paper and glanced at Cheeto, who was curled up on the sofa. “Zinnia, you don’t have to move out right away.” “You and Cheeto can stay in the apartment.” “No.” I shook my head. “When it’s over, it’s over.” “I’ll find my own place in a few days.” Lowell didn’t press. He just turned and headed downstairs. By the time I’d changed and come down, he had already laid out breakfast. A steaming cup of herbal tea sat on the table. “Drink this.” “The temperature dropped. Don’t want you getting sick.” I froze. He’d actually believed my excuse. So he wouldn’t get suspicious, I picked up the cup and took a few sips. He took a lemon candy from a glass jar, unwrapped it, and held it to my lips. The sight of the candy made my nose sting. I hate anything bitter. He always gave me one after I had to take medicine or drink something I didn’t like. But now, all I could taste was bitterness. “It’s awful,” I said, forcing a smile. “Not sweet at all today.” A flicker of something crossed Lowell’s face, gone in an instant. Then he picked up the glass jar and tossed it into the trash can. “Fine. Then we’ll throw it out.” “Isabella doesn’t like sweets. Finds the smell… cloying.” My gaze fell on the candy jar in the trash, and a fist squeezed my heart. He’d bought it for me at a charity auction in Paris for my twentieth birthday. He’d told me it was from an old shop that was closing down, the last of its kind. Before leaving, Lowell stopped me and sent an address to my phone. “Leo Moretti. You remember him, right?” “He gave you that model sailboat for your birthday last year, after he got back from his trip.” “Meet him there tonight.” “It’s a charity dinner. There will be reporters.” I understood completely. The Lombardis had just announced his engagement to Isabella Rossi—a strategic merger, not a marriage. After seven years, I was a liability he needed to manage. The cleanest way was to make it look like I’d moved on. That I was already seeing someone else, maybe even seriously. “Don’t worry. I’ll go.” I answered, turning to leave. But Lowell caught my wrist, his eyes unreadable. “Zinnia. We were together for seven years. I’m not going to leave you with nothing.” “If there’s something you want, just name it.” I looked up at the small mole just under his right eye and smiled faintly. “I want you to marry me. Can I have that?” Lowell froze, his brow knitting together. Before he could answer, I snatched it back. “I’m kidding.” “I have to get to work.” “The station is giving me the Reporter of the Year award today. I can’t be late.”

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