I, Abigail Graham, and Serena Vance were notorious rivals at the company. We fought over deals at work and, in private, we fought over men. After three years of relentless competition for the same man, I suddenly found it utterly pointless. So, I chose Art Sterling, our new superior, who had actively sought me out. For two years, we loved each other. Our bodies intertwined with an undeniable chemistry. We were on the cusp of marriage. The unexpected news of my pregnancy filled me with such elation; I was eager to share it with Art. But then, in the break room, I overheard his conversation with Serena. “Are you really going to marry Abby, just for me?” Serena’s voice was a soft purr. “It doesn’t matter who I marry, does it? Besides, she’s quite comfortable in bed.” Art chuckled, a casual, almost dismissive sound. “She’s not entirely useless.” “But what if I don’t want her to get off that easy?” Serena pressed, a sly edge to her tone. “Are you willing to let go of Marcus Thorne?” Art’s voice held a knowing note. Serena’s laughter, a light, triumphant trill, echoed in the room. A wave of icy dread washed over me, as if I’d been struck by lightning. My assumed mutual love was nothing but a calculated conspiracy. My mind went blank, swallowed by a boundless, suffocating darkness. I made the decision to terminate the pregnancy. Then, I dialed Marcus Thorne’s number. 1 The doctor held the ultrasound sheet, and I sat across from her, numb. “Yes, you’re pregnant. About a month and a half along. Are you married?” “No.” “Will you keep the baby or not?” “Not keeping it.” “When would you like the procedure?” “As soon as possible.” “Alright, then schedule a time with the assistant physician.” “Okay.” I left the hospital, my steps heavy, my mind a disoriented haze. I called my father. “Dad, the wedding I mentioned to you is off.” My father sounded stunned. “Abby, didn’t you say last time that you and Art had a wonderful relationship? That he was mature, steady, and truly exceptional?” “Did something happen?” I felt a pang of shame. “We broke up.” My father sighed. “Well, if you broke up, you broke up.” “You can find someone else you truly like. You know your mother’s and my thoughts—we hope you’ll stay close to us.” “I know, Dad. I’ll consider it.” “I’m sorry to make you worry.” After hanging up, I sat alone on the sofa, staring into space. The sound of the door opening broke my reverie. Art was home. He leaned in, hugging me, pressing a kiss to my cheek. His voice was laced with an irritating cheerfulness. “What reason did you give for taking time off this afternoon?” “You wouldn’t tell me. Why are you sitting in the living room, staring into space?” The memory of his conversation with Serena flashed through my mind, and I gently pulled away from his embrace. “I just felt a bit unwell, so I came home early.” His expression shifted, clearly showing concern. “Unwell? Why didn’t you tell me?” “Are you feeling better now?” “Should we go to the hospital?” I scrutinized the man before me, carefully examining his face. His features were etched with what looked like genuine worry and care. If I hadn’t overheard that conversation, who would have ever guessed it was all a charade? “Art, I’m pregnant.” At my words, a flicker of discomfort instantly crossed his face, quickly followed by a wide, beaming smile. “Really? That’s wonderful!” he exclaimed, his voice too loud, too forced. “It seems we’ll have to speed up our wedding plans.” That brief, almost imperceptible flicker of discomfort I’d caught was now seared into my mind. So, I hadn’t misheard. He really was marrying me for Serena. His entire approach to me was merely to clear away the obstacles in his true love’s path. How incredibly noble of him, sacrificing himself for the woman he adored! But why did I have to be the sacrifice? Was playing people like this truly so satisfying? I lowered my head, nodding slightly. Then I asked the question that had been hovering, a persistent ache in my chest. “Art, do you love me?” He stroked my hair, his touch a familiar comfort that now felt like a betrayal. “Of course I love you!” “If I didn’t love you, why would I want to marry you?” I closed my eyes. “Then… is there anything you’ve been keeping from me?” “Or, to put it another way, have you lied to me?” His cheek twitched almost imperceptibly. “How could I ever lie to you?” “I love you too much for that. We’re going to be together forever.” I let out a soft, hollow laugh. I had given him a chance, but he insisted on continuing the deception. Then he had no one to blame but himself. There would be a wedding, alright. Just not our wedding. 2 In the conference room, Art spoke first. “Abby, what’s the progress on the Starlight project?” “I’ve scheduled a meeting with Mr. Evans from Starlight tonight. There are still a few concession points to finalize.” The Starlight project was one I had pursued for two months before finally securing a meeting with Mr. Evans. Essentially, once Mr. Evans gave his nod, the contract could be signed immediately. Serena had initially been in charge of the project, but it had made no headway in the three months it was in her hands. Art had then transferred it to me. Her face had been livid at the time; I never found out how Art compensated her afterwards. As I mentally sorted through these convoluted relationships, Art’s voice cut in. “Serena and I will accompany you to the dinner tonight.” I stared at him, stunned. Him accompanying me, I could understand; he was my superior, after all. But bringing Serena along? What did that mean? Was she trying to snatch my project? Now, of all times? A wave of confusion washed over me. Mr. Evans had a known preference in the industry: he loved to drink, always wanting to have a good time. However, his wife strictly controlled his alcohol intake, making it notoriously difficult to schedule non-essential business dinners with him. The high-end private room was filled with seven or eight people, the atmosphere harmonious. Art was the first to raise his glass. “Mr. Evans, it’s truly our honor to have you here tonight.” “Abby here has an excellent tolerance for alcohol. At our company, she’s known for being able to drink anyone under the table.” “With her accompanying you tonight, I’m sure you’ll have a thoroughly enjoyable time.” My fingers, gripping the wine glass, turned white at the knuckles. I had told him just the day before that I was pregnant. It hadn’t even registered with him; he showed no regard for the child I carried, his child. Well, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t planning on keeping this baby anyway, otherwise I wouldn’t have scheduled this meeting with Mr. Evans. But the wine tonight was particularly foul. The combination of morning sickness and the alcohol’s bite made me feel waves of nausea, threatening to overwhelm me. Mr. Evans seemed to notice my discomfort. “Is Ms. Graham unwell?” I swallowed down the rising bile, about to speak, when Serena cut me off. “This little bit of wine is nothing for Ms. Graham.” “Wouldn’t you agree, Ms. Graham?” “How about I have a drink with Mr. Evans instead?” She moved to raise her glass, but Art’s hand covered it. “Mr. Evans, you might not know this, but Serena is allergic to alcohol.” “So, I’ll drink this one for her.” He raised his glass and downed it in one go, then displayed the empty glass to everyone. I had already chugged over a dozen glasses, and he hadn’t offered to take a single one for me. Yet the moment Serena even thought about raising her glass, he intervened. Indeed, love and indifference were starkly visible. I silently swallowed the bitterness in my heart. Art’s voice continued. “Mr. Evans, let Serena handle the subsequent details for our company. Ms. Graham here is getting married soon and might not have the time to oversee the project anymore.” My head snapped up, my gaze locking onto Art. So that was it. They had truly come tonight for the project in my hands. Mr. Evans’s eyes widened in surprise, then he offered an understanding smile. “Is that so? Well, congratulations, Ms. Graham. Life’s big events should certainly take precedence.” As the client, it didn’t really matter which account manager they signed the contract with, as long as the service was high-quality, efficient, and the costs were minimized. A look of triumph flashed across Serena’s face, her smile broad and brazen. My insides, however, churned with turmoil. Art’s flippant words had just undone months of my hard work. I had done the legwork, and the fruit was almost ripe, only to have someone else steal it. This was beyond enduring. So, I spoke up, my voice firm. “Mr. Evans, our boss is just joking!” “It’s just a wedding; it can definitely be postponed. Work still needs to come first.” “I prefer to finish what I start.” “I’ll continue to handle the follow-up work. There’s no need to trouble Serena.” Sure enough, Art’s face darkened, his brow furrowing as he glared at me. I met his gaze squarely, unflinching. Though this little spat had erupted, for Mr. Evans, it was all just a show. 3 After seeing Mr. Evans off, I could no longer suppress the retching in my throat. I rushed to the restroom and emptied my stomach, dry-heaving violently. When I emerged from the restroom, Serena was already settled in the passenger seat of Art’s car. From outside, I could clearly see Serena leaning her head close to Art. They were sharing some delightful secret, and Serena was laughing, her body shaking with mirth. As I got into the car, they abruptly cut off their conversation. Art deliberately took a detour to drop Serena off at her place. As she left, Serena shot me a dismissive, condescending smirk. I wondered where she found such confidence. Did she truly believe that because Art loved her, she could walk all over me? Back home, Art tossed his suit jacket onto the sofa, clearly agitated. “Giving the project to Serena was a company decision.” “On one hand, it’s for our wedding.” “On the other, Serena initiated this project. It’s just returning it to its rightful owner.” What pompous nonsense. Since when was stealing someone else’s hard work spun as something so righteous? “Serena started the project, yes, but she made zero progress for months, which is why it was handed to me.” “Now that it’s on the verge of signing, you’re saying it’s hers again? Do you think that’s fair to me?” “So, whose decision was this, really? The company’s, or yours?” His expression grew sheepish. “Aren’t we getting married soon?” “I was worried you’d be too busy with wedding preparations. Someone needs to follow up on the project, right?” “Besides, aren’t you pregnant? You should focus on taking care of yourself.” I scoffed inwardly. He didn’t think about my pregnancy when he was pushing me to drink. But now, when he needed an excuse for his outrageous behavior, he suddenly remembered. What was there to love about a man who didn’t even consider me? If he wanted to be Serena’s desperate lapdog, let him. Better yet, let them chain themselves together and spare everyone else their toxicity. Seeing my face still cold, he wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Still upset?” “I’m sorry, alright?” “My Abby is the most capable woman in the world, a true power player.” “She doesn’t need my protection at all.” Had he ever protected me? What a grand delusion. I’d thought the project transfer from Serena to me was a sign of his trust, but it was just a trap laid in advance. I was about to push him away when his phone rang. He quickly released me to answer. I heard a woman’s faint, broken sobs from the receiver. I glanced at the caller ID; it read ‘Serena’. I heard him whisper softly, “Don’t cry.” “Okay.” “I’ll be there soon.” He hung up, hastily grabbed his jacket, and moved to leave. As he reached the door, he seemed to remember to tell me. “My sister was bullied by her friends at school. I’m going to check on her.” “Get some rest tonight. Don’t wait up for me.” Before I could even speak, the door slammed shut. I stood rigidly in the living room, unmoving for a long time. His lie was so transparent, so pathetic. Art didn’t return all night. The next day, I saw Serena’s post on social media. [Heartbroken, but at least someone’s here for me…] The accompanying photo showed two hands intertwined, a larger hand cradling a smaller one. I examined it closely; it was Art’s hand. Though he wore no rings or watch, I recognized it immediately. For at least a year, that was the hand I’d held as I drifted to sleep. Serena truly moved on seamlessly. I wondered why Marcus Thorne had broken up with her. The next day, I went to the hospital and had the embryo removed. Before the procedure, I made a request to the doctor. “Doctor, can I have the embryo?” She looked surprised. “It’s already terminated. What do you want it for?” “It will breed bacteria!” I smiled, a cold, empty smile. “To do a DNA test. To see who the father is.” The doctor stared at me, dumbfounded, for a long moment, speechless. I guessed she was thinking, How chaotic must your private life be if you don’t even know who the father of your baby is? I shrugged, uncaring. Afterwards, I dialed Marcus Thorne’s number.
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