13. Silence
THIRTEEN
SILENCE
Bella
His text stares at me from my phone screen: I need a few days.
It’s been thirty-six hours. Not that I’m counting.
The penthouse feels massive without him here. The kitchen where we first crossed the line from fake to something real. The living room where he’d work late, pretending not to watch me over his laptop. The hallway where just days ago he’d pressed me against the wall, whispering, “You’re mine,” like he meant it.
What a joke.
I drag myself to work because what else can I do? Sit here and count the hours? Watch that damn pregnancy test mock me from the bathroom counter?
“You look terrible,” Brian, a co-worker, says when I get to the office. “Logan still in Singapore?”
I manage a nod, grateful he thinks this is about the takeover. Grateful no one knows I’m just another one of Logan Fraser’s mistakes.
My phone buzzes. For a second, my heart jumps, but it’s just Audrey. Again. I let it go to voicemail like I have since yesterday.
By hour forty-eight, I’m cycling between anger and self-loathing. How could I be so stupid? All those years watching him charm Audrey’s friends, watched them fall for his accent and his intensity, only to be discarded when things got too real. I used to judge them for being naive.
Now look at me.
I find myself in his study at midnight, surrounded by evidence of our fake life together. Meeting notes where his handwriting crowds the margins of mine. That expensive fountain pen I bought him as a joke, engraved with “To the most insufferable CEO.” The photo from Audrey’s wedding, the night that started all this.
My hand drifts to my stomach. Barely anything there yet, but everything’s different now.
Melissa lasted three months before Logan got bored. Sarah made it to six weeks. Karen—well, Karen was just a weekend, but at least she didn’t end up pregnant.
None of them did.
Just me.
Just the assistant who should have known better. Who let herself believe all those moments meant something real. The midnight cookies, the quiet conversations, the way he’d reach for me in crowds like it was instinct.
His coffee cup sits unwashed in the sink, and suddenly I’m furious. At him, at myself, at this whole mess we’ve created.
The cup shatters satisfyingly against the wall.
“Very mature,” I mutter to myself, but it feels good. Like maybe if I break enough things, I can break whatever this feeling is in my chest.
Hour sixty brings a new text.
Still need time.
I stare at the words until they blur. Time for what? Time to figure out how to get rid of me? Time to craft the perfect exit strategy?
The irony is I watched him navigate the aftermath of his other relationships with Audrey’s friends. Always so careful, so controlled. A generous severance here, a recommendation there. Nobody ever got hurt enough to make waves.
I wonder what my severance package will look like.
My phone lights up with another call from Audrey. She’s been trying nonstop, probably to do damage control like always. To explain away her brother’s behavior with carefully chosen words about his past, his trauma, and his inability to commit.
I’ve heard it all before. Especially when she’d call and complain about all the others.
The others. God, I’m just another name on that list now.
Except they were smart enough not to get pregnant. Smart enough not to let a few heated moments and some whispered words in that damn accent make them forget who Logan Fraser really is.
It was a scam, his scam. For those brief weeks when this felt real. His scent still lingers on the sheets. I remember that it was such a morning—when things were starting to feel real—after I moved in, finding coffee by my bedside. Such a simple gesture, but it made me believe maybe this time was different.
Maybe I was different.
Hour seventy-two approaches, and the silence is deafening. Three days. He asked for a few days, and here I am, watching the clock like some lovesick teenager instead of the professional I’m supposed to be.
The pregnancy test still sits on my nightstand, two lines still clearly visible—two lines that changed everything. Or maybe nothing was ever really different, to begin with.
My phone buzzes. Audrey again.
This time, I pick up.
“I’m coming over,” she says before I can speak. “And Bella? Don’t you dare leave before I get there.”
I look at my half-packed suitcase, and at the resignation letter I started drafting last night and say nothing.
Some silences speak for themselves.
Audrey finds me in Logan’s home office, staring at his desk where my letter and key will soon lie. My suitcase waits by the door.
“Don’t do this,” she says immediately.
“I’ve already done it.” I smooth the letter one last time. Simple, professional. Like the last few months never happened. Like I’m just another assistant giving notice.
“He’s fighting battles you don’t understand.”
“No.” I turn to face her. “I don’t want to hear about his battles or his trauma or whatever excuse you’ve crafted this time. I sat by while you crafted too many of those speeches for his other girlfriends.”
“This is different?—”
“Because I’m pregnant?” I laugh, but it comes out wrong. “Yeah, that’s different, alright. None of the others were stupid enough to let that happen.”
“Bella, stop.” She steps forward. “Logan, he... when our mother died?—”
“I can’t.” My voice cracks. “I can’t hear another explanation. I can’t sit here waiting for him to decide if I’m worth the trouble. Three days, Audrey. Three days of silence while I sit here wondering if any of it was real. While I sit here with his baby.”
“It was real.” She grabs my hands. “God, Bella, it was more real than anything he’s ever?—”
“Then where is he?”
She doesn’t answer.
I pull away, grabbing my letter. “I’ve watched you clean up his messes for years. And I always thought the others were idiots for falling for it. For believing they’d be different.”
“You are different.”
“Yeah?” I set the letter and key on his desk, right where he’ll see them. “I’m the one who got pregnant. I’m the one he left here. Alone.”
“Please.” Tears stream down Audrey’s face. “Just wait. Let him explain?—”
“Explain what?” My voice cracks. “How this was all pretend until it wasn’t? How he never meant for it to go this far?” I grip my suitcase handle until my knuckles turn white. “I know the script, Audrey. Hell, I gave you some of the ideas.”
“He loves you.”
I laugh, the sound bordering on hysterical. “No. I was just a means to an end. The perfect assistant who could play the devoted girlfriend and bring in investors.”
“Bella...” She reaches for my hand. “There’s something else. I’m pregnant too, just a little further along than you, but… you’re not alone. We’re in this together.”
The suitcase slips from my grip, hitting the floor with a thud. For a moment, all my pain vanishes. “What? Oh my God, Audrey!”
I throw my arms around her, both of us crying now. “Louis must be over the moon.”
“He is.” She holds me tight. “Our babies could be like siblings, born within months of each other, growing up together?—”
“No.” I pull back sharply, reality crashing back. “Not this baby.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t...” My voice breaks. “I can’t bring a child into a world where their father runs at the first sign of commitment. I won’t let them grow up feeling unwanted.”
“Bella, you can’t mean?—”
“I have other options to consider.” The words taste bitter. “Better than being another one of Logan Fraser’s mistakes.”
“You’re not a mistake!” Her voice cracks. “Logan’s fighting demons you don’t know about. Things only he can tell you.”
“Then he should have told me!” The scream rips from my throat, startling us both. “Instead of leaving me here for three days, wondering if I imagined everything. Abandoning me and wondering if it was real.”
“It was real.”
I grab my suitcase, hands shaking. “Then why am I the one standing here alone?”
“At least tell me where?—”
“You know where.” Cedar Grove. Where everything is simpler. Mom was always right.
The elevator doors open. I step inside, finally letting the sobs take over. Through my tears, I see Audrey reaching for me, but it’s too late.
I delete all of Logan’s messages. Then, his number.
Outside, New York rises around me. Three months ago, I stood in this same spot, plotting revenge on Logan Fraser for dismissing me after one night.
Now, I’m leaving with more than just wounded pride. Now I’m leaving with his child.
My Uber arrives. The driver helps with my suitcase and asks about my destination.
“Penn Station,” I tell him.
I don’t look back at the penthouse as we pull away.
In some battles, it turns out, you have to choose not to fight.