29. Positive
POSITIVE
LIAM
Something was wrong.
Deepika had suddenly left two days ago, texting me that she was staying with her parents in San Diego for some wedding thing. And she wasn’t answering my calls.
Well, she did eventually answer. But after the fifth or sixth attempt.
Her voice seemed flat and emotionless as if she were reading from a script.
“I’m fine. Just busy with family stuff.”
What the fuck?
“When are you coming home?”
“I don’t know. I’ll let you know.”
And she hung up. She didn’t even give me a chance to ask her if everything was okay. No ‘I love you,’ and not ‘I miss you.’ There was no warmth in her voice.
I stared at my phone, confusion twisting in my gut.
We had been perfect two days ago. We were in love, happy, and I was going to talk to her about our future that night. But she had disappeared on me.
What the hell had changed?
I sent her texts.
Everything okay?
Did I do something wrong?
Please talk to me
I promise I won’t eat your cereal again
She didn’t reply for hours until finally, at midnight, I got her reply.
Deepika: I’m fine. Talk later.
And that was it.
I should have driven to San Diego and demanded answers. But then my phone exploded with notifications, and suddenly Deepika’s distance became the least of my problems.
Because the next morning, I was part of yet another scandal.
I rolled my eyes and clicked on the article.
Olympic Swimmer’s Dark Secret: Liam James Involved in Teammate’s Career-Ending Injury
Bull-fucking-shit!
I almost threw my phone at the wall and paused. I didn’t want to miss a call or text from Deepika.
So I read the article, my coffee going cold in my hand and trying to make sense of words that couldn’t possibly be real.
George Brown was my teammate from two years ago. The article claimed I had sabotaged him during training and pushed him off the starting block, causing the shoulder injury that ended his Olympic career.
There were witness statements, photos of us arguing poolside, and text messages that looked damning out of context.
All of it was fabricated, of course.
But it was convincing enough that by noon, two sponsors had pulled out. The Olympic committee had opened an investigation, and Twitter was a war-zone of people calling for my head.
Xavier called, his voice panicking, “We need damage control. Now.”
“It’s not true,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “None of it.”
“I know that, but perception is reality, and right now, you look guilty as hell.”
My phone buzzed, and I saw the text from George himself.
George: Dude, what the fuck? I never said any of this shit!
Relief flooded through me. “George didn’t give those statements, so someone’s setting me up.”
“Sofia,” Xavier said, his voice grim. “It has to be her. She’s been quiet since that last article, so I guess she was planning this.”
I thought about the Portuguese swimmer I had rejected two years ago and the lies she had told.
I ran a hand through my hair. “Can we prove it?”
“I’m working on it. But in the meantime, you need to lie low. No statements, no social media, and for God’s sake, don’t do anything that gives them more ammunition.”
I hung up and immediately called Deepika.
It rang. And rang. And rang.
Finally, she answered. “Liam.”
“You saw the article?”
“Everyone saw the article.”
“It’s not true. You know that, right? You know I would never—”
“Liam.”
I stopped and heard her sigh. “I have to go.”
“Deepika, wait—”
“I’ll call you later.”
The line went dead. I stared at my phone, that sick feeling in my gut spreading.
She didn’t believe me.
Or worse… she didn’t care.
Deepika
My father stood in the doorway of my childhood bedroom, his arms crossed, and face set in that expression that meant he had already made up his mind.
“You need to distance yourself from this boy. From this... scandal.”
I sat on my bed. The same bed I slept in growing up, with its faded purple comforter and the stuffed elephant I had since I was five. The walls were covered in photos of me and Diya as kids, matching outfits and gap-toothed smiles, family vacations, me and Priya making faces at the camera.
A life that felt like it belonged to someone who was happy and joyful.
“Dad, we talked—”
He interrupted me, his voice firm. “Our family name cannot be attached to this. I’m sorry, beta, but you need to end it before it destroys everything you’ve worked for.”
He left before I could respond.
I stared at the closed door with my father’s words echoing in my head.
He was right for me to end it, but I knew Liam would never do that to his teammate.
But I wanted to end it and protect myself from the inevitable moment when Liam dropped me the way Yash had.
But the thought of actually doing it made my chest ache.
My phone rang, and I glanced at the caller ID. It was Ananya Mehta’s assistant.
I answered. “Hello?”
“Deepika, we have finalized the filming dates, but there’s a complication,” the assistant continued. “Chemistry reads and first rehearsals start in three weeks. And with this... situation with Liam, the studio is putting you up for reconsideration. They’re concerned about the association.”
Her robotic words hit me like a slap.
“So, what are you saying?” I asked, sitting up.
“I’m saying you still might have a choice to make, and you need to make it soon.”
She hung up, and I sat there, phone in hand, staring at nothing.
My dream role. The thing I had sacrificed everything for. I can’t let it go just like that. I had worked—
My stomach churned.
I ran to the bathroom and threw up.
After settling into my bed, I realized that my body felt wrong in ways I couldn’t explain, and I was exhausted almost all the time.
I had chalked it up to Liam’s betrayal, but then I realized that we hadn’t used protection. Mostly because I was on the pill and he was clean and it had felt safe.
Except my cycle was all over the place from the chaos of the past month.
I stared at the pregnancy test I had bought from the pharmacy down the street, hands shaking so badly I could barely open the package.
Two minutes and I watched the lines appear.
Two pink lines.
Positive.
I stared at the test, my hand trembled so hard it clattered onto the bathroom counter.
Pregnant.
I was pregnant with Liam James’s baby.
Liam, who was apparently playing me this whole time.
Liam, who was about to be destroyed by a scandal.
Liam, whom I had stupidly and recklessly fallen in love with.
I looked at myself in the mirror, still wearing his UCLA Swimming t-shirt that I had stolen weeks ago, hickeys from our last night together fading on my neck and my grandmother’s ring feeling heavy on my finger.
My hand moved to my stomach.
Our fake engagement ended in two weeks at the Indian wedding.
But this?
This was very, very real.
“What the fuck,” I whispered as my legs gave out. I slid down the bathroom wall as I felt my entire world collapse.
I was pregnant with Liam’s baby, and I did not know what the hell to do about it.
The End.
For Now…
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DON’T MARRY YOUR NEMESIS: Nothing says “I do” like getting pregnant by your lifelong nemesis.
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FREE BOOK: He is my only chance at freedom. She is the daughter of my enemy. Will their love survive?
“I am asking you to marry me.”
“Are you asking or ordering, Sultan?”
“I am asking, Princess.” I smiled at her.
“For now.”
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