Chapter 29 Tessa
TESSA
Waiting is the worst part.
It’s worse than the nausea roiling in my gut for three days. It’s worse than the dizziness making the floor tilt every time I stand up. It’s worse even than the moment I saw the red code scrolling across Asher’s screens and realized Nebula was trying to kill us.
Waiting for them to walk through that door feels like waiting for an executioner.
I’m sitting on my sofa, knees pulled up to my chest, wrapped in a blanket that smells like Owen. It’s a heavy, knitted thing that usually makes me feel safe, but right now, I’m convulsing beneath it. The air conditioning is set to seventy-two, but my skin feels like ice.
Owen is in the kitchen. I can hear him scraping burnt toast, the sound rhythmic and domestic, totally at odds with the tightness in my airway.
He sent the text fifteen minutes ago.
Get to Tessa’s apartment. Now.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. It’s a notification from the app.
System Reboot Successful. Services Restored.
Asher fixed it. Of course he did. He initiated a vapor lock to sever the database and kill the breach, but he brought the system back to life. He fixes things. He sees the world as a series of broken circuits that just need the right bridge to work again.
But he can’t fix this.
I slide my hand under the blanket and rest it on my stomach. It’s flat. Unchanged. There’s no physical evidence yet of the cataclysm happening inside me, but I can feel it. A hum. A heaviness. A biological truth that overrides every contract, every NDA, and every strategic plan I’ve ever written.
“Eat,” Owen walks into the living room.
He places a plate of dry toast and sliced apples on the coffee table. He moves the stack of brand-strategy binders I dragged home, the ones I was supposed to be working on, to make room for the food.
The symbolism isn’t lost on me. Work aside. Life first.
“I can’t,” I whisper. My stomach rolls at the smell of the toast.
“Two bites,” Owen negotiates, sitting next to me. He’s solid and warm, a human anchor in a room feeling like it’s spinning. He puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. “You need the fuel. You’re building a human. That’s exhausting work.”
I lean into him, squeezing my eyes shut. “They’re going to hate me, Owen. We just survived a hack. And now I’m dropping a nuclear bomb in the middle of the living room.”
“They love you,” Owen says simply. “That’s the variable that doesn’t change.”
“Love doesn’t pay the investors,” I argue, my voice thin. “Love doesn’t stop Markus Vance from tearing us apart. If this gets out… if Nebula finds out…”
“Markus isn’t going to find out,” Owen says, his voice hardening. “Because we’re going to lock this down. We’re going to protect you.”
Before I can argue, there’s a sharp knock at the door. Three rapid raps.
My heart hammers against my ribs, so hard I feel like it might bruise from the inside. I instinctively curl tighter into Owen.
“It’s open,” Owen calls out, his voice steady.
The door swings open.
Ethan strides in first, bringing the storm with him. His suit jacket is gone, sleeves rolled up, revealing the tension in his forearms, tie hanging loose around his neck. His eyes scan the room instantly, assessing threats and checking exits before landing on me like a laser.
Asher follows him, closing the door quietly and locking the deadbolt. He looks calmer, but his eyes are sharp, analytical. He’s carrying his laptop bag, because of course he is. Even in a crisis, Asher brings his tools.
“Is she hurt?” Ethan demands, closing the distance between us. He stops in front of the coffee table, looming over us. “You said ‘situation.’ Is it Nebula? Did Markus send someone here? Did Greg leak her address?”
“I’m fine, Ethan,” I say, my voice trembling. I try to stand, out of habit and respect, but my legs feel like jelly.
Owen keeps a steady hand on my back, anchoring me to the couch.
“She’s not hurt,” Owen says calmly. “Sit down, guys.”
“I don’t want to sit,” Ethan snaps, vibrating with adrenaline. “I want to know why my Brand Strategist is MIA, and why my brother is sending me cryptic texts while I’m trying to keep Sterling from pulling our funding.”
He runs a hand through his hair, messing up the perfect style. He looks exhausted. He looks terrified.
“We handled the breach,” Ethan continues, pacing the small rug.
“We spun the shutdown as a ‘security upgrade.’ The users are buying it for now. But if Markus Vance decides to leak whatever he has…” He stops, pinning me with his gaze.
“Tessa, did he contact you? Is that what this is? Did he threaten you personally?”
“Sit down,” Owen repeats, his voice calmer. It’s the tone he rarely uses—the one reminding you that beneath the easy charm, he’s just as dangerous as his brothers.
Ethan clenches his jaw, his teeth grinding audibly. He stares at me, really sees me, and his expression softens just a fraction—clocking the fear in my eyes and the way I’m clutching Owen’s hand.
He sits in the armchair opposite the sofa, sitting on the edge of the cushion as if ready to spring back up.
Asher sits on the arm of the chair, opening his laptop but not looking at the screen. He’s watching me.
“Okay,” Ethan says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He clasps his hands together. “We’re here. Talk to us, Tess.”
I look at them, the three men who are my bosses, lovers, and my only family in this city.
We built Mosaic on the promise of truth. Confess your secrets. That’s the tagline. And here I am, choking on mine.
“I…” My voice breaks. I clear my throat and try again. “I didn’t want to tell you like this. Not with the hack. I wanted to wait until things were safe.”
“Safe?” Ethan frowns. “Tessa, you’re safe. We neutralized the threat.”
“Not this threat,” I whisper.
“Tessa,” Asher says softly.
I turn to him. He knows. I can see it in his eyes. He saw the symptoms in the server room. He tracks variables. He just needs me to confirm it.
I take a deep breath. I grab Owen’s hand, squeezing it.
“I’m pregnant,” I whisper.
No one speaks. The ticking of the clock on the wall sounds like a bomb countdown against the heavy stillness of the room.
I watch Ethan.
He goes completely still—doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe. It’s like someone reached inside his chest and pulled the power cord. His face goes completely blank, stripped of all expression. His CEO mask slips, and underneath is pure shock.
Then I look at Asher.
Asher blinks once. He taps a single key on his laptop.
“Hypothesis confirmed,” Asher says quietly.
“You knew?” Ethan’s head snaps toward his brother, his movement jerky and fast.
“I suspected,” Asher says, his voice calm. “Nausea. Dizziness. Emotional volatility. The near collapse in the kitchen. The data points suggested a ninety-eight percent probability of conception. I just didn’t want to run the final test without her consent.”
Asher looks at me, and his expression isn’t angry. It isn’t scared. It’s focused.
“We’ll need to adjust your dietary intake,” Asher says, already problem-solving.
“And your stress levels. The server room environment is suboptimal for fetal development. We’ll need to move your workstation to a noise-controlled environment.
I can set up a filtered air system in your office by tomorrow. ”
I let out a small, wet sob. “You’re okay with this?”
“It’s a biological probability,” Asher says, though his voice is quieter than usual. “We’ve engaged in unprotected sex. The probability of hitting your fertile window was high. The outcome is logical.”
He pauses, his eyes softening. “We simply need to integrate the new variable.”
He isn’t freaking out, he’s planning, and that’s Asher’s love language. I feel a wave of relief so strong it makes me dizzy.
But then there’s Ethan.
Ethan hasn’t moved. He hasn’t offered to set up an air filter. He hasn’t said it’s logical. He’s staring at the floor, his hands clasped so tightly together that the tips of his fingers are purple. He looks like he’s doing mental math that doesn’t add up.
“Ethan?” I whisper.
He stands abruptly. The movement is so sudden that Asher nearly falls off the arm of the chair.
“A baby,” Ethan says. His voice is hollow. Unrecognizable.
“Ethan, talk to us,” Owen says, his tone warning.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Ethan asks. He refuses to meet my eyes, staring instead at a painting of the Austin skyline on the wall. “Do you have any idea what we’ve done?”
“I know it’s bad timing,” I plead. “I know the contract…”
“The contract is ironclad,” Ethan says, his voice rising, gaining that sharp, terrifying edge.
“The Morality Clause. ‘No conduct unbecoming.’ ‘No scandals.’ Do you know what Sterling does if he finds out the executive team knocked up a subordinate? He not only pulls the funding, he sues us for breach of contract. He takes the IP. He takes everything.”
“He won’t find out,” Owen argues. “We’ll hide it.”
“Hide it?” Ethan spins around, his eyes wild. “For how long, Owen? Nine months? What about when she starts showing? What about the medical records?”
He points a shaking finger at Asher’s laptop.
“Greg just hacked us. Nebula just breached our private database! Markus Vance is looking for anything to destroy us. You think we can keep a secret like this in a town like Austin when we have a target on our backs?”
“We can try,” I whisper. “We can make it work.”
“Make it work?” Ethan laughs, a harsh, cruel sound. “This isn’t a bug in the code, Tessa! This is a child! A child that we brought into a war zone!”
Running a hand through his hair, he paces the small living room.
“We’re fighting a corporate espionage war with a sociopath.
We’re barely sleeping, barely eating. And now…
” He gestures at me, at my stomach. “Now the stakes aren’t just money.
If we fail… if we lose the company... What kind of life would that be for a kid?
Bankrupt parents? A scandal ruining our reputations forever?
Markus will use this. He’ll leak it to the press.
‘Mosaic CEO and Founders engage in illicit affair with employee.’ We’ll become a laughingstock. ”
“We won’t fail,” Asher says calmly. “We defeat Markus. We secure the funding. We raise the child.”
“You don’t know that!” Ethan roars.
I flinch, recoiling into the sofa. Ethan never yells. Not like this. He yells orders, but he never yells out of fear.
Asher moves.
It’s a blur of motion. One second he’s on the arm of the chair, the next he’s standing between me and Ethan. He doesn’t touch Ethan, but he creates a wall. A physical barrier.
“Lower your voice,” Asher commands. “You’re spiking her cortisol levels.”
Ethan stops, staring at his brother standing against him. Then his gaze shifts past Asher’s shoulder to me—curled up, terrified, protecting my stomach.
The anger evaporates, replaced by a look of pure horror. He realizes what he’s doing. He realizes he’s acting exactly like the father they all hated—the one who yelled, the one who saw family as a burden.
“I can’t,” he whispers.
“Ethan,” I say, reaching out a hand, ignoring Asher’s protective stance. “Please. We can fix this.”
“I have to go,” he says. He grabs his jacket from the back of the chair.
“Ethan, if you walk out that door right now, you’re making a mistake,” Owen says, his voice cold. “Sit down.”
“I can’t think in here,” Ethan says. He’s hyperventilating. I can see his chest heaving. “The walls are closing in. I need air. I need to think.”
“We solve this together,” Asher says. “That’s the protocol.”
“The protocol’s dead,” Ethan snaps. “We killed it the moment we slept with her.”
He catches my eye one last time. There’s love there—agony, desperate love—but the fear is stronger. The CEO is stronger than the man.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
And then he turns and walks out the door.
The slam echoes in the apartment like a gunshot.
I stare at the closed door.
He left.
Ethan, my protector. Ethan, the one who promised to keep me safe. He looked at me, at our baby, and he ran.
A sob rips through my chest, painful and raw.
“He’ll be back,” Owen says immediately, pulling me flush against his chest, gripping me tight. “He’s just panicking. It’s the shock. He’ll be back.”
“He looked at me like I was a liability,” I cry into Owen’s shirt. “Like I was a breach in the security. Like I was a virus.”
“He’s recalibrating,” Asher says.
I look up through my tears. Asher has moved from his defensive stance. He sits on my other side, stiff and awkward, but present. He reaches out and places a hand on my knee.
“Ethan operates on risk assessment,” Asher explains, his voice steady. “Currently, the risk is infinite. He cannot process the variable because the outcome is too important. He isn’t rejecting the baby, Tessa. He’s rejecting the possibility of failing the baby.”
“He walked out,” I whisper.
“He went to run the numbers,” Asher says. “He needs to find a path where we win. When he finds it, he’ll return.”
“And if he doesn’t find it?” I ask.
Asher glances at me, then at Owen. A silent communication passes between the two brothers.
“Then we rewrite the code,” Asher says. “But he’ll return. The unit can’t function without all components.”
Owen kisses the top of my head, tightening his grip around me while Asher’s thumb traces a steady, grounding circle on my knee.
My eyes remain fixed on the door, waiting.
I nod against Owen’s chest, closing my eyes. I have two of them. Two out of three.
But as the storm clouds gather outside my window, mirroring the storm Markus Vance is bringing down on us, I can’t help but feel that the foundation of Mosaic just cracked.
And for the first time since we started this, I don’t know if the Phantom Trio is strong enough to hold it together.