Grace's Deadly Scheme

I stared at the pregnancy test in my trembling hands, the two pink lines unmistakable in the bathroom's harsh light. A child. Our child. Despite everything—the betrayal, Grace's humiliation, the crumbling of our twelve-year relationship—a spark of joy flickered in my chest. Perhaps this would change everything. Perhaps Elliott would finally see what truly mattered.

I pressed my palm against my still-flat stomach, whispering, "I'll protect you," before tucking the test into my pocket. This news couldn't wait.

The drive to Elliott's office building was a blur of autumn leaves and racing thoughts. I hadn't called ahead—I wanted to see his unfiltered reaction, to watch his eyes when I told him he was going to be a father again. After losing our first child years ago, this felt like a second chance, a reason to fight for what we once had.

When the elevator doors opened to the executive floor, I heard Elliott's voice carrying from the conference room. Through the glass walls, I could see him standing at the head of the table, Grace's father seated prominently to his right. Charts and graphs were projected on the wall—the merger that would unite the Morrison and Hoffman empires.

I hesitated, my hand unconsciously moving to my stomach. Perhaps this wasn't the right moment.

Before I could retreat, Elliott's assistant noticed me. "Miss Evans? Did you have an appointment?"

Elliott looked up, his expression shifting from surprise to irritation. He excused himself and stepped into the hallway, closing the door firmly behind him.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was low, controlled, but I could hear the tension beneath it.

"I need to talk to you," I said, my heart pounding. "It's important."

"I'm in the middle of the most crucial meeting of the year," he said, checking his watch. "Whatever it is, it can wait."

"Elliott, I'm—"

"Not now, Lucy." He cut me off, his eyes darting back to the conference room where Grace's father was watching us. "Actually, since you're here, I need you to do something. Grace is coming over tonight to discuss wedding details. Have dinner ready by seven."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "You want me to cook for your fiancée?"

"Don't make this difficult," he said, his voice hardening. "This merger depends on keeping the Hoffmans happy. Just do this one thing for me."

Before I could respond, he was already turning away, straightening his tie as he re-entered the conference room. I watched through the glass as he smiled apologetically to the room, the perfect businessman once again.

The pregnancy test felt heavy in my pocket as I rode the elevator down, nausea rising—from morning sickness or heartbreak, I couldn't tell.

---

By six-thirty, the penthouse was filled with the aroma of roasted chicken and herbs, but the smell that had once brought comfort now made my stomach churn. I'd been fighting waves of nausea all afternoon, rushing to the bathroom between chopping vegetables and setting the dining table.

The doorbell rang at seven sharp. I smoothed my dress, taking a deep breath before opening the door to find Grace standing there in a crimson dress that hugged every curve, her smile as sharp as a knife's edge.

"Lucy," she said, stepping past me without waiting for an invitation. "How domestic of you."

Elliott arrived minutes later, greeting Grace with a kiss on the cheek while barely acknowledging my presence. I retreated to the kitchen, gripping the counter as another wave of nausea hit me.

"Dinner is served," I announced, carrying the main course to the table where they sat, heads bent in conversation.

As I set down the platter, Grace looked up at me with mock concern. "You look pale, Lucy. Not feeling well?"

"I'm fine," I said, though I could feel cold sweat beading on my forehead.

"Lucy," Elliott said, frowning at the wine glasses. "You forgot Grace's preferred Chardonnay. It's in the wine cooler."

I nodded, turning away to hide my trembling hands. In the kitchen, I pressed my forehead against the cool refrigerator door, fighting back tears and nausea in equal measure. The mother of his child, reduced to serving his fiancée.

When I returned with the wine, Grace was in the middle of describing their honeymoon plans. "The Maldives first, then a week in Paris," she said, reaching for Elliott's hand. "Just the two of us, finally alone."

Her eyes met mine as she emphasized those last words, a cruel smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

I poured the wine with unsteady hands, then turned to leave when Grace suddenly gasped and grabbed my wrist.

"Lucy!" she cried. "You're spilling on my dress!"

I looked down in confusion—the bottle was nowhere near her dress. But before I could speak, she stood abruptly, knocking her chair backward with a dramatic clatter.

"I need to freshen up," she announced, giving Elliott a meaningful look before disappearing down the hallway.

Elliott's jaw tightened as he looked at me. "Can't you just try to get along with her?"

The unfairness of it stung like a slap. I opened my mouth to defend myself when a scream tore through the apartment, followed by a horrible thudding sound from the staircase.