My stomach lurches. I swipe to answer before I can talk myself out of it.
“Ivy.” His voice is smooth and cold, the way it always is when he’s displeased. “I just got off the phone with KCH. They told me you requested an extension.”
Shit.
“Yes,” I say quickly, sitting up, dragging the blanket with me like it might shield me. “Brooke needs help. The twins are a lot, and I didn’t want to leave her stranded.”
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but it’s the only shield I have.
There’s a pause. Then his sigh cuts sharp through the line. “Ivy. Do you hear yourself? You’ve worked too hard to get here. You’ve let sentimentality interfere before. I thought we agreed you were finished wasting time.”
My throat tightens. My father doesn’t yell—he never needs to. His disappointment always lands heavier than shouting.
“I’m not wasting time,” I argue, but the words wobble. “I just… I needed a little more space before I take this on.”
“You are wasting away your career,” he snaps, voice clipped. “These extensions, these excuses—opportunities like this don’twait for you, Ivy. They will move on to the next name, and when they do, don’t expect me to salvage it for you.”
My fingers clench around the phone. I bite my lip to keep from spilling the truth—that I’m not just tired, not just helping a friend, but pregnant. Pregnant with triplets. That my whole life has detonated and reformed in the span of a single summer, and I’m standing in the rubble trying to make sense of it.
But I can’t. Not to him. Not yet.
“Yes, sir,” I whisper instead.
The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, before he hangs up without a goodbye.
The room is still again, but I feel anything but calm. My pulse races, my skin prickling hot. I lower the phone to my lap, stare at it until my vision blurs.
I’m not alone anymore. Not with Chloe sleeping down the hall. Not with Hunter and Rhett and Landon filling this house with their laughter and chaos and steady presence.
But the reality is clawing at me—I’m carrying three babies, I’m in love with men who complicate everything, and my career, the one thing I’ve been building toward for years, suddenly feels like it’s slipping out of reach.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and push myself up. The house is quiet now, the soft hush of nighttime settling in. My bare feet pad across the floor, down the hall, toward Chloe’s room.
The door creaks open. She’s in her crib, cheeks round and flushed in sleep, little fists curled up near her head. Her chest rises and falls in the slow rhythm only babies have.
I press my hand to the crib rail, leaning closer. My voice is barely a whisper. “What do you think about having new sisters, huh? Or new brothers?”
Her only answer is a soft sigh, lips puckering like she’s dreaming.
I smile, but it’s a fragile thing, thin as glass. “You’d be such a good big sister.”
The words crack something open inside me. Fear. Excitement. Love that’s too big for my chest. I’m terrified of what this means—for me, for them, for the life I thought I was supposed to chase in New York.
But looking at her, so small and safe, I know one thing: nothing will ever be the same. And maybe… maybe that’s not all bad.
I tuck the blanket higher around Chloe and rest my hand against my stomach, whispering to the tiny lives I can’t yet see. “I’ll figure it out. I promise.”
Even if I don’t know how yet.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Rhett
The soundof gunfire rattles faintly through the quiet house. Muffled, but unmistakable. I pause halfway to the kitchen, rubbing the back of my neck.
It’s past three in the morning, the hour when everything feels suspended, caught between night and dawn.
When I push the door open, the glow of the big screen hits me. Hunter’s sprawled on the couch, controller clutched tight, eyes locked on the TV. His character moves with sharp precision, mowing down enemies inCall of Duty.
