#(ppc

“Ms. Queen—” “Can you confirm—” “Over here—”

Reporters. Cameras. Flashes.

Even with your eyes closed, you feel them. Bright, invasive, pressing through your eyelids like they’re trying to force you awake. Your brow tightens faintly and your breath catches because you remember that feeling. Too many people. Too many questions. No space to think.

After the speech—the one that would be talked about for years—your heart was still pounding in your throat. As you stepped down from the podium, there was only one thing on your mind: getting out, getting somewhere safe.

But your steps weren’t steady anymore.

Your heels didn’t land right. The ground felt uneven, like it shifted beneath you with every step.

Everyone was watching you.

Their faces blurred together, but the expressions were the same—tense, fixed, waiting. Mikey. Dana. Gerard. Ron. All there.

And then Harry.

You had been walking toward him. You remember that clearly.

Security moved behind you, pushing the media back, trying to create space—but it was too late. Everything you had just held together—every word, every ounce of control, every bit of courage—it all came crashing back at once.

It hit all at once.

The pressure. The fear. The weight of what you had just done.

It was like the ground slipped out from under you.

Your breath caught. Your vision blurred at the edges, dark creeping inward. The noise around you warped, stretched, faded.

The world narrowed.

Until it was just him.

Harry.

Your eyes locked onto him like he was the only solid thing left in the room. Like if you could just reach him, everything would stop.

But you didn’t.

After that… nothing.

You knew you were falling.

But there was no panic.

It was like your body had simply… shut down. Turned everything off before it could overwhelm you.

You didn’t hit the ground.

Something stopped you.

Someone.

Your eyes closed for a brief second as if that might help you catch it, piece it back together. Your body felt wrong. Heavy in places, light in others, like you weren’t fully inside it yet. Like you hadn’t quite settled back in. That had been a weird dream.

Your lashes fluttered slowly, like even that took effort. Light seeped in, softer this time, controlled, pale. You blinked again and the ceiling came into focus. White. Too clean. Too still. It wasn’t something you were used to seeing every day.

You lay there for a second, not moving, just breathing, trying to catch up to your own body. Something felt wrong. Not pain exactly. Just… unfamiliar.

Your gaze drifted down.

And there it was.

A thin line running into your arm. Clear tubing. A needle. Your stomach tightened instantly and your nose wrinkled before you could stop it.

“…of.”

The sound slipped out under your breath, annoyed, instinctive.

You shifted slightly, uncomfortable already, and that was when the door opened. The sound was soft but it was enough. You flinched. Your body reacted before your mind did, trying to push yourself up too quickly. The room tilted for half a second and you grabbed at the sheets, steadying yourself.

“Hey. Easy.”

You froze.

His voice.

You didn’t even need to look yet. You knew it.

Still, your eyes lifted.

Harry was already in the room, already halfway to you. The moment he saw you awake, something in his expression changed. It was subtle, controlled like everything about him, but you saw it. That tight line at his jaw loosened just enough. Relief, but buried. He reached you in seconds and his hand closed over yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it had already been there the whole time.

“Hey,” he said again, softer now. “You’re awake.”

You stared at him, still catching up, still not entirely sure where you were or how you had gotten here. “…Harry?” Your voice came out quieter than you expected, a little rough. “How?”

Your other hand came up to your temple and you pressed lightly, trying to push through the fog.

And then it hit.

It hadn’t been a dream.

Harry catching you as you fell—that hadn’t been your mind filling in the gaps. It had actually happened.

Your breath sharpened. “Oh no.” Your eyes opened fully now, focus snapping into place. “The cameras,” you murmured, your voice tight with realization. “They must have gotten that. Why did I have to faint now of all times…”

Harry let out a quiet breath, something close to a soft huff, like he was holding back a smile. "They didn’t,” he said calmly. “Security blocked them. No one got a clear shot.”

You stared at him for a second, processing. Then your shoulders dropped slightly. “Oh…”

A soft exhale left you, relief settling in. “Okay… good.”

His hand lifted and he brushed your hair back from your face, slow, careful, like he was grounding both of you at once. “Do you feel better?” he asked.

You took a breath, then another, checking yourself. “Yeah. A little.”

Your gaze dropped to your arm again. The IV. You made a face.

“How long was I out?” You shifted slightly, already irritated. “I’m sure I’ve already made the evening news,” you muttered. “They’re probably writing headlines as we speak. Queen of Manhattan collapsed on live television… or wait—” you huffed lightly, “another scandal for Queen Financial.”

Harry pulled a chair closer with one hand and sat beside you, his attention fully on you.

“Baby,” he said quietly, “you just gave the speech of the year.”

You glanced at him, skeptical.

“That’s not what they’re going to be talking about.”

Your brows lifted slightly.

“Then what?”

The corner of his mouth lifted, just a fraction.

“You buried Lucas in front of the entire city,” he said calmly. “Tore him apart, piece by piece. That’s what they’re talking about. They’ll also be busy talking about him threatening a journalist.”

You blinked at him. “…you’re kidding.”

He shook his head once.“No.”

You stared at him, trying to catch up. “That happened after I—?”

“Yeah.”

“That was exactly something he would do.” Your eyes moved back to him, sharper now. "Harry… why were you here?” You glanced at the clock on the wall. “You had that meeting. London. It should have been in a few hours.”

“Dana called,” he said simply. “She told me everything,” he continued. “What you were planning. What he might have been using against you.” His gaze didn’t leave yours. “How was I supposed to stay there after hearing that?”

You sat up a little straighter. “You thought I was going to stand there and announce I’m marrying that manipulative piece of—”

“Hey,” he cut in gently, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. “I didn’t think that.”

You gave him a look. He shrugged, almost amused. “I didn’t have time to think at all.” Then, quieter, more serious, “I just knew… whatever he had on you, it had something to do with me.”

That stilled you.

For a second, you didn’t say anything.

You just looked at him.

Then your gaze dropped.

“…that meeting was important,” you said more softly. “For Castillo Capital.”

“It was,” he replied. “But you’re more important.”

A small smile tugged at your lips.

He took your hand, lifted it, and pressed a slow kiss to your knuckles, a faint smirk following right after. “And for the record,” he murmured, eyes still on yours, “watching you destroy him like that... was dangerously attractive.”

Your brow arched.

“I think I fell for you all over again,” he added softly

You tilted your head slightly.

“More than you already were? Wow… you’re completely gone.”

Harry exhaled dreamily. “Yeah,” he said, low and honest. “I am.”

The way he said it—no joke, no deflection—landed heavier than expected.

You held his gaze for a beat, then your lips curved just slightly.

“Well,” you murmured, softer now, “lucky for you…it’s mutual.”

Something shifted in his expression.

He leaned in without another word, his hand coming up to your jaw as his lips met yours—slow, warm, certain. When he pulled back, he didn’t go far. His forehead rested against yours, breath still close, steadying.

“I love you, my queen.”

Your fingers lifted, brushing slowly along the line of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble, a soft smile forming at the sensation beneath your fingertips.

“I love you too, Harry.”

You just looked at him for a second, then your attention shifted again. Back to your arm. You wrinkled your nose. “Did I really need this?” “The doctor said you were run down. You needed fluids.” You sighed. “I hate hospitals. And I hate needles.” You glanced pointedly at your arm.

Harry didn’t answer right away this time. He went quiet.

And that’s when you noticed it.

The shift.

It was small, but it was there. Something settled behind his eyes, something heavier. He took a slow breath, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“…the doctor said something else, too.”

Your attention snapped back to him. “What?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his hand moved. Slowly. It came to rest over your stomach. The touch was light. Careful. Like the moment itself was something fragile.

Your breath caught.

He looked at you then, really looked, and there was something in his eyes you couldn't name. “The test was right.”

For a second, the words didn’t register. They hovered there, disconnected.

Test.

Your mind caught up a beat too late.

And when it did, it hit hard.

Not gently. Not gradually. All at once.

Your chest tightened, your throat closing before you could even shape a response. Your eyes filled instantly and you didn’t even try to stop it.

This wasn’t simple happiness. It wasn’t relief.

It was something deeper than that. Something you had already started letting go of, something you had taught yourself not to expect.

And now it was back.

Real.

You swallowed, once, twice, trying to steady your voice.

“Harry… you…” You shook your head slightly, trying to find the words. “You mean… I…”

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Yeah, baby. He said the symptoms make sense and also your levels are elevated… higher than expected. They’re consistent with early pregnancy.”

Everything inside you stilled. “I’m… p-pregnant?”

Your hand moved on its own, settling over your stomach. Harry’s hand covered yours immediately, warm, firm. “…yeah,” he said softly. “That’s what the blood test says.”

Your breath caught. Your other hand came up, covering your mouth. “Oh my God…” you whispered, barely audible.

Harry let out a quiet breath, something between disbelief and a soft laugh. "Yeah,” he murmured, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “That was pretty much my reaction too.”

He watched you for a second longer. “But…” he added carefully. Your eyes lifted to his instantly. “There’s something else.”

"What?"

And then—

“TWIIIIINS!”

The door burst open so suddenly you actually jumped.

Mikey.

Of course.

He stormed in like a one-man parade, grinning like he just won the lottery.

“Twins! I’m going to be an uncle, this is insane—”

Harry exhaled, rolling his eyes.

You froze. Completely. Your body went still, your mind lagging behind the words.

Behind him, Sienna rushed in. “Mikey, give them a second—”

Too late.

Scarlet. Emily. Chloe.

They moved in almost at the same time, voices overlapping, filling the room too quickly.

“Sweetheart—” Scarlet reached you first, her hand immediately finding your arm, grounding. “The doctor said it’s not definitive yet, alright? We don’t know for certain.”

“But you’re pregnant,” Emily blurted out, eyes wide, somewhere between shock and excitement. “I mean—oh my God, that’s—wow—”

“Are you okay?” Chloe cut in quickly, stepping closer, scanning your face. “You look pale. Do you feel dizzy? Should you be sitting up like that?”

Scarlet shot them both a look, sharp but controlled. “Give her a second.”

The room filled too fast, too many voices, too much movement.

But none of it really reached you.

Because there was only one word left in your head.

Twins.

Your lips parted slowly. “T-twins…” Your voice was barely there. “…two babies.”

Your heart started racing, uneven, too fast. “Not one… two…” You shook your head faintly, disbelief creeping in. “No. That can’t be right.” Your voice dropped, quieter, almost to yourself. “They need to check again. Maybe they got it wrong.”

The door opened again and this time it was the doctor and a nurse. The energy in the room shifted automatically, quieter, more controlled.

The nurse moved to your side and carefully removed the IV from your arm. You watched with mild suspicion, then relief when it was over.

The doctor gave you a reassuring smile.

“You’re doing well,” he said calmly. “Your mother informed me about your medical history,” he added. “Given that, we need to be cautious.” A brief pause. “We did pick up what might be two heart rhythms on the monitor, which can indicate a twin pregnancy.”

The room went very still.

“But—” he continued gently, “without a proper ultrasound, we can’t confirm that.” His gaze held yours, steady and reassuring. “At this stage, there’s still room for misinterpretation. Especially considering your history. That’s why it’s important you follow up with your OB-GYN as soon as possible. They’ll confirm everything with a detailed scan.”

“We’ll go,” Harry said immediately.

“Of course she will,” Scarlet added at the same time, her tone leaving no room for argument.

For a second, they both paused—then glanced at each other.

The nurse finished removing the IV, pressing a small piece of gauze to your arm.

“You’re stable,” the doctor continued. “But take it easy. No unnecessary stress. Eat regularly, stay hydrated.”

A small, reassuring nod.

“And we’ll let the specialist take it from here.”

“Thank you,” Harry said as the doctor stepped out.

The door closed behind them.

Scarlet moved closer instantly, her hand coming up to your hair, smoothing it back gently. “Sweetheart…” she murmured, her voice softer now. “Are you in shock?”

You let your head fall back against the pillows, eyes closing for a second as you exhaled slowly. “No. Not shock.” A small shake of your head. “It’s just… a lot.” Your voice dropped, quieter. “What if it’s true? What if they really are twins?” Your fingers tightened slightly over your stomach. “One baby would already be a lot right now,” you murmured. “What am I supposed to do with two?”

Harry reached for your hand without hesitation, his fingers threading through yours, squeezing gently.

“We’ll figure it out.”

You woke before you opened your eyes. A slow breath filled your lungs, deeper than usual, as if your body was trying to prepare you for something before your mind caught up. For a few seconds you stayed still beneath the covers, suspended in that quiet space between sleep and reality, where nothing had shape yet and nothing demanded anything from you. But even there, you knew. Today wasn’t ordinary. Not for New York. And not for you.

The realization settled in slowly, strangely calm for something that should have felt heavier. There was something almost unfamiliar about it, the awareness that the city was going to wake up differently because of you. It should have felt overwhelming. Instead, it felt… distant. Almost surreal.

You opened your eyes.

Soft light filtered through the edges of the room, muted, controlled. You reached up and slid the sleep mask off, pushing yourself upright against the pillows. The sheets fell slightly as you moved and without thinking, your gaze dropped. Your hands followed.

They settled over your stomach, fingers pressing lightly against the silk of your nightgown.

For a moment, you just stayed like that. Still. Trying to understand what you were looking at.

There was nothing visible yet. No change. No sign. And still— you knew.

Somewhere beneath that fabric, beneath your skin, there were two lives now. Well, not %100 confirmed yet, but... still.

And unexpectedly, it made you smile.

After everything. After years of careful distance, of calculated acceptance, of doctors speaking in measured tones about probabilities and limitations and things that “might not be possible”—you woke up to this. To something that was.

You stood.

The room was still early-morning quiet, the kind that belonged only to homes that ran on discipline and routine. You didn’t need an alarm. Your body woke you. Maybe from the exhaustion. Maybe from the adrenaline that still hadn’t fully left your system. Or maybe from something else entirely.

You stepped in front of the mirror.

For a second, you just looked at yourself.

Then your gaze dropped again.

Your hands followed, resting over your stomach once more, but this time the feeling was different. Not just curiosity. Not just disbelief. Uncertainty.

Your reflection looked the same. But nothing felt the same.

Everything in your life was already shifting—Lucas, the board, the company, the press—and now this. Something even bigger. Something completely outside your control.

That part sat differently.

You had never liked things you couldn’t control or handle.

And yet— this didn’t feel like a burden.

Before you could sit with it longer, there was a knock at the door.

You didn’t even turn immediately. “Come in.”

The door opened and Yuliana stepped inside, already carrying that quiet efficiency she always had, though there was something lighter in her expression this morning.

“Good morning, Ms. Queen.”

You met her gaze through the mirror and gave her a small smile.

“Morning.”

She moved to the windows, pulling the curtains open in one smooth motion. Sunlight spilled into the room and you blinked slightly against it, adjusting.

“Breakfast is ready,” she said, turning back toward you. Then, after a brief pause, something more deliberate in her tone, “Is there anything you would prefer this morning? Something… specific, perhaps?”

You caught the implication immediately. You slipped your robe over your shoulders, tying it loosely as you walked toward the dresser.

“Maybe just matcha. Something light.”

“Done.”

She moved to leave, but paused at the door just long enough to glance back at you again, softer this time, before stepping out.

You headed into the bathroom, letting the door fall half-closed behind you. The cold water against your skin helped. You moved through your routine automatically—cleanser, cream, small familiar motions that reminded you who you were, made you feel like yourself.

By the time you stepped back into the hallway, you were almost composed again.

Almost.

“Hey—there she is.”

Mikey was leaning against the wall like he had been waiting for you, phone already in hand, hair barely styled, completely at ease in a way that should have been illegal this early in the morning.

“My beautiful sister finally awake?” he added, already stepping in and throwing an arm around your shoulders.

You took exactly two steps before your balance shifted slightly.

“Careful,” you muttered, slipping out from under his arm. “I’d like to make it down the stairs without a concussion today.”

He grinned, completely unapologetic. “Please. You’ve handled boardrooms worse than this staircase.”

You gave him a look.

He ignored it. Instead, he turned his phone toward you as you both started heading down the stairs. “Okay, no, you need to see this. I’ve been laughing at this since I woke up.”

You leaned slightly closer despite yourself.

On the screen, a clip was playing—yesterday’s speech. Your speech. Clean, sharp, cut together with the precision of the internet doing what it does best.

But it wasn’t focused on you.

It was Lucas.

Zoomed in. Edited. Looping.

His expression flickered across the screen in exaggerated slow motion—confidence melting into confusion, then outright disbelief, frame by frame as you spoke.

And then it got worse.

Someone had layered absurd audio over it—dramatic violin screeches cutting into a distorted record scratch, followed by a perfectly timed, high-pitched “huh?” sound effect.

Each time his face shifted, the edit punched it harder.

At one point, they froze on the exact second his eyes widened— cut to a blinking cat. Back to Lucas. Back to the cat. Zoomed in even further. Another cut—his jaw tightening— then a meme overlay: “when you realize you messed with the wrong person.”

The video looped it. Again. And again. Each time slightly more ridiculous. Mikey let out a full laugh beside you, leaning closer to the screen.

“Look at his face,” he said, completely losing it. “Look at it—he goes from major stakeholder to confused housecat in three seconds.”

You exhaled through your nose, unimpressed, though your lips twitched just slightly. “Turn that off before Dad sees it, you tool,” you said. “He doesn’t know anything yet.”

Mikey hummed but swiped anyway, already pulling something else up.

“Yeah, well—too late for the rest of the world.”

He turned the screen again.

X.

Trending page.

Your name. Lucas. Queen Financial.

Multiple headlines stacked on top of each other.

He wasn’t wrong.

You were everywhere.

“So,” Mikey said lightly, “congratulations. You basically broke New York overnight.”

You didn’t answer immediately.

You just looked.

Then—

“Where are you two?”

Scarlet’s voice cut in from the bottom of the stairs.

You both looked up.

She was already walking toward you, composed as always but her eyes were softer the moment they landed on you. She reached you in seconds, her hand coming up to your cheek without hesitation. “Did you sleep well?” she asked quietly.

You nodded once. "Yeah."

Her gaze searched yours for a moment longer, then she exhaled. “Your father’s at the table,” she said. “Come.”

Mikey snorted under his breath, still looking at his phone. "Oh, he’s finished,” he said, grinning. “Every woman in this city hates him now. Like—collectively.” He scrolled, still laughing. “I’m pretty sure he just got banned from brunch culture permanently.”

“Michael,” Scarlet said sharply.

He lifted both hands. “Alright, alright.”

Her arm slipped around your waist as she guided you toward the dining room, protective without making a scene of it.

The table was already set.

He looked up when you entered, his expression softening immediately. There was still something tired in his eyes, but it wasn’t as heavy anymore. Not as distant. You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek before taking the seat beside him.

“Good morning, honey,” he said quietly.

“Morning, dad,” you replied, softer.

For a moment, it almost felt normal.

Breakfast moved carefully. Not silent, but measured. Small things. Coffee. A comment about the weather. The way the toast was slightly too crisp. Safe topics. Familiar ground.

But it didn’t last. Richard realized something was off.

Scarlet handled it.

She didn’t overwhelm him. She didn’t dramatize anything. She simply introduced the situation in controlled pieces—mentioned Lucas, the board maneuvering, the press coverage. Enough for him to understand. Not enough to trigger unnecessary stress.

The truth, but edited.

There were things you didn’t say.

Not yet.

The pregnancy. The full extent of what had happened last night.

Those could wait.

Yuliana and Lara moved around the table with quiet efficiency, but this morning there was something else underneath it. Attention. Focus. Every plate that got closer to you stayed there a second longer. Every option was subtly redirected your way.

You noticed. Of course you did. You didn’t comment on it.

For a moment, though, you allowed yourself to think ahead.

If the company stabilized—when it stabilized—you could rebuild everything. The house. The staff. The life that used to feel effortless.

But first—

the company.

Everything came back to that.

Later, as you were getting dressed, Scarlet joined you again. You caught her watching you in the mirror, that same quiet concern still there, layered with something else you weren’t used to seeing from her so openly. “Make sure Dana schedules your appointment,” she said. “As soon as possible.”

You met her eyes in the reflection. “I will.”

She nodded, but didn’t look entirely satisfied.

Scarlet was watching you through the mirror. While Yuliana carefully shaped the ends of your hair, your mother sat at the edge of the chair, her phone in hand, quietly scrolling through something. But this wasn’t ordinary maternal concern. Scarlet Queen didn’t cry when she worried. She made lists.

“Last night changed something,” she said finally.

You met her eyes in the mirror. “The headlines?”

“The women.”

Your fingers stilled over the bracelet you were fastening.

Scarlet lifted her gaze from the screen. “Yesterday, they were watching you tear Lucas Whitmore apart. And this morning, every woman in New York with money, influence, or a husband who thought he controlled both, was talking about you.”

You turned slightly. “Mother.”

“No, listen.” Her voice softened, but only at the edges. “This was not charity. This was leverage dressed beautifully enough to get through any door.”

Yuliana’s hands paused for half a second in your hair.

Scarlet continued, calmer now, sharper. “The Foundation dinner was supposed to be symbolic. A polite room, polite checks, polite applause.” She tilted her head. “Now it could become a declaration.”

You watched her through the mirror.

“A declaration of what?”

“That Queen Financial was not isolated.” Scarlet stood, crossing the room with that quiet grace that had made men underestimate her for thirty years. “You gave them a reason to stand with you. Women like that didn’t always move out of kindness, darling. But they did move when they saw themselves in the story.”

You understood then.

Not a gala. A signal.

“Family offices,” you murmured.

Scarlet’s smile deepened.

“Private capital. Philanthropic boards. Museum trustees. Trust committees. Women who didn’t need board seats to make board members nervous.”

You let out a slow breath.

“You want to turn public support into investor confidence.”

“I want to turn your speech into armor.”

The room went quiet.

Scarlet reached for your coat, smoothing one invisible crease from the shoulder before handing it to you.

“Lucas gave the press a hero story. You gave the city something better.” Her eyes met yours, steady and bright. “A woman refusing to be purchased.”

Your throat tightened despite yourself.

Scarlet’s voice dropped lower.

“So yes. While New York slept, I made calls.”

Of course she had.

“To whom?”

“To women who understood that reputation was currency,” Scarlet said. “And that men like Lucas Whitmore became very expensive when no one respectable wanted to stand near them.”

A slow smile touched your mouth. “That’s brutal.”

“That’s finance.”

You slipped into your coat.

Scarlet stepped close and adjusted your collar, gentle now.

“Today you take the board. This week, we take the room. After that,” she said, brushing her thumb once over your cheek, “we remind this city that Queen Financial was never built to be inherited by weak men.”

You looked at her for a long second.

Then nodded.

“Send Dana the list.”

Scarlet smiled.

“I already did.”

Fifth Avenue had learned to wake quietly around money.

The avenue outside your building was polished even in winter, all pale stone, black awnings, doormen in dark coats, and town cars idling with the patient arrogance of people who were used to being waited for. But this morning, quiet had been replaced by camera shutters.

Reporters crowded beyond the polished brass line the building staff had created with professional calm. Security stood between the entrance and the sidewalk, not aggressive, not frantic, simply immovable. The kind of men who didn’t need to raise their voices because the building they worked for had been raising them for decades.

The second you stepped into the lobby, the noise outside swelled.

“Ms. Queen!”

“Are you going to Queen Financial today?”

“Do you have a statement on Lucas Whitmore?”

Mikey, already beside you, slid his sunglasses down from the top of his head and gave the glass doors a look of deep personal offense.

“Wow… curious crowd before 9 AM. Should I be concerned or flattered?”

The doorman opened the door before you reached it, and cold air rushed in with the sound of your name. Cameras lifted. Flashes sparked. The questions hit immediately, loud enough to turn the marble lobby behind you into an echo chamber.

You didn’t stop.

You didn’t lower your head either.

Mikey moved half a step ahead, just enough to create space without making it look like you needed protecting. One of the building security men cleared the path. Another held back a reporter who leaned too far over the invisible line.

“Ms. Queen, are you stepping down?”

“Will Lucas Whitmore remain with the company?”

“Are the allegations true?”

You reached the sidewalk with your expression perfectly still.

Then a man in a dark coat appeared from the edge of the crowd, sunglasses on despite the weak January sun, his collar turned up so high it almost swallowed his jaw. He held a folded newspaper in one hand like a man who had committed to a bit entirely too hard.

He leaned in just enough to be heard. “Ms. Queen. This way.”

You paused for half a second. Mikey stared at him.

“Ron?”

Ron’s face remained completely serious. “Keep walking.”

Mikey looked him up and down, taking in the sunglasses, the raised collar, and- “The newspaper is a little old-fashioned, buddy. Tell me you at least cut eyeholes in it.”

Ron didn’t miss a beat. “I considered it. But the purpose was camouflage, not surveillance.”

Mikey blinked, then grinned. “That’s actually worse.”

You walked between them, eyes forward, while cameras kept flashing around you. “You two are weirdly similar,” you murmured.

Ron, still scanning the crowd, said, “I’m choosing to take it as a compliment?”

“I wouldn’t,” Mikey said.

Your mouth almost curved, but then you saw it.

A black limousine waiting just ahead by the curb, sleek and quiet among the chaos. The rear window was lowered halfway.

Harry.

He was seated inside, one arm resting along the back of the seat, dark coat open, gaze fixed on you like the rest of Fifth Avenue didn’t exist. Morning light caught the sharp line of his cheekbone and the faint bruise near his brow, making him look more handsome somehow. His mouth tilted slightly when your eyes met his.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

You stopped beside the window, one brow lifting slightly.

“Morning, Mr. Castillo. At this hour… outside my building?” you tilted your head just slightly. “Did you see me in your dreams or something?”

“There isn’t a night I don’t.”

You felt the warmth rise to your face before you could stop it, letting out a quiet breath that turned into a soft laugh as you shook your head.

"Let me take you to the office.”

“That’s very kind of you,” you said smoothly, “but my car is already here.”

Harry didn’t even look at it. His eyes stayed on you. “I don’t think you’re going to refuse the man you love.”

“I knew you were going to use that against me.”

Harry tilted his head slightly. “Well…” he said lightly,

“you’re the one who said it. In front of cameras. You should’ve thought that through.”

You let out a small sigh, adjusting your hair again, but this time your lips curved faintly. “You really do have a talent for leveraging very specific advantages.”

His smile sharpened. “I do it well, don’t I?”

“Annoyingly well.”

Harry reached for the door, opening it without breaking eye contact.

“Get in.”

You hesitated for exactly half a second.

Then stepped forward. His hand found yours as you stepped closer, warm against your gloved fingers, and he helped you into the limousine

You slid inside, and Harry’s hand settled lightly at your back until you were seated. The door closed, sealing out the noise almost completely.

Outside, Ron stood by the curb, still holding the newspaper.

The limousine pulled away.

Mikey watched it go, then looked at Ron.

Ron stared after the car for a second. “My boss just abandoned me.”

Mikey snorted, already walking toward his own car. “First time?”

Ron folded the newspaper under his arm and followed. “Actually, yes.”

Mikey unlocked his phone as they moved. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride. Also, you need to see what TikTok did to Lucas’s face.”

“Is it useful?”

“It’s art.”

Ron glanced once more at the disappearing limousine, then smiled faintly. "You know... I prefer him like this.”

Mikey looked up. “Who?”

“Harry.” Ron adjusted his coat collar, the humor softening into something more genuine. “He didn’t even look back. I’ll take that. Means he’s exactly where he wants to be, with her. Better than to watch him go back to being heartbroken.” Then his face tightened. “Still. Being abandoned feels terrible.”

Mikey laughed. “Aw, look at you. Got ditched once and suddenly you’re a street cat. Get in, drama queen.”

Inside the limousine, the world was quiet.

The leather smelled faintly of cold air and Harry’s cologne. The city moved past in blurred gold and gray beyond the tinted glass, but inside, everything had narrowed to the warmth of his hand around yours.

Harry lifted your hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles once.

Then again, slower.

“How are you today?”

You leaned back into the seat, watching him.

“I’m fine.”

“Did you eat?”

You sighed. “Harry.”

“Breakfast,” he clarified, as if you were the difficult one. “Did you eat breakfast?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start. My mother already did.”

“She was right.”

“Traitor.”

His thumb moved over your fingers, calm and absent, but his eyes stayed on your face.

“You can call me whatever you want. You’re not skipping meals.”

“I had matcha. Toast. Some fruit. Yuliana and Lara almost staged an intervention involving eggs.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Yes.”

“Please don’t start sounding like my mother,” you said. “Try being my boyfriend instead.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said quietly. “I can’t help it.”

His gaze dropped, just briefly, to your stomach. Then back to your face.

“It’s all I can think about.”

“I told Dana to schedule the OB-GYN appointment for tomorrow.”

Harry’s brow lifted.

“I know.”

You turned your head slowly.

“Of course you do.”

His nose brushed your hair as he lowered his head, breathing you in with his eyes closed. You stilled for a second, then laughed quietly when his breath tickled your neck. “What are you doing?”

“Preparing for the day.”

“You’re smelling my hair.”

“I’m storing energy.”

“Energy?”

His eyes opened, dark and warm. “So I can survive until tomorrow.”

Something about the way he said it made your smile soften.

“That’s very sweet,” you murmured. “And a little needy.”

Harry’s gaze moved over your face, then down to where his hand rested near your stomach. When he looked back at you, the humor had softened into something heavier. “There’s never a moment I don’t need you.”

Your breath caught.

He leaned in slightly, voice lower now— “I wish you could see yourself the way I do. I wish you knew what it feels like… when I have you like this.”

Your breath hitched. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes. “It’s never enough.”

His mouth brushed yours once, barely there, more promise than kiss. 

Your eyes closed instantly, your hand finding his jacket, fingers curling into the fabric as you leaned into him without thinking.

The kiss deepened slowly.

His hand slid to your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer, like he needed to feel you there—real, solid, not something he could lose again.

Your breath hitched softly against his lips.

Outside, the city moved.

Inside—

nothing did.

The limousine slowed before it fully stopped. Queen Financial’s building rose in front of you, glass and steel catching the pale morning light. Before the car had even come to a complete halt, the security at the entrance had already noticed.

You leaned in, brushing a quick, soft kiss against Harry’s lips. “Later,” you murmured. “Later,” he echoed.

The door opened. Cool air rushed in as you stepped out, already composed. One of the security guards straightened the second you appeared.

“Good morning, Ms. Queen.”

You stepped onto the pavement, your coat settling perfectly over your shoulders, your expression already back in place. “Good morning.”

Another guard moved subtly closer, not intrusive—just present. Efficient. Discreet.

Behind you, the limousine door closed softly.

People near the entrance straightened slightly as you passed. Heads dipped. Brief nods. Silent acknowledgment.

Respect.

Right before the doors, you paused.

Turned.

The limousine window was already lowered.

Harry was still inside, one arm resting along the door, watching you like nothing else in the city mattered.

You held his gaze for a second.

Then a small smile touched your lips.

Just for him.

He returned it—slower, softer.

You turned back and walked inside.

Harry’s gaze dropped briefly to the seat where you had been sitting.

Something caught his attention.

He leaned forward, reaching inside.

You must have dropped one of your gloves.

He picked it up, turning it once in his hand before his eyes lifted again instinctively.

He stepped out of the car.

You were already halfway across the lobby.

Walking.

And for a moment—

he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.

Ron approached from the car behind. “Boss—”

Harry didn’t even look at him. Just lifted his hand slightly.

Wait.

Ron stopped instantly.

Mikey slowed too, following his line of sight. “…what exactly are we looking at?”

Then he saw you.

Walking across the marble floor, your reflection stretching beneath you, every step measured, controlled, effortless.

People moved out of your way without being asked. Heads dipped as you passed. Quiet greetings.

Respect that wasn’t performed.

It was earned.

Ron let out a slow breath. “…there it is.”

Mikey tilted his head, watching, a grin forming. “Yeah… I’m pretty sure he’s seeing this in slow motion right now.” He squinted slightly. “Probably with some dramatic music too. Like… only youuu in the background.”

Ron’s gaze shifted briefly ahead.

Dana had already reached you, greeting you quietly as the two of you disappeared further down the corridor.

He exhaled.

“It does that,” he said quietly.

Mikey glanced at him. “What?”

Ron’s voice softened. “When it’s her… everything else slows down.”

Mikey nodded absently, still staring. “Yeah… especially when she does that thing with her caramel hair and those hazel—”

Harry turned.

Ron turned.

Mikey froze.

Then immediately grinned.

“—I mean in general. Just… adapting to the tone here.”

He started backing toward the revolving doors. “I’m gonna go inside before one of you turns this into a staring contest. Also—cameras exist. Just saying.”

Harry stepped forward, handing him the glove. “Give this to her.”

Mikey took it. “And stay close,” Harry added, quieter now. “Keep an eye on her.”

Mikey straightened instantly, placing a hand over his chest. “Don’t worry, Romeo. I will personally deliver this to her highness.” He lifted the glove slightly. “Serving the queen is my greatest honor.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Just give it to her.”

He turned back toward the limousine.

Ron reached into his coat and pulled out a small bottle, handing it to Mikey. “Also, give this to Dana.”

Mikey turned it in his hand. “…what is this?”

“Her morning mix.”

Mikey squinted at the label. “Why does this look like something that tastes healthy and terrible?”

Ron exhaled. “It’s very specific.”

“I’m tempted.”

“Hey. It’s for my girlfriend.”

Mikey raised a brow. “Oh, so now it’s sacred.”

Harry was already getting back into the limousine. “Ron.”

Ron nodded and moved to follow.

Mikey sighed dramatically, looking between them. “What am I, your personal courier now?”

The limousine door closed.

The car pulled away.

Mikey watched it go for a second, then looked down at the bottle again, turning it in his hand.

“…what the hell even is yuzu?” He frowned. “Is that a fruit… or a personality?”

The doors closed behind you with a quiet finality.

Your office felt exactly as it should. Still. Controlled. Untouched.

You set your bag down as you walked in, already slipping your coat off your shoulders in one smooth motion. Before it even reached the chair, Dana was there, taking it from you without breaking her rhythm.

She was already speaking.

“Your eleven o’clock board meeting has been confirmed,” she said, placing a folder neatly on your desk. “Emergency session, as requested.”

You nodded faintly, moving behind your desk.

“At one, you have lunch with Mrs. Adler. I’ve moved it to a more private room at The Carlyle.”

“Good.”

Dana continued, already flipping a page on her tablet. “Three p.m., shareholder briefing. Mr. Smith will be joining remotely. Legal has sent over the updated documents; they’re in the blue file.” Your eyes flicked briefly to the stack waiting for you. “Also,” she added, “Investor Relations prepared a statement draft. I took the liberty of editing it.” A small pause. “It’s better now.”

A faint smile touched your lips. “I’m sure it is.”

She gave a quick smile. Professional, as always.

“The New York Women’s Financial Consortium has requested a private meeting,” she continued. “They’re not asking for press. They’re asking for access.”

Your gaze sharpened slightly. “Interesting.”

“Additionally,” Dana went on, “CNN has requested your presence for a live segment on their financial program this evening. I have not confirmed.”

You leaned back slightly in your chair. “Don’t.”

“Noted.”

No hesitation. Dana tapped once more on her tablet, then shifted.

“Tomorrow,” she said, tone just slightly quieter, “your OB-GYN appointment has been scheduled.”

You stilled for half a second.

“Midday,” she added. “Private entrance. Minimal visibility, given the current situation.”

You leaned back fully now, exhaling softly.

“Thank you, Dana. You’re excellent.”

She inclined her head just slightly. “I do my best for you."

That almost made you smile.

“Go get coffee,” you added, already reaching for the file. “We’ll need it for the eleven.”

“I’ll bring you a flat white,” she said smoothly. “Almond milk.”

“Perfect.”

She turned to leave—

—and the door opened at the exact same time.

Mikey. “This is for you,” he said to Dana, handing her the bottle. “Your boyfriend sent it.”

“Ah… that idiot,” she murmured softly. “I’m sure he woke up early just to get this. If only he put the same effort into understanding basic relationship responsibilities…”

“Sweetheart,” you said calmly, “men can usually focus on one thing at a time. He chose romance today. Let him have that.”

Dana giggled. “So I should lower my expectations?”

“No,” you said smoothly. “Just… pace them.”

"Noted it."

She stepped out.

Mikey huffed. “Wow. I feel like I just witnessed a masterclass.”

“Yeah. Take notes.”

Mikey leaned back in the chair across from you, arms loosely crossed, his expression caught somewhere between dramatic exhaustion and mild self-pity.

“I did take notes,” he said. “A lot of them. At this point I’ve gone through entire notebooks. Doesn’t seem to make a difference though.”

You didn’t look up immediately. You finished the line you were reading, set the paper down with quiet precision, and only then lifted your gaze to him.

“That’s because you’re studying the wrong thing.”

Mikey frowned. “What does that even mean?”

You tilted your head slightly, observing him like you would any flawed strategy. “It means,” you said calmly, “you’re trying to become someone else. You went to the gym at six in the morning. And got some sleep instead of reading books you don’t understand. That's not you. Be more like yourself. You’re assuming she doesn’t already like you.”

Mikey looked up. Actually looked. “…you think she does?”

You didn’t hesitate. “I know she does.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the certainty in your voice.

"You’d be a lot more interesting if you stopped trying so hard.”

Mikey huffed out a quiet breath, somewhere between a laugh and disbelief. “So your advice is… do nothing?”

“My advice,” you corrected smoothly, “is to be yourself.”

“Wow… thanks, Dr. Phil." You rolled your eyes. "Oh... and...this,” he said, pulling out your glove with a flourish, “is from your ex-husband, current boyfriend, Mr. Castillo.”

You looked up. A small smile. “Oh. Thank you, Mikey.”

“Okay fun update,” he added. “Lucas’ assistant can’t reach him.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “Really.”

“Really,” Mikey nodded. “Rumor is he got on his jet. Some say he already left the States.”

You leaned back slowly. A quiet breath leaving you. “Good.”

Mikey grinned. “You buried him. I thought for a second he had you cornered.”

You tilted your head slightly. “I let him think that. Today,” you continued calmly, “I finish it.” Your gaze dropped briefly to the files. “By the end of that meeting, he won’t exist in this company.”

Mikey sat up straighter. “That’s my sister.”

Then, immediately— “Also, for the record, I’m fully on your side.”

You glanced at him. “Just don’t spend the meeting drawing hearts with initials again.”

He looked offended. “That was one time.”

“It was not one time.”

“It was two times,” he corrected. “And Clarkson was talking like a dying tortoise. I needed stimulation.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Mikey.”

“I’m serious,” he continued. “If that man pauses one more time mid-sentence, I’m bringing a remote and fast-forwarding him.”

“Get out.”

He stood up immediately. “Yes, ma’am.”

The door closed.

The office fell quiet again.

You watched it for a second.

Then looked down.

Your phone lit up.

Harry.

A message.

HARRY: I assume you got your glove back. I’d rather not have your hands cold.

Your lips curved instantly.

YOU: I did. I’m surprised you didn’t keep it. You usually collect my things.

Especially my panties.

The reply came fast.

HARRY: Who says I didn’t? I still have the black ones.

You bit your lip, shaking your head slightly as you typed:

YOU: Don’t tell me you took them all the way to London with you.

No reply.

A few seconds passed.

Then—

YOU: Harry???

You let out a quiet laugh under your breath.

Before you could type again, another message came in:

HARRY: You told me not to say it.

You actually laughed this time.

YOU: I can’t believe you.

HARRY: I might have bought you something in London. Seems like the right way to make it up to you. You can try them on for me tomorrow night.

YOU: Hmm… You do make a convincing offer. I’ll think about it.

HARRY: You already know the answer. I’ll be waiting. Not very patiently.

You giggled.

YOU: Stop. I have work to do.

HARRY: Okay. Do your work. I’ll distract you later.

The next day.

1:12 p.m.

The elevator ride felt longer than it should have.

Your reflection in the mirrored walls looked composed, controlled—perfect, even. But your hands betrayed you. They trembled slightly at your sides, fingers curling in and out like you were trying to hold onto something that kept slipping.

Harry noticed.

He hadn’t slept much. Not after spending half the night reading about Asherman syndrome—about the risks, the complications, the quiet possibilities no one ever says out loud. It was why he understood the fear in your eyes before you even said a word. “Hey.”

You looked up.

His eyes held yours completely. “Whatever happens in there…” he said quietly, his voice low but certain, “you’re not doing it alone. I’m right here. And nothing they say changes that. We deal with it together.”

He leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to your forehead.

You closed your eyes for a second, letting yourself lean into him, your head resting lightly against his chest.

“I know. I’m glad you’re here.”

His arm wrapped around you, palm moving gently over your back in slow, grounding motions.

The elevator chimed.

You stepped out together.

The clinic was exactly as you remembered. Quiet. Cozy. Designed to soften the edges of something inherently clinical.

Warm lighting replaced harsh white. Soft beige tones. Clean, but not sterile. Even the scent was deliberate—something faintly herbal, calming without being noticeable.

A discreet coat stand stood near the entrance instead of a typical rack.

Harry helped you out of your coat without a word, his fingers brushing your shoulders briefly before placing it neatly alongside his.

The waiting area was empty. Completely. No other patients, no background noise, just the quiet hum of a place that had been intentionally paused. The assistant greeted you immediately, her smile warm but measured. “Ms. Queen. Mr. Castillo. Dr. Wright is expecting you.”

You and Harry exchanged a glance.

“I can wait out here if you want,” he said quietly.

You knew that look. He would wait. But he didn’t want to.

Your voice came softer this time. “Please come with me.”

He nodded immediately. “Sure.”

The door opened.

Dr. Eleanor Wright stood as you entered.

“Ms. Queen,” she said warmly, her expression genuine. “It’s good to see you again.”

Then her gaze shifted. “Mr. Castillo.”

Harry stepped forward slightly, offering his hand. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”

“Of course,” she said, shaking his hand. “Given the circumstances, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.” Her attention returned to you.

“I hope you’re holding up,” she added gently. “The entire city seems to be following your life at the moment.”

You gave a faint, controlled smile. “I’m managing.” A small breath left you.

“The reason I’m here…”

Dr. Wright’s expression softened just slightly. “Your mother called.”

You closed your eyes briefly. “Of course she did.”

“She was… persuasive,” the doctor admitted lightly. Then, more professional again, “but she also provided useful information. If you’re ready, we can begin.”

You nodded. “Yes. Please.”

The room dimmed slightly again.

Familiar. Too familiar.

You moved toward the examination table. Harry stayed close, his hand brushing yours once before helping you settle.

Dr. Wright pulled up your chart on the screen.

“I reviewed your results,” she said, eyes scanning carefully. “Your beta hCG levels are significantly elevated. Higher than what we typically expect for a single pregnancy.” Your chest tightened. “But given your medical history,” she continued calmly, “we confirm everything via ultrasound.”

You nodded. “Because early misinterpretation is possible.”

“Exactly. Given your case, I’ll perform a transvaginal ultrasound. It provides a clearer image at this stage.”

You swallowed. “Okay.”

The assistant stepped closer, her movements calm, practiced, gentle. The gel was cold. You flinched immediately, your body reacting before you could control it. Harry’s hand found yours again instantly. You squeezed it. Harder this time. The probe moved gently, carefully.

Still—your body remembered. That same tension. That same vulnerability. That same instinct to pull away.

“Try to relax,” Dr. Wright said softly. “I know this isn’t comfortable, I’ll go slowly.”

You nodded, eyes fixed upward. Your breathing uneven.

The pressure shifted slightly. A familiar sensation followed.

That strange, immediate urge—like you needed to move, adjust, react.

You knew it.

You had felt it before.

Still, it never got easier.

The machine hummed quietly.

Then—

the screen flickered to life.

All three of you looked at it.

Dr. Wright adjusted the angle, her focus sharpening.

Silence filled the room.

You could hear your own heartbeat.

Then she stilled. Just slightly. Her hand paused. She leaned closer. Adjusted again. Zoomed in. Your grip tightened on Harry’s hand.

“…Dr. Wright?” your voice came out quieter than you intended.

She didn’t answer immediately.

Instead—she spoke to the assistant, low and clinical, mentioning measurements, angles, something you barely processed.

Then—she stopped. “Alright,” she said softly. "I’m going to ask you something.”

Was that bad news?

Your chest tightened. “…o-okay.”

“Is there a history of twins in your family?”

You blinked. Harry looked at you. You answered quietly. “No.”

Dr. Wright smiled. That was the moment. You saw it. Before she said anything.

Your breath caught. “…you’re serious?” you whispered.

She turned the screen slightly toward you. “Yes.” She pointed. “There’s one gestational sac here.” Then moved slightly. “And another here.”

Your hand flew to your mouth. “Oh my God…”

Harry exhaled, stunned, eyes moving between the screen and you.

“…two,” he said quietly.

Dr. Wright nodded, her voice warmer now. “Two embryos.” A small breath left her. “In your case… that’s extraordinary.”

Your vision blurred. Tears. You hadn’t even noticed when they started.

Harry leaned down immediately, pressing a kiss into your hair, his own breath unsteady now. "...baby,” he murmured softly.

His eyes were glassy too, emotion breaking through despite himself. He glanced at the edge of the bed, then back at the doctor. “Can I—?”

Dr. Wright gave a small, understanding smile. “Of course. There's plenty of room.”

Harry didn’t hesitate. He sat beside you, closer now, his arm immediately finding its place around you. You leaned into him, your arms wrapping around him as you pressed your face into his chest, grounding yourself there. His hand came up instantly, holding you close, fingers threading gently into your hair.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Dr. Wright glanced briefly at her assistant, a soft, knowing look passing between them—something warm, almost fond. Then her gaze returned to you both, her expression touched, quietly admiring.

“Well,” she said gently, a small smile forming, “they’re still very small… But we should be able to hear the heartbeats.” She adjusted the monitor, then added lightly, with a hint of humor: “This is usually the part where most couples completely fall apart.” A soft exhale, almost a quiet laugh. “Fair warning.”

Harry let out a breath you felt more than heard, his arm tightening around you just slightly as he looked toward the screen. “…we can actually hear them?” he asked, his voice low, almost disbelieving.

Dr. Wright smiled. “Yes,” she said softly. “You can.”

A click.

Then—

sound.

Fast. Rhythmic. Strong.

Two distinct heartbeats. Filling the room. Everything else disappeared.

You clutched Harry’s arm, your entire body trembling now. “Oh my God…”

“God…do you hear that?” he whispered.

You nodded, crying openly now. “Yes…”

Dr. Wright smiled gently. “Both heartbeats are strong. Very strong.”

She continued taking measurements. “Given their positioning, these appear to be dichorionic twins—two separate sacs.” She glanced at the screen. “Approximately eight weeks.”

You wiped your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. “…eight…”

A memory flickered. November. Vermont. You and Harry both went still. The same moment. You didn’t say it. But you both knew.

You had been mourning something you thought was already lost, standing in the aftermath of a life that never got the chance to begin.

And somehow—in that same night, in the middle of that loss— you had already been carrying another.

Dr. Wright continued, more serious now. “Given your history, this is a high-risk pregnancy.” There it was. The other side of it. "We’ll monitor you closely,” she added. “Very closely,” Dr. Wright said, her tone measured, precise. “The first trimester is critical under normal circumstances. In your case, I’d like to extend that level of monitoring through the first twenty weeks.” She made a small note on the chart before continuing. “I’ll arrange a tailored nutrition plan for you—nothing extreme, just structured support to make sure your body is getting exactly what it needs.” A brief glance at you, reassuring. “I’ll also consult with Dr. Keller and review your full history together.” Then, gently but firmly: “I’d like to see you again in three weeks.” Her expression softened just slightly. “…however, what I’m seeing right now is good. Very good.”

You looked back at the screen. Still trying to process it. Two.

Not impossible. Not anymore.

Two.

And for the first time in a very long time—

you didn’t feel like something was being taken away from you.

You felt like something had finally been given back.

Dr. Wright walked out with you, her tone shifting naturally from clinical to gently instructive as you moved back into the quiet waiting area.

“As I said,” she continued, hands loosely folded in front of her, “you need to rest whenever you can. As much as you can.”

You nodded, still half inside the moment you had just lived.

“Small, frequent meals,” she added. “Healthy. Nothing extreme. And if you experience any bleeding, discomfort, anything unusual—”

“I call you,” you finished softly.

“Immediately,” she confirmed. “If it’s anything significant, go straight to the ER. Otherwise, call me or come in.”

Harry’s hand brushed your lower back, steady, present.

“We will,” he said.

Dr. Wright gave a small, approving nod. “And avoid stress as much as possible. No heavy lifting.”

Harry let out a quiet breath beside you. “Don’t worry. If necessary, I’ll carry her until she gives birth.”

A soft laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Dr. Wright smiled, amused, glancing briefly between you. “Well,” she said lightly, “you’re clearly in very good hands.”

She made a final note, then looked back at you, her tone returning to calm professionalism. “I’ll see you in three weeks, as planned. Until then—take care of yourself. Both of you.”

“Thank you, doctor,” you said.

“Thank you,” Harry echoed.

He reached for your coat before you even asked, holding it open for you. You slipped your arms in, still a little dazed, and he adjusted it over your shoulders, his hands lingering just a second too long.

You looked at him. A small, almost disbelieving smile. “I still can’t believe it,” you murmured. “I’m actually pregnant.”

Harry let out a soft breath, something warm breaking through his composure. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too, baby.” His arms came around you, pulling you into him. You wrapped yours around his waist, holding on just a little tighter than usual. He buried his face lightly against your hair, his voice lower now—almost like he was still processing it himself.

“I’m going to be a dad…” His grip tightened just slightly. “…I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

You closed your eyes for a second.

Then—

a sound.

Murmurs.

You opened your eyes.

Two women sat across the room, magazines lifted just a bit too high, shoulders slightly too tense.

They were trying.

Badly.

Your gaze dropped automatically.

Shoes first.

Of course.

Classic pointed stilettos in that unmistakable cut, the exact shade of ivory leather your mother had owned in three variations.

Then the bag. Same house. Same season.

You exhaled slowly. “You gotta be kidding me.”

Harry followed your gaze, turning slightly.

His brows drew together. “…are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

"Yeah."

And then—

you started walking.

On the couch—

“Are they coming this way?” Vivienne whispered behind her magazine.

“Keep reading,” Scarlet murmured without moving. “We are not here.”

“They’re definitely coming.”

“Then read faster.”

Too late.

Harry reached out first, lowering Vivienne’s magazine.

You followed, catching your mother’s before she could adjust it.

You glanced at the cover.

“Cord blood donation?” you read flatly.

Harry looked down at his mother’s.

“…stem cell therapies?”

They both stood up.

“Mom?” you said, arms crossing slightly. "You followed us?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at his mom. “I didn’t know you were in New York.”

Scarlet and Vivienne exchanged a look. A very quick one.

Then Scarlet lifted her chin. “We were not following you,” she said smoothly. “We had an appointment.”

“Right,” you snapped.

Vivienne sighed, lowering her magazine completely. “Oh, for God’s sake, Scarlet.”

Scarlet shot her a look. “Vivienne has been having… menopausal concerns,” she said.

Vivienne stared at her.

“Sweet Jesus,” she muttered. “I went through menopause ten years ago.”

Scarlet blinked once. “Dear God,” she replied coolly. “That's early.”

Vivienne gave her a look.

Harry exhaled slowly. “Alright. Can we try that again, but like adults? Why are you actually here?”

Vivienne’s expression softened first. She glanced at you, then at Harry.

“We were worried,” she admitted quietly. “And curious.”

Scarlet didn’t deny it this time. Her gaze moved to you. “…is everything alright?” You smiled at her instinctively. “Am I going to be a grandmother?”

You and Harry looked at each other. That same look. The one from inside the room.

You reached into your bag slowly. Pulled out the ultrasound images. And handed them over.

“Yes,” you said, your smile widening. "You both are.”

Scarlet’s eyes moved over the print.

Then stilled.

Vivienne leaned closer.

“Oh…”

“…oh my God.”

Scarlet’s fingers tightened slightly. She looked up at you, disbelief breaking through her composure. “Twins?”

You nodded. Harry’s hand found yours again. “Yes.”

Vivienne let out a soft, breathless laugh, already emotional.

“That’s… that’s marvelous.”

She pulled Harry into a hug first, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then turned to you, wrapping her arms around you carefully, one hand moving instinctively to your hair. “Congratulations,” she murmured, her voice thick. “I’m so happy for you.”

Scarlet opened her arms wide and wrapping them around you. “My baby...after everything,” she said quietly, her voice softer than you had ever heard it, “this is… more than a blessing. Well, double blessing."

That made you laugh through your tears.

Harry smiled. Vivienne wiped at her eyes, still smiling.

Scarlet glanced back down at the image again, shaking her head slightly. “Incredible.”

“They’re so tiny,” Vivienne said softly.

You sniffed lightly, smiling.

Harry smiled too, his gaze still on the image. “Yeah… like jellybeans.”

Vivienne sobbed and let out a soft laugh, glancing at Scarlet. “Our babies having babies, Scarlet.”

Scarlet shot her a look, though the emotion in her eyes gave her away.

“Oh, stop,” she muttered, brushing at her eyes. “You’re going to make me cry.” Then she exhaled, something warm settling into her expression as she looked back at you. “Well,” she said softly, “then we have two jellybeans to take care of. But first, their mother.”

You smiled at the word mother.

Harry’s arm came around you instantly, pulling you gently into his side.

“Don't worry,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I’ll take good care of her.”

You giggled. “I’d expect nothing less.”

For a moment, no one moved.

Vivienne and Scarlet drifted into quiet conversation—soft laughter, shared memories, bits and pieces of their own pregnancies, small warnings and advice slipping into the air.

But you barely heard them.

You leaned into Harry instead, letting your head rest against him. You just stayed there, letting yourself feel it. This precious moment. Somewhere deep down, you knew—this would be one of the moments you’d never forget.

That evening. 

Harry’s office was quiet.

The kind of quiet that only came after hours—when the building had started to empty, when conversations faded into distant echoes and the city outside began to shift into something slower, softer.

Beyond the glass walls, New York was slipping into evening. Lights flickered on one by one, streets glowing gold and amber as the last of the daylight disappeared between the buildings.

Inside, everything felt… still.

Harry sat at his desk.

The ultrasound photo rested in one hand.

In the other—

the ring.

Its box lay open on the desk, forgotten for the moment.

He didn’t move.

He just looked at it.

The diamond caught the dim light—subtle, precise. Nothing excessive. Nothing careless.

Just right.

His fingers turned it slowly, the metal gliding against his skin as he exhaled under his breath.

A memory flickered.

The first time he had asked.

Different.

Everything had been different then.

His jaw tightened slightly.

Then his gaze dropped again—

back to the ultrasound.

Something in his expression shifted. Softer. Deeper.

Quieter.

A breath left him.

Then—

A knock.

Ron stepped in a second later, already adjusting his cuff as he spoke.

“Car’s ready, boss. We’re heading out in five.”

Harry didn’t look up right away.

Ron followed his line of sight.

Noticed.

A slow, knowing grin spread across his face.

“Well…” he said, tone shifting just slightly, amusement slipping in, “your table at The Vestry is all set. Private room, no interruptions. Menu’s handled.”

A small pause.

“Figured you’d want everything… perfect.”

Harry closed the ring box, calm, deliberate.

“Thanks, Ron.”

Ron leaned lightly against the doorframe now, watching him with a different kind of expression.

Softer.

“Tomorrow’s the night, huh?”

Harry glanced up.

A faint smile.

“About time.”

Ron let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Man… I’ve been waiting for this since Ms. Queen walked into that company.” He huffed softly. “Crazy how much changed in such a short time.”

A beat.

“You two went through a lot.”

His tone shifted, more sincere now.

“You deserve some happines. Both of you.”

Harry held his gaze for a moment.

“Thank you Ron.”

Ron’s grin came back almost immediately.

“So…” he added, unable to help himself, “you think she’ll say yes?”

Harry didn’t answer right away.

He slipped the ring box into his pocket, rising to his feet as he reached for his jacket.

Smooth. Certain.

Done.

A brief pause.

Then, almost under his breath—

“I’m counting on it.”

Ron let out a laugh, shaking his head. “I mean… you’ve got a pretty strong advantage. Two actually."

“Ron. Don’t make twin jokes in front of her.” 

"Noted."

Harry adjusted his cuff once, then looked toward the door. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go get the girls.”

Ron beamed. “Yeah! We’ve got a double date. Ah, right—steak’s on you tonight, remember?”

Harry didn’t even look back. “Order whatever you want.”

Ron grinned. “Best boss in Manhattan.” He turned toward the door, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as he covered his mouth— “And, best soon-to-be daddy.”

Harry chuckled. “Hopefully.”

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Prom night

2010

High School is fucking over, that’s all you can think as you enter your prom. The hotel is packed with teenagers and young adults, the décor inspired by the 70s. So is your gown: a champagne satin, empire-waist dress that hugs you softly, with pleated V-neckline and a low back crossed by delicate straps. Your hair falls in loose, soft waves. Liam, your prom date, is wearing a white tuxedo that matches his pants and shirt, and the tie your mom picked out matches your dress perfectly. She even chose the nicest corsage.

Liam is your boyfriend, the one you’ve barely paid attention to this last year thanks to your obsessive studying to get the grades for an Ivy League. And, to be honest with yourself, you don’t even know if you like him or if he’s simply convenient.

The ballroom glows with soft amber lighting, warming every corner in a honey-colored haze. Colored spotlights drift lazily across the walls - pink, blue, and gold beams sliding over metallic streamers that cascade from ceiling to floor in shades of gold, copper, magenta, and amethyst. A low fog rolls across the room, just enough to blur the air and make the lights look dreamy, almost unreal. Balloon bouquets with long satin ribbons sway near the entrance, and big hand-painted 70s-style posters shout things like “Groove All Night!”, “Stay Funky,” and “Dance Like No One’s Watching.”

Above it all, a massive mirrored disco ball turns slowly, scattering silver sparks across dresses, skin, and the glossy dance floor. Smaller disco spheres hang at different heights, catching each passing beam of light. Strands of fairy lights braided with velvet ribbons stretch overhead like glowing constellations. The dance floor pulses softly - classic pink, orange, and yellow panels brightening with every beat - while round tables draped in white cloth and iridescent chiffon shimmer along the edges of the room. Gold-rimmed bowls with floating candles flicker beside soft pink and ivory carnations, vintage glass beads scattered like stardust.

You spot him, your annoying brother, Frank, who came to prom just to keep an eye on you. And of course his best friend, Harry Castillo, came along too. They’re fucking twenty-three, probably looking for overaged girls to hit on. Perfect night. Frank grins at you, and just like the nice lady you are, you show him your middle finger. But Harry’s eyes land on you and his jaw drops. You smirk, just waving.

You find your friends, Kelly, Jane, Meredith, and Gretta, already dancing, so you run to join them. There’s screaming, hugging, laughing… all the girly chaos you’ll probably miss someday.

“The night of our lives!” Mere yells, pouring vodka from a canteen into her soda, passing it on to all of you.

You dance to Heartbreaker by Pat Benatar. Liam stands behind you, not dancing, just… standing. You ignore him and dance like your life depends on it, sweat dripping down your back and temples. Your friends hold your hands, all of you dropping low, laughing. You can’t stop smiling. You’ll miss them, knowing high school friendships rarely survive the ending.

When the song ends, Liam pats your shoulder.

“Hey, I’m gonna check if our room is ready” he smirks. Of course he thinks you’ll have sex tonight. But you know you won’t. You’re still a virgin, and he is definitely not the one.

“Sure. I’ll be right here,” you say and he gives you a quick kiss and disappears into the crowd.

Landslide by Fleetwood Mac starts, the slow song you’ve been waiting for, but Liam is nowhere to be found. You inhale deeply and begin to step away from the dance floor when you spot Harry. His blue tuxedo matches perfectly with his slicked-back hair. He smiles and takes your hands.

“Come here. I can’t leave you alone during the slow one.”

“Didn’t know you could dance, Castillo,” you laugh, your head falling back.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, baby girl.” his hand moves to your waist, respectfully, guiding you gently.

“Where’s Frank?” you whisper.

“Guess.”

“Oh God! Natalie?” you shake your head.

“Yep” he laughs.

“They’re getting married, you know? That’s how they are. Fight, kiss, sex, fight during sex, break up, repeat. They need therapy.”

“Agreed.”

“If Nat is here, why aren’t you with Daisy?” you glance over his shoulder. “Isn’t she here?”

“No…” he clears his throat. “She couldn’t come.”

“Oh… so that’s why you’re dancing with me. If she saw...”

“She wouldn’t do anything to you, baby girl. Off-limits.” he pulls you closer.

“Wow, what a gentleman.”

“No, she’s scared of you. Really. Says you’re too tough.” he smiles. “If Frank disappears, I can take you home.”

“Well… I’m not going home tonight,” you sigh.

“What?” he pulls back, eyes searching yours. “Where?”

“Here… Liam got us a room.”

“No way,” he mutters.

“I won’t have sex with him, Harry,” you laugh. “Not that it’s your fucking business. You’re my brother’s best friend, not my brother.”

“Well, your brother’s not here, so I’m kind of his replacement, in this matter.”

“What the fuck, Castillo…” you smile as the music ends. “I need to find Liam.”

You slip away from Harry and head into the crowd, anxiety buzzing under your skin. Halfway through, you find Mere with her boyfriend, Brad.

“Mere, have you seen Liam? I can’t find him...”

“Well, he was getting the card for your...” Brad pokes her sharply.

“What?” you ask, sensing something wrong.

Harry appears at your side as you rush to the elevator, you’re not even sure he ever left. Panic rises. Brad’s expression said everything. They chase after you, but the doors close just before they reach you. Your chest rises too fast, your pulse loud in your ears.

“Hey, baby girl, calm down, Harry says. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, Harry... but it’s not good.”

You reach the fifth floor. You know exactly where Liam booked the room: 505. May 5th, cheesy. You knock.

“Liam!”

No answer.

“Liam, open the fucking door!”

“Just a minute, babe!”

Harry joins in, pounding the door.

“Open now or I’m knocking it down.”

The door unlocks. Liam cracks it open. His hair is messy. Shirt half unbuttoned.

You kick the door open. Gretta is inside. Her dress strap is falling down.

“What the fuck?!” you scream. “I can’t fucking believe you!”

“It’s not what you think, babe!”

“Oh, sure! I didn’t know you were a tailor and had to fix her dress. I can see the straps and zipper aren’t working…”

“Well, maybe if you let me get yours fixed, I—”

You leap onto Liam, knocking him to the ground. Your dress rips, but at least you manage to slap him hard across the face.

“Fuck you!” you scream, and then you feel strong arms grabbing you and lifting you off the floor. “Put me down, now!” you shout, but the arms don’t let go. “Fuck both of you! I thought you were my friend, Gretta! But you know what? You’re a fucking whining bitch! And you!”

You’re dragged out of the room, but you cling to the doorframe, holding yourself in place. “I would never ride that small dick of yours! It disappeared that day in my hands, imagine that anywhere else!” you laugh.

“Oh, that’s the guy you fuck, whore?!”

You know Harry is the one carrying you, because the second he hears the word, he puts you down and steps toward Liam, fists clenched.

“Say that again…” Harry growls, getting right up in Liam’s face.

“You’re the one fucking that, whore? Or is she still a vir—”

You blink, and Harry’s fist is already on Liam’s jaw. You’re pretty sure something cracked. Security rushes in, and you and Harry take off running, but you end up losing him. You just want to be alone.

You lie on the grass, staring at the sky, your breath still uneven and your makeup ruined, when you hear footsteps approaching. Your eyes stay fixed on the big full moon above you. The feeling of someone settling down beside you catches your attention, and you turn your head. Harry’s mouth is curved downward.

“Can I?” Harry asks softly, his eyes shining under the moonlight.

“Of course. Who am I to say you can’t?” you shrug, turning your gaze back to the sky.

“I’m sorry for what happened tonight. No one’s prom should end like that.”

“Whatever. Men suck. I should’ve known better.” a tear slips down your cheek.

“Yeah… we do.” Harry’s hand brushes lightly against yours.

“And you know what, Harry? I didn’t even like him. I was probably going to break up with him after prom. But my best friend? C’mon.” you look at him again, frustration tightening your voice.

“You were a badass out there. I’m proud of you,” he laughs.

“Are you?” you ask, turning your face toward him again, he gently wipes your tears. “Thank you… I guess.”

“Daisy broke up with me, if that gives you any comfort,” he says with a bitter little smile. “She said I’m difficult to love. And that I’m too short.”

“What a fucking asshole. You’re not. Frank and I love you. And what the fuck, too short? She is the one who looks like a fucking Na'vi” you laugh. “I’m sorry… but you deserve better.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.”

The melody of If You Leave Me Now by Chicago drifts faintly from the hotel ballroom, the song you were supposed to be dancing to on your last night as a high schooler. Harry suddenly jumps to his feet and extends a hand to you.

“My future lawyer, who’s going to clear all my messes for me, may I have this dance?” his smile is soft and warm.

“I can’t fucking believe you, Harry…” you take his hand, and he helps you stand. “You know that if Frank sees us, he’s going to punch you in the face.”

“He won’t.”

Harry pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your waist while yours rest around his neck. You sway slowly on the grass. When you look up at him, his eyes hold a different kind of brightness tonight. You’ve known him your whole life, yet it feels like you’re seeing someone entirely new. Your head rests against his chest, and you hear his heartbeat quicken.

“Hey, Harry. Since you’re going to be a successful man, can you promise me something?” you ask, lifting your head with a smirk.

“What?” he looks down at you.

“When I turn thirty, if I’m still single, let’s get married. My parents will love it, I’ll be rich, and you’ll have a wife who doesn’t think you’re difficult to love or… short.” you laugh.

“Are you coming for my money? You won’t even need it, you’ll be the greatest lawyer.” he says with a gentle, honest smile. “But it’s a deal. Because if I’m single at thirty-five…”

“Your parents are going to be so mad at you…”

“Kind of that.”

“Harry… thank you for everything tonight.” you bury your face in his chest again, inhaling his expensive cologne.

“Don’t thank me, baby girl. Let me take you home, please.” he pulls back slightly, smiling. “I’m eager to see your father chew Frank out.”

“What a brilliant plan!” you laugh. “Let’s go. But… can I ask you a favor?”

“Yes. But I’m not promising anything else tonight.”

“Can you buy me a bottle of whiskey?” you pout.

“Oh my God… I don’t want your father chewing me out.”

“Please, Harry. I’ll tell him the girls got it.”

“Okay…”

Harry’s white Audi A5 is parked a couple of blocks away. Your feet are sore, so he lifts you onto his back and carries you to the car. You slide into the passenger seat and buckle up. Harry drives carefully through the crowded New York City streets, the blinding city lights making you blink. He pretends to focus on the road, but you feel his glances on you.

He stops at a liquor store, disappears inside, and returns six minutes later. When he sits back in the driver’s seat, he hands you a fine bottle of The Macallan, 25 Years Old. Your eyes widen.

“What the fuck?”

“My gift for you. I know you probably got accepted into all the universities you applied to.”

“Thank you, Harry. You’re a great friend. My brother takes you for granted.” you open the bottle and take a huge gulp, coughing.

“Calm down, cowboy!” he laughs.

“Fuck you!” you laugh too, taking another long sip. “Drive.”

“Where to?”

“Prospect.”

“Okay.” he doesn’t even argue, just drives.

Harry parks, and all you can see are trees. Endless trees. He turns on the heater and the radio. Maybe it’s the whiskey, but when you look at Harry, your heart stutters and heat rises inside you.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and crawl onto his lap, lifting your dress. He doesn’t stop you; his hands grip your hips, and he pushes his seat back so you can fit perfectly there. Suddenly, Teenage Dream by Katy Perry starts playing, and you laugh at the coincidence.

You rest your arms around his neck and your lips meet softly, none of you hesitate, not even for a second. And the kiss deepens, you open yours so he can slip his tongue in and your hips grind on him, feeling him getting hard under you, your pussy getting really wet. Lips curling against his, hands open each button of his shirt carefully and then slide through his chest, your lips now go down trailing on his neck, tasting the salty taste of his skin.

“We shouldn’t…” he starts but you shut him up with a kiss.

“You don’t want it?” 

“I do, but…”

“There is no but, Harry, I trust you, more than anyone.” 

Harry's hesitation melts away under your insistent kiss, his hands tightening on your hips as if anchoring himself to the moment. The car feels like a cocoon, the heater's warm air mingling with the rising heat between your bodies, the trees outside blurring into a dark, private world. 

“I was never good at saying no to you, was I?” he breathes against your lips, voice husky with surrender. “We'll go slow. Tell me if it's too much.”

You nod, your heart pounding not just from the whiskey but from the thrill of this, your first time, with Harry, the boy you’ve known for years, who has protected you and sometimes even stayed awake with you watching your “terrible” movies, when Frank fell asleep. His fingers trace the hem of your raised dress, inching it higher until it bunches around your waist, exposing the lace of your panties. He cups your ass, pulling you closer so your core presses firmly against the already hard bulge in his pants. You rock your hips experimentally, feeling his cock twitch beneath the fabric, hard and insistent, and a fresh wave of wetness soaks through your underwear.

The song on the radio fades into something softer, a slow melody that matches the rhythm of your grinding. Harry's mouth finds yours again, deeper this time, his tongue exploring with gentle urgency. One hand slides up your back, unzipping your dress just enough to let it slip down your shoulders, revealing your bra. He breaks the kiss to trail his lips along your jaw, down to the swell of your breasts. 

“You're so beautiful” he murmurs, voice reverent, as he nuzzles the soft skin there.

Emboldened, you reach between you, fumbling with his belt and zipper. He helps, lifting his hips to shove his pants down just enough to free his cock. It's thick, the head flushed and glistening with pre-cum, and you wrap your hand around it tentatively, stroking from base to tip. Harry groans, head falling back against the seat, his fingers digging into your thighs. 

“God, that feels good” he says, eyes dark with desire.

“I guess you are not short at all…” you giggle

“C’mon, baby girl, not the right time…” he laughs

He wants to make this special for you, to ease you into it. 

“Let me touch you first, I don’t want to hurt you.” he says softly, guiding your hand away. 

His fingers hook into your panties, sliding them aside. You lift your hips to help, and he eases them down one leg, leaving them tangled around your ankle. The cool air hits your exposed pussy, but his warm palm covers it immediately, thumb brushing your clit in slow circles that make you gasp. 

“Like this?” he asks, watching your face intently.

“Yes” you whisper, grinding down onto his hand. 

He slips a finger inside you, then two, stretching you gently, his thumb still working your clit. The sensation is new and overwhelming, pressure building as he curls his fingers, finding that spot that sends sparks through your body. Your breaths come in short pants, and you cling to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin through the open shirt.

Harry leans in, capturing a nipple through your bra with his mouth, sucking lightly as his fingers pump steadily. The dual pleasure coils tight in your belly, and soon you're trembling, the first orgasm crashing over you like a warm wave. You cry out, pussy clenching around his fingers, wetness coating his hand. He kisses you through it, murmuring praises. 

“You are perfect, baby girl”

As you come down, panting, he withdraws his fingers and brings them to his lips, tasting you with a low hum of approval. 

“You taste amazing.” flushed and bold from your release, you shift, wanting more, wanting him. 

“I need you, Harry. Now.” you whisper 

He nods, eyes searching yours for any doubt. Finding none, Harry reaches for something in the small compartment between the two seats, and raises a condom up, you grab it from his hand and open it with your teeth, smirking, eyes never leaving his. Your hand helps to slide it through his length. After he is already covered, he positions himself, the head of his cock nudging your entrance. 

“Breathe with me, okay?!” he says.

And you do, inhaling as you lower yourself slowly. The stretch burns at first, a sharp ache as he pushes inside, inch by inch, filling your virgin pussy. You wince, pausing, and he stills immediately, hands soothing your back. 

“You're doing so well. Just relax.”

The pain fades into fullness, pleasure blooming as you take him deeper. When he's fully seated, you both pause, foreheads touching, breaths mingling. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice strained with restraint.

“Better than okay” you reply, smiling and starting to move. 

You rock your hips tentatively at first, then with more confidence, riding him in the confined space of the seat. His cock slides in and out, hitting deep with every downward thrust, your clit grinding against his pubic bone. Harry meets your movements, thrusting up gently, one hand supporting your ass, the other cradling your breast.

The car rocks slightly with your rhythm, windows fogging from your heated breaths. Kisses turn fervent - lips, necks, shoulders - as the intimacy builds. 

“Feels so good” he groans “So fucking tight around me.” 

Your pussy flutters at his words, the coil tightening again. You speed up, chasing the peak, and he slips a hand between you to rub your clit, pushing you over the edge. You come hard, walls pulsing around his cock, milking him as stars burst behind your eyelids. Harry continues to thrust you, holding your body close, and with a muffled moan, he comes, hips bucking as he spills inside you, hot cum filling the condom. You collapse against his chest, both of you slick with sweat, hearts racing in unison.

He holds you close, stroking your hair as the aftershocks fade. Your head stays buried in his neck, breathing in every familiar scent. The mix of your perfumes, the leather seats, and sex is intoxicating—but in a strangely comforting way.

“That was perfect,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Are you okay, baby girl?”

“I am, Harry.” You straighten yourself as he slips out of you, his gaze lingering on where you were connected. “Thank you… it was really good. I never would’ve imagined.”

“Neither of us could’ve imagined that…” he chuckles softly.

“This will be our secret…” you murmur, kissing his lips. “Frank would kill you if he found out what we just did.”

“I know. Don’t worry—our dirty little secret,” he says with a slow, crooked grin.

For a few minutes, you stay exactly like that: tangled in each other’s arms inside his car, parked in the middle of the deserted park. You’re not sure if this was a brilliant or a reckless decision, but you’re glad it was him—glad he was the one who took your virginity. Harry helps you clean yourself up with such care it almost makes you emotional. He’s always been protective of you—his best friend’s little sister—but tonight he’s something more, something gentler.

On the way to your house, he stops at a gas station and buys you a bottle of water and two packs of Reese’s, your favorite chocolate.

“Hungry?” Harry asks, glancing at you before turning the key in the ignition. You just nod; your stomach has been growling for the past hour.

Harry drives to the closest Chick-fil-A, and the two of you share a quietly chaotic late-night dinner inside his car, playing around with your fries and drinks, laughing more than talking—soft, warm, and a little unreal.

And of course, at some point you hop on to his lap again, kissing his lips and surrendering yourself. This time you don’t open or take anything off, just straddling his lap as you tongue explores his mouth, your hand tangled in his curls and his hands running all over your body. You rub your clit on his already hard bulge, and grind it until you orgasm again, he chuckles. But as the movements continue, in between groans and moans, he comes again, inside his pants - your time to chuckle.

“Goddamn…” he pants “Now I can’t leave my car to greet your folks.”

“Yes, I am sorry, I just really like sex now, that is all on you.” you smirk 

Harry stops in front of your house. Frank’s car is nowhere to be found. The sound of the engine makes your father open the door. When he sees you stepping out of Harry’s car, he waves with a big grin, completely unaware that the man just did something he’d kill him for. Or not, I bet all he wants is to join your families.

“Night, Harry!” your dad calls.

“Night, sir” Harry replies through the open window.

You lean back toward him, grinning.

“And hey… I hope you’re single as fuck when you’re thirty-five.”

“Me too, baby girl.” he laughs softly.