Chapter 1: Terminated
Vivienne
He fires me in front of everyone. Monday morning. Nine AM. The entire office watching through the glass walls like it's a show. And it is. For him.
Callum stands at the head of the conference table, sleeves rolled, jaw set, looking at me the way you look at something you've already discarded in your head.
"Vivienne," he says. "Your position has been eliminated."
Thirty people in the room. Not one of them breathes.
I'm standing near the door because I was late. Because I spent the morning vomiting into a toilet and trying to decide how to tell him. The test is still in my purse. Two pink lines I haven't said out loud yet.
"Effective immediately," he adds.
I blink. "Excuse me?"
"Security will escort you out."
He doesn't look at me when he says it. He's already turning, already moving on, like this is a line item on his schedule and I'm the one taking too long.
The room stays silent. Thirty people, and not a single one speaks.
I feel their eyes. All of them. Some pitying. Some relieved it isn't them.
"Can we talk privately?" I ask.
"There's nothing to discuss."
"Callum—"
"Mr. Reid," he corrects.
That lands like a slap.
Three months ago, I was in his bed. Three months ago, he whispered my name against my throat like it was the only word he knew. Three months ago, he told me no one had ever made him feel the way I did.
Now he won't even look at me.
"This is a mistake," I say quietly.
"It's not."
"You know what I've done for this company."
"And now you'll do it somewhere else."
I stare at him. Looking for something. Any crack. Any sign that the man I knew is still there behind the pressed suit and the dead expression.
Nothing.
"Why?" I ask.
He finally meets my eyes. Cold. Flat. Done.
"Because I said so."
Two security guards appear behind me. Hands not touching—but close enough.
I look at the room one last time. Then at him.
"You'll regret this," I say.
He smiles. Small. Dismissive.
"I doubt that."
They walk me out. Past the desks. Past the lobby. Past the girl sitting at what used to be my chair—already settled in like she's been waiting.
Blonde. Tall. Red lips.
She looks up as I pass.
And smiles.
Not at me.
Behind me.
At him.
That's when I understand.
I wasn't eliminated.
I was replaced.
I make it to the parking garage before my hands start shaking. I sit in my car for eleven minutes, staring at the steering wheel, trying to breathe.
Then I reach into my purse and pull out the pregnancy test.
Two pink lines stare back at me.
And I decide right there—sitting in a cold car with my career in pieces and his child growing inside me—that Callum Reid will never know.
Not because I'm protecting him.
Because I'm protecting her.
Or him.
Whoever this turns out to be.
I turn the ignition, pull out of the garage, and don't look back.
That was five years ago.
He fires me in front of everyone. Monday morning. Nine AM. The entire office watching through the glass walls like it's a show. And it is. For him.
Callum stands at the head of the conference table, sleeves rolled, jaw set, looking at me the way you look at something you've already discarded in your head.
"Vivienne," he says. "Your position has been eliminated."
Thirty people in the room. Not one of them breathes.
I'm standing near the door because I was late. Because I spent the morning vomiting into a toilet and trying to decide how to tell him. The test is still in my purse. Two pink lines I haven't said out loud yet.
"Effective immediately," he adds.
I blink. "Excuse me?"
"Security will escort you out."
He doesn't look at me when he says it. He's already turning, already moving on, like this is a line item on his schedule and I'm the one taking too long.
The room stays silent. Thirty people, and not a single one speaks.
I feel their eyes. All of them. Some pitying. Some relieved it isn't them.
"Can we talk privately?" I ask.
"There's nothing to discuss."
"Callum—"
"Mr. Reid," he corrects.
That lands like a slap.
Three months ago, I was in his bed. Three months ago, he whispered my name against my throat like it was the only word he knew. Three months ago, he told me no one had ever made him feel the way I did.
Now he won't even look at me.
"This is a mistake," I say quietly.
"It's not."
"You know what I've done for this company."
"And now you'll do it somewhere else."
I stare at him. Looking for something. Any crack. Any sign that the man I knew is still there behind the pressed suit and the dead expression.
Nothing.
"Why?" I ask.
He finally meets my eyes. Cold. Flat. Done.
"Because I said so."
Two security guards appear behind me. Hands not touching—but close enough.
I look at the room one last time. Then at him.
"You'll regret this," I say.
He smiles. Small. Dismissive.
"I doubt that."
They walk me out. Past the desks. Past the lobby. Past the girl sitting at what used to be my chair—already settled in like she's been waiting.
Blonde. Tall. Red lips.
She looks up as I pass.
And smiles.
Not at me.
Behind me.
At him.
That's when I understand.
I wasn't eliminated.
I was replaced.
I make it to the parking garage before my hands start shaking. I sit in my car for eleven minutes, staring at the steering wheel, trying to breathe.
Then I reach into my purse and pull out the pregnancy test.
Two pink lines stare back at me.
And I decide right there—sitting in a cold car with my career in pieces and his child growing inside me—that Callum Reid will never know.
Not because I'm protecting him.
Because I'm protecting her.
Or him.
Whoever this turns out to be.
I turn the ignition, pull out of the garage, and don't look back.
That was five years ago.