She and Theo finally cleared the compromised AR Lab. The scent of burnt circuits clung to her clothes. It served as a harsh reminder of how close she'd come to a violent end. Theo was now speaking rapidly into his comms, was a whirlwind of controlled action, his mind already dissecting the attack, coordinating security. But Juliet found herself strangely detached, the adrenaline wearing off, replaced by a profound, bone-deep weariness.
His unexpected protection in the lab, the solid shield of his body, had been a jolt, not just physically but emotionally. It was a reminder of a vulnerability she usually kept under lock and key, and it had ripped open a wound she'd thought long-healed.
"I need to go home," she heard herself say, the words feeling foreign, distant. Her voice was flat, devoid of its usual commanding tone. Theo paused, looking at her, his sharp gaze softening imperceptibly as he took in her pale face and the slight tremor in her hands.
"I'll have a car brought around," he said, his voice low but understanding. He didn't question her nor tried to dissuade her. He just nodded to a nearby security detail, giving a terse order for her personal vehicle.
She walked out of the lab, leaving Theo to manage the fallout, the familiar buzz of GreyHelix operations a muffled hum behind her. One of her cars, the sleek, black Rolls Royce was waiting at the executive entrance minutes later, a silent testament to her company's efficiency. Settling into the plush leather seat, she closed her eyes, the insistent throb behind her temples mirroring the ache in her chest.
It was all too much.
The constant threat, the shocking violence and now, the ghost of a life she'd buried under layers of ambition and corporate power.
The coolness of her penthouse, usually a sanctuary of controlled elegance felt oppressive today. She walked past the floor-to-ceiling windows, oblivious to the glittering cityscape spread out below.
All she could see was another room. A different kind of confinement.
Settling in her king-sized cream-like cushion, she flashed to the possible genesis of her trauma, where she was just twenty again, not the formidable CEO of GreyHelix but a young woman standing in the stark white bathroom stall in the Hayden Library.
The cramped space felt airless, stifling. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Her period was late.
Weeks late. It never happened. It always came in time.
She had shrugged it off all these while blaming it on finals, her thesis and the intensity of her relationship with Liam Carter.
Everything had been perfect until this moment. Everything had been planned.
With trembling hands, she gripped the thin plastic stick.
It was two clear pink lines.
It was as undeniable as gravity. So obvious that the blind could see through.
Pregnant.
The word felt foreign in her mind, like a language she'd never learned to speak. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she leaned against the cool tile wall, sliding slowly to the floor.
Pregnant. Liam. His laughter, the way his hand had felt intertwined with hers, the whispered dreams of a future that had seemed so possible, so tangible, just months ago.
A tiny, fragile seed of hope, intertwined with fear, took root in her chest.
What would Liam say? Would he be scared, or excited? Would they figure it out together?
Her phone buzzed against the floor where she'd dropped it. A text from Liam: Can we talk? Something's come up.
Something's come up. The words sent ice through her veins. In the past week, he'd been distant, distracted, taking calls that made his face go pale. She'd assumed it was about his research, the pressure of their final year. Now she had her own devastating news to share.
Two Days Later
"Geneva?" Juliet's voice cracked on the word. She stared at Liam across the small table, the pregnancy test still burning a hole in her backpack. She'd planned to tell him, she even rehearsed the words a hundred times.
Now they felt meaningless.
"It's the opportunity of a lifetime," Liam said, but his eyes wouldn't quite meet hers. "The research team at CERN, working on particle acceleration applications in biological systems. It's everything I've dreamed of." He spoke with a strained enthusiasm, a subtle tension in his jaw that Juliet, even in her own turmoil, noticed.
"When?"
"Next month. I know it's sudden, but Jules..." He finally looked at her, and she saw something in his expression that made her stomach clench. He had a mix of excitement for his future, and a deep, unsettling anxiety.
"This is my chance. My only chance to work at this level."
She wanted to tell him about the baby. Wanted to see if the news would change his mind, make him stay. But the excitement in his voice, the way his whole face lit up when he talked about Geneva, how could she take that away from him? How could she burden him with this when he clearly felt so much pressure already?
"How long?" she asked instead.
"Three years, minimum. Maybe longer if the research goes well." He reached across the table, took her hand. "I know it's not what we planned, but—"
"No." She pulled her hand away, the word coming out sharper than she'd intended. "It's not."
"Jules, please. Long distance relationships work. We can make this work." But even as he said it, his gaze shifted nervously towards the coffee shop door, as if expecting someone.
"We can't," she said quietly. "You know we can't."
She saw the flicker of relief across his face before he could truly hide it. Relief that she wasn't going to fight him, relief that his path forward seemed clear. And that told her everything she needed to know. He wanted to go. He wanted the adventure, the research, the freedom of being twenty-two and brilliant and unencumbered. She couldn't blame him. Before the pregnancy test, she'd have wanted the same thing.
"I'm sorry," he said, and she could hear that he meant it. "I wish things were different."
"So do I." She stood, shouldering her backpack with its hidden secret. "I hope Geneva is everything you dreamed of."
She walked away before he could respond, before she could change her mind and tell him the truth.
Because she'd seen the future in his eyes, and it didn't include her. And something about the way he'd been acting, the quick, furtive glances, made her suspect his "chance" wasn't as simple as it seemed.
Eight Months Later
Juliet held her daughter, Sophia, for the first time in a sterile hospital room, tears streaming down her face. The baby was perfect. She looked almost like her father with her tiny fingers, rosebud mouth and eyes that seemed to look right through her to some deeper truth.
"She's beautiful," the nurse said softly. "Have you chosen a name?"
"Sophia," Juliet whispered. "It means wisdom."
She'd built the past eight months alone, working three jobs to pay for medical care while maintaining her grades. Her father had offered money, but she'd refused. This was her choice, her responsibility. She would find a way to make it work. She would not let Richard Grey dictate this.
But as she looked down at her daughter's face, as she felt the overwhelming surge of love and terror that came with new motherhood, she realized she'd been lying to herself. She had no idea how to make it work. She was exhausted, broke, and utterly alone. And her father knew.
Somehow, he always knew.
Two Weeks Later
"You're exhausted," Richard Grey said, his voice unusually quiet, almost sympathetic, as he watched his daughter pace the living room with a crying infant in her arms.
"When's the last time you slept for more than two hours?"
Juliet was too tired to lie. "I don't remember."
"And you think you can go back to school like this? Finish your thesis? Build the career you've always wanted?" His words were laced with a familiar logic, insidious in its kindness.
She wanted to say yes, wanted to prove she could do it all. But Sophia had been crying for three hours straight, and Juliet had classes in the morning, and the babysitter had canceled again.
"The Harrisons are good people," her father continued. "David's a physician, Sarah's a teacher. They've been trying to have children for years."
"I know." Juliet had met them twice; she had seen the desperate hope in their eyes. They would love Sophia, would give her stability and security and two parents who'd planned for her.
"You're twenty years old, Juliet. You have so much ahead of you. Revolutionary research, breakthrough discoveries, the chance to change the world." He paused, his gaze steady and unwavering.
"Is it fair to ask a child to wait while you figure out how to balance everything?"
The question hit her like a physical blow because she'd been asking herself the same thing. Every sleepless night, every missed class, every moment when she felt like she was failing at both motherhood and her dreams.
"If you sign the papers now, you can finish school. Start your research. Build something that matters." His voice was careful, controlled. "And she'll have parents who can be there for every moment, every milestone."
Juliet looked down at Sophia, who had finally fallen asleep in her arms. The baby's face was peaceful, trusting. She deserved more than a mother who was barely holding it together, a mother whose life was about to be torn apart by a choice she couldn't escape.
"The arrangement includes provisions," her father continued. "Updates, photos, the option for contact when she's older. It's not disappearing forever."
But they both knew it was. Clean breaks were cleaner. Better for everyone.
With trembling hands, Juliet signed the papers that would let her daughter have the life she deserved even if it meant giving up her own heart in the process.
Present Day
"Juliet." Eleana's voice cut through the memory like a scalpel. "You're not breathing."
She realized she was right. Her chest felt tight, constricted. The phantom weight of her daughter in her arms felt as real as if it had happened yesterday.
"I'm fine," she said automatically, the lie as practiced as breathing.
Instead, Juliet felt the familiar ache of loss she'd spent sixteen years trying to numb. She'd built GreyHelix from nothing, had revolutionized biotechnology, had become everything her father said she could be.
And it had all been built on the foundation of the choice that had broken her heart.
Somewhere out there was her daughter, Sophia who had no idea her biological mother had sacrificed everything for her future. And if someone was using her past as a weapon, if the secrets she'd buried were about to become public, then everything she'd built from the ashes of her shattered heart was at risk.
The question was: who knew the truth, and what did they want in return for their silence?