Then he picked up a bag from the shelf.
“I’m here to buy something for my sister,” he announced loud enough for others to hear.
The staff practically melted with relief.
“Yes, sir.
Welcome, sir.
” They laughed too loudly, smiled too widely, treated him like the son had walked inside their shop.
And from that day, Ethan kept coming back, always with a new excuse.
My sister needs a bag.
My sister has an event.
My sister likes this brand.
Each time he requested Daisy.
Each time the staff gossiped, “That CEO is a playboy.
See the kind of women he brings.
He keeps changing girls.
” One day, Daisy finally got tired and said quietly, “Sir, you have so many sisters.
” Ethan’s mouth twitched, almost amused.
I have three,” he admitted under his breath.
“That’s why this excuse works.
” Daisy didn’t know whether to be angry or annoyed.
But she knew one thing.
People were watching, especially Anita.
Anita noticed the pattern too quickly.
She noticed how Ethan’s eyes followed Daisy even when he pretended not to.
She noticed how he always chose Daisy, even when Anita stood right in front of him with her best smile.
Anita’s jealousy grew teeth.
At first, she only whispered.
Then she began to plant words.
Daisy targets rich men.
She acts innocent, but she knows what she’s doing.
She sleeps around to sell.
She’s using the boss.
Slowly, like poison mixed into soup, the story began to spread.
And Daisy could feel it.
The looks, the whispers, the laughter that stopped when she turned around.
Still, she kept working because hunger doesn’t care about gossip.
Bills don’t pause for rumors.
But one morning, as Daisy was arranging clothes on a rack, a sudden wave of nausea hit her like a slap.
She froze.
Her face drained.
She gripped the rack tightly, trying to steady herself.
The nausea rose again, stronger.
Daisy covered her mouth and rushed toward the restroom.
She barely made it inside before she bent over the toilet and vomited.
Her body shook.
Her eyes watered.
When she finally lifted her head, she stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Her lips were pale.
Her breathing was uneven.
And fear crawled into her chest, cold and heavy.
Because Daisy knew her body, she knew what this could mean.
Her hand trembled as it moved slowly to her belly.
Not touching, just hovering.
Like she was afraid to confirm what her mind was already screaming.
“No,” she whispered.
“Not like a prayer, like a warning.
” “No, please.
” She stared at her reflection like the mirror was about to answer her.
Her mouth tasted bitter.
Her throat burned.
Her hands were shaking so badly she had to grip the sink to keep herself steady.
She rinsed her mouth, forced herself to stand straight, and walked out of the restroom like nothing happened.
But inside her, everything was spinning.
She tried to work.
She tried to smile.
She tried to pretend.
Yet, the nausea came again, soft this time, like a warning, and fear finally pushed her into action.
That same day, after work, Daisy stopped at a pharmacy on her way home.
She kept her head down as she spoke, as if the walls could hear her shame.
Good evening.
Please, I need a test strip.
The pharmacist looked at her for only a second too long, like he already had assumptions, then handed it over.
Daisy paid quickly, and left.
At home, she didn’t even greet properly.
She went straight to the small shared bathroom, locked the door, and leaned against it as if her legs could no longer carry her.
Her fingers trembled as she opened the pack.
Please be negative, please.
She took the test.
Then she waited.
Those seconds stretched like punishment.
Her eyes didn’t blink.
Her breath came shallow.
Her heart pounded so loud she felt it in her ears.
And then two lines appeared, clear, unarguable.
Daisy’s knees gave way.
She slid down to the floor, pressing her palm over her mouth to stop a sound from escaping.
Tears filled her eyes.
Not gentle tears.
Hot tears that came from shock, regret, and helplessness.
“No,” she whispered again, but this time it sounded like mourning.
“No, no, no.
” Because she already knew what this meant.
She was pregnant and she was alone.
Six weeks earlier, before Apex Lux became a daily name on everybody’s lips inside that boutique, before Ethan Adam began showing up with sister excuses, before people started watching Daisy like she was a snake pretending to be a dove.
Daisy had been surviving the way many people survived, quietly, desperately, and without any help.
She had a part-time job at a luxury bar.
It wasn’t the kind of place she was proud of, but it paid.
and Daisy needed money.
That night, the bar was loud and polished, filled with perfume, laughter, and men who spoke like money was a language they owned.
Daisy wore a simple uniform, black skirt, white shirt, hair tied back.
She moved between tables with a tray in her hand, serving drinks and forcing polite smiles.
Then she saw him, a man sitting alone with a glass in his hand, his shoulders heavy, like he was carrying something inside his chest.
handsome.
Not flashy handsome.
The kind of handsome that doesn’t need to try.
His shirt sleeves were rolled up.
His tie was loose.
