Page 151 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
I splash cold water on my face and stare into the mirror. I look absolutely terrified.
If I am… Mr. Sterling’s voice violently echoes in my head. Morality Clause. Deviant lifestyles. Scandal. The funding would be pulled immediately.
A pregnant Brand Strategist who doesn’t know which of her three bosses is the father isn’t just a scandal—it’s a massive punchline. It’s a PR nightmare that ends with Mosaic permanently blacklisted and the Branson brothers laughed right out of Silicon Hills.
They would lose everything. The fifty million. The pristine reputation. The empire they built from nothing.
Because of me.
00:00.
The alarm beeps, sounding like a bomb in the silent room.
I go perfectly still, staring at the three sticks lined up neatly on the marble counter. I don’t want to look. If I don’t look, it isn’t real. If I don’t look, I can go back to five minutes ago and pretend it was just bad sushi.
I force myself to look.
Stick 1: Two solid pink lines.
Stick 2: A bold blue PREGNANT.
Stick 3: A digital YES +.
All the oxygen immediately vanishes from the room. I grip the edge of the sink as a fresh wave of nausea hits me, forcing me to slide down the wall until I hit the cold tile floor with a dull thud.
I pull my knees tightly to my chest.
Pregnant.
I’m pregnant.
And the father is one of the three men I am contractually forbidden from touching.
“Oh god,” I whisper.
A sob climbs up my throat, actively choking me. I press my hand tightly over my mouth to stifle the sound. I can’t cry. If I cry, my makeup will run, and if my makeup runs, they’ll know.
I see their faces. Ethan’s immense pride when he signed that contract. Asher’s excitement about the server expansion. Owen’s massive grin when he announced we had fifty million dollars.
I’m the mistake that costs them absolutely everything.
My phone buzzes again.
Ethan: Leaving a meeting. Coming to check on you. Are you at home?
Adrenaline floods my system.
I scramble up, grabbing the positive tests and wrapping them in layers and layers of toilet paper until they look like mummies. I bury them deep in the trash can underneath a stack of used paper towels.
I wash my hands, scrubbing them raw like I’m trying to wash off a crime. I look in the mirror. My eyes are red, and my lips are visibly trembling.
“Game face,” I whisper. “Pull it together, Tessa.”
But the woman staring back at me looks like she’s about to completely fracture.
I can’t go home if Ethan is heading there.
Me: Not home yet. Just walking around to get air. I’ll let you know when I’m back.
