“Seriously?” I press the power button again, giving it the hard stare usually reserved for witnesses changing their stories on the stand. Zilch. Nada. It’s as dead as my desire to deal with this today.

I tap an impatient rhythm with my fingers, echoing the ticking bomb of anxiety in my chest. Is this day going to get any worse?

“Need some help?” Kate materializes in my doorway, her eyebrows arching with concern—or is that curiosity? Hard to tell these days.

“Would you mind letting IT know my computer has decided to take an unscheduled vacation?” I say, plastering on a smile that feels about as genuine as a three-dollar bill.

“Of course,” she replies, already backing away, probably eager to escape the blast radius.

“Great.” I exhale, my voice flat as week-old soda. “Just what I need today.”

The whispers continue their insidious creep through the walls. They don’t know I have ears honed by cross-examinations and depositions. But I can’t focus on them now, not when there’s a digital mutiny happening right in front of me.

Dead computer, leaked documents, and a conspiracy salad being tossed around the firm—it’s shaping up to be one of those days that asks for a stiff drink before lunchtime. And yet, here I am, pregnant and twice as stressed. Cheers to that.

Dragging my personal laptop from the depths of my work bag, I can’t help but feel like I’m suiting up for battle with a slingshot.Not ideal, to say the least. But when the world—or at least the office—seems to be crumbling, you make do with what you’ve got.

I flip open the lid and jab the power button like it owes me money. The familiar hum of the startup is a small comfort, but I’m far from relaxed. The whispers from earlier still slither through my mind, as insidious as the leak that’s thrown us all into disarray.

The screen glows to life, a clean slate in the midst of chaos, and I log in.

The documents—those meticulously detailed, painstakingly gathered financial records—are now splashed across the internet like some sort of corporate tabloid fodder. Someone did this with intention, with precision. There was no fumbling in the dark; this was a sniper shot.

A shiver snakes down my spine, and I throw a surreptitious glance over my shoulder. The office feels different now—less like a place of work and more like a crime scene. Which one of these well-dressed sharks circling the water cooler had the gall? The treachery?

“Focus, Isabella,” I tell myself, fingers poised over the keyboard. “You’re not just any lawyer—you’re the lawyer.” But even as I try to pump myself up, doubt digs its claws in. This breach happened under my watch. My reputation, my rules, my relentless climb up the ladder—it’s all teetering on the edge.

And so, with a deep breath and a mental armor of sarcasm, I dive back into the digital fray.Whoever you are, I think, clicking through files with the speed of a courtroom cross-examination,your days of cloak-and-dagger are numbered.

Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that I play a much meaner game of hide-and-seek. And I always find what I’m looking for.

Chapter sixteen

Adrian

The prenatal class ends like a wave against the shores of routine, and we shuffle out to stretch our legs. A sense of déjà vu lingers, the familiarity of these sessions stitching themselves into the fabric of my new normal.

It’s midday, and I’m on chauffeur duty for Isabella because why not add taxi service to the ever-growing list of unexpected roles in my life? Honestly, it’s a breath of fresh air compared to what’s going on at the firm.

“Adrian, Isabella, you two are going to be such amazing parents,” gushes a mom-to-be from our group, her belly swelled like she’s smuggling a basketball.

“Yeah, you two really do make a great couple,” her husband says, stepping up beside her and wrapping an arm around her waist. “How did you meet?”

I glance over at Isabella, my gaze lingering. “We grew up together.”

Isabella turns to the couple and adds, “Our fathers were childhood best friends.”

“You don’t say.” The mom-to-be’s face lights up with interest as she rests her head against her husband’s chest.

Isabella crosses her arms casually over her chest, as if the conversation is easier to handle with a physical barrier between us and them. “How about you two?”

Her question draws a smile from the father-to-be. “We worked as managers at the same company for ten years. We shared an office.”

The mom-to-be laughs softly, shaking her head at the memory. “And I had no idea he had a crush on me the whole time.”

Her husband grins, his eyes full of admiration for his wife. When I found out she had put in her two-weeks’ notice, I was devastated. I knew I had to tell her how I felt. Luckily, it worked out for me.”

I smile, feeling a strange sense of pride for him taking a chance on the woman he loves. “Seems it worked out for the both of you.”