Page 48 of The Fake Affair

Still need time.

I stare at the words until they blur. Time for what? Time to figure out how to get rid of me? Time to craft the perfect exit strategy?

The irony is I watched him navigate the aftermath of his other relationships with Audrey’s friends. Always so careful, so controlled. A generous severance here, a recommendation there. Nobody ever got hurt enough to make waves.

I wonder what my severance package will look like.

My phone lights up with another call from Audrey. She’s been trying nonstop, probably to do damage control like always. To explain away her brother’s behavior with carefully chosen words about his past, his trauma, and his inability to commit.

I’ve heard it all before. Especially when she’d call and complain about all the others.

The others. God, I’m just another name on that list now.

Except they were smart enough not to get pregnant. Smart enough not to let a few heated moments and some whispered words in that damn accent make them forget who Logan Fraser really is.

It was a scam, his scam. For those brief weeks when this felt real. His scent still lingers on the sheets. I remember that it was such a morning—when things were starting to feel real—after I moved in, finding coffee by my bedside. Such a simple gesture, but it made me believe maybe this time was different.

Maybe I was different.

Hour seventy-two approaches, and the silence is deafening. Three days. He asked for a few days, and here I am, watching the clock like some lovesick teenager instead of the professional I’m supposed to be.

The pregnancy test still sits on my nightstand, two lines still clearly visible—two lines that changed everything. Or maybe nothing was ever really different, to begin with.

My phone buzzes. Audrey again.

This time, I pick up.

“I’m coming over,” she says before I can speak. “And Bella? Don’t you dare leave before I get there.”

I look at my half-packed suitcase, and at the resignation letter I started drafting last night and say nothing.

Some silences speak for themselves.

Audrey finds me in Logan’s home office, staring at his desk where my letter and key will soon lie. My suitcase waits by the door.

“Don’t do this,” she says immediately.

“I’ve already done it.” I smooth the letter one last time. Simple, professional. Like the last few months never happened. Like I’m just another assistant giving notice.

“He’s fighting battles you don’t understand.”

“No.” I turn to face her. “I don’t want to hear about his battles or his trauma or whatever excuse you’ve crafted this time. I sat by while you crafted too many of those speeches for his other girlfriends.”

“This is different?—”

“Because I’m pregnant?” I laugh, but it comes out wrong. “Yeah, that’s different, alright. None of the others were stupid enough to let that happen.”

“Bella, stop.” She steps forward. “Logan, he... when our mother died?—”

“I can’t.” My voice cracks. “I can’t hear another explanation. I can’t sit here waiting for him to decide if I’m worth the trouble. Three days, Audrey. Three days of silence while I sit here wondering if any of it was real. While I sit here with his baby.”

“It was real.” She grabs my hands. “God, Bella, it was more real than anything he’s ever?—”

“Then where is he?”

She doesn’t answer.

I pull away, grabbing my letter. “I’ve watched you clean up his messes for years. And I always thought the others were idiots for falling for it. For believing they’d be different.”

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