Page 108 of Porcelain Lies

“Clearly.” Her perfectly manicured nail taps against the marble counter. “Your meals are specifically planned for optimal prenatal nutrition. If you have concerns about portions, speak with the staff. Don’t skulk around like a commonvor.”

Heat burns across my face. I want to defend myself, explain about the hunger and curiosity, but her stern presence reduces me to feeling like a scolded child.

“Return to your room.” She turns away, dismissing me. “Imelda will bring you a proper mid-morning snack at ten.”

I shuffle backward, shame making my movements clumsy. The kitchen’s warmth gives way to the cool hallway as I retreat, my bare feet silent on the cool floor.

Back in my room, I sink onto the bed, humiliation settling over me like a heavy blanket.

“That went well,”Boyana quips.

“Shut up.” I press my palms against my burning cheeks. “Just… shut up.”

The room suddenly feels even more confining. The elegant furnishings mock my graceless morning adventure.

I drift back to the window, trying to forget my moment of shame. As I stare out, a sleek black Mercedes pulls up the circular drive, its dark windows gleaming in the morning sun.

The car door opens, and my brow furrows as recognition sinks in. It’s the woman from the party. The one whose dress I ruined. Who looked at me like dirt under her expensive shoes. Even from here, I can see the perfection of her appearance — not a hair out of place from her sleek black bob, her cream designer suit oozing class.

She slides out of the vehicle, gliding across the courtyard to the stairs like a ramp model.

My fingers press against the cool glass as I watch her.

“Well, this is awkward,”Boyana quips.“Your baby daddy’s girlfriend just showed up.”

I step back from the window, afraid she’ll look up and catch me gawping at her. She clearly belongs in this world of mind-numbing wealth and unthinkable power. I’m just… me. The event planner who got knocked up by a man who is apparently involved with someone else.

She pauses at the front steps, smoothing her immaculate hair with manicured fingers. The sunlight catches on a massive diamond ring.

My stomach lurches, and this time it’s not morning sickness.

That’s an engagement ring.

And she’s walking into his side of the mansion as if she owns the place.

What the hell is going on here?

I move back to the window, unable to look away as she floats up the steps. Her movements are too perfect, like a mechanical doll wound up tight. Now that I’m really looking, I can see all the work she’s had done — the sharp cut of her nose job, the dramatic cat-eye lift at the corners of her eyes, lips plumped just to the edge of natural. And there’s no way that God gave her those boobs.

My fingers drift to my own face in the window’s reflection. No fillers, no Botox, just the slight darkness under my eyes from morning sickness and worry. My brown hair falls in natural waves, nothing like her precision-cut black bob.

I glance down at my borrowed silk robe, then back at her designer outfit. The contrast couldn’t be more stark. She looks like a beauty queen and I’m just plain Stella.

“At least your tits are real,”Boyana chirps.

I ignore her, but my eyes drift back to that perfectly rounded chest. Definitely augmented, like everything else about her. She’s had herself sculpted into some ideal of perfection, while I…

My hand dips to my still-flat stomach. Soon I’ll be swollen and stretched, getting bigger while she maintains her artificial perfection. The thought makes my throat tight.

What was Aleksei thinking, choosing someone like me for even one night when he has… that?

The engagement ring on her finger catches the sun again, sending rainbow prisms across the driveway.

I sink onto the window seat, my fingers absently tracing patterns on the glass. The pristine driveway where the woman just strutted past now feels like a barrier between two worlds — hers of polished perfection, and whatever this limbo I’m trapped in is supposed to be.

My belly growls again, the meager breakfast and stolen danish doing little to satisfy my growing appetite. But after Diana’s scolding, I can’t bring myself to venture out again. And the thought of running into that woman while I’m dressed like this makes me physically ill.

Everything about this situation feels wrong. I’m locked away in the Left Wing like some dirty secret while his fiancée waltzes through the front door.

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