Juliette POV
Kendrick launched into another soliloquy about his startup struggles. He paced the small living room, his brow furrowed, his voice filled with feigned stress.
"Sleepless nights, Juliette," he lamented. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it dramatically. "Just endless, endless worry. The market is brutal. Investors are ruthless. I'm doing everything I can, absolutely everything, but it's like swimming against a tidal wave."
He paused, glancing at me for a reaction.
I sat still, my face carefully neutral.
He was wearing the same faded shirt and worn jeans from yesterday. A calculated choice.
Yet, his hands, I noticed again, were too soft, too unblemished for a man under such immense "pressure." There were no ragged cuticles, no signs of stress-induced nail-biting, no calluses from late-night coding.
They were the hands of leisure, not struggle.
"I need some relief," I said, my voice hoarse from the dry, hot air. "A fan, anything. I feel so dizzy."
My head spun slightly, the room tilting. My skin felt clammy and slick.
He stopped his pacing. He looked genuinely annoyed for a split second before smoothing his expression into a mask of concern.
"Oh, baby," he said, his voice soft. He came over and gently stroked my forehead. His touch felt distant, alien. "I know, I know. It's tough. But we're almost there. Just a little longer, okay? Think of how proud our little one will be when we've built this empire together."
He lifted his hand from my forehead. My skin tingled with sweat. My shirt was damp, clinging uncomfortably to my back and belly. I could feel beads of perspiration trickling down my spine.
"Could I at least have some cold water?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Just a glass of cold water. My throat is burning."
He paused, a flicker of irritation in his eyes.
He walked to the kitchen. I heard the tap running. My hopes rose. Maybe, just maybe, he would show a sliver of genuine care.
He returned, holding a steaming mug. My heart sank.
"Here you go," he said, handing me the mug. The ceramic was hot against my already overheated skin. "Warm water. Much better for you, sweetie. Cold water can shock your system, especially when you're pregnant. It's not good for the baby. We need to be careful."
The steam rose, curling into my face, coating it with even more heat. The thought of drinking that hot water made my stomach churn.
"You're being selfish, Juliette," he added, his voice hardening slightly. "Thinking only of your comfort when we're facing such hard times. We both need to make sacrifices. This is for our child."
I pushed the mug away with a weak hand. The hot liquid sloshed, threatening to spill.
He gave me a disapproving look.
"Alright, I've got to run," he said, ignoring the untouched mug. He patted my shoulder, a quick, dismissive gesture. "Big interview today. Could be the turning point, you know? Keep your fingers crossed."
He turned and walked towards the bedroom.
I watched him go, my fingers curling into fists.
That "interview" was a lie—and before the day was over, I would have proof. I had already memorized the address on the forum post. Kandy's apartment. That was where he was really going. And thanks to Kandy's public Instagram, I knew exactly which luxury building she lived in—the glass tower on Camelback, the one with the rooftop pool. The one I could see from our fire escape.
