The first time I kissed Mason Cross, I thought it was a joke. A dare, maybe, or a cruel trick meant to humiliate me in front of everyone at the bar. But when it happened, when our lips crashed and my heart stopped cold, I realized it was real—so real it shattered everything I’d ever been taught to believe. I’m Harper Evans. Twenty-four years old, law school dropout, and daughter of the man who built Evans Construction from nothing. My family’s legacy is everything to my father, which means the Crosses—the family that’s tried to ruin us more times than I can count—are supposed to be my enemy. But that night, I didn’t see Mason as the enemy. I saw a guy with stormy eyes and a half-drunk smile, leaning against the bar like the world owed him something. I saw someone lonely. Someone angry. Just like me. It started with a cheap shot of tequila and ended in his hotel room, clothes everywhere, walls muffling our secrets. No words. Just heat and desperation. Now, three weeks later, I’m sitting on the cold bathroom tile staring at two pink lines, my hands shaking so bad I can barely hold the test. Pregnant. Pregnant by Mason Cross. My stomach twists. I press my forehead against the wall and try to breathe. My phone buzzes on the counter—Mom, probably, wanting to know why I missed Sunday dinner again. I can’t tell her. I can’t tell anyone. I think about calling my best friend, Lexie. But what would I even say? “Hey, remember the guy I’ve hated since kindergarten? Surprise, I’m carrying his child.” No. I need to think. I need to hide. I flush the test, brush my teeth, and force myself to smile in the mirror. Fake it until you make it, right? But the mask feels heavy, like it could slide off at any second. Downstairs, Dad’s booming laugh fills the kitchen. I avoid his eyes and grab my keys. “Where you off to, Harp?” he calls. “Library,” I lie. “Big project.” He nods, proud. I wonder what he’d say if he knew his daughter was about to ruin everything. Ten minutes later, I’m parked outside the Cross Hardware store. I don’t know why I’m here. Maybe I want to see him. Maybe I want to scream at him. Maybe I just want to remember that one night wasn’t a dream. I spot Mason through the window. He’s arguing with someone on the phone, jaw clenched, hair falling into his eyes. He looks tired. Older. Undefeated. My heart pounds. I shouldn’t be here. If Dad finds out… But my feet move before my brain catches up. I push the door open. The bell chimes. Mason looks up, sees me, and freezes. “Evans,” he says, voice flat. “Cross,” I shoot back. He hangs up, tossing his phone onto the counter. “What are you doing here?” I swallow hard. “I need to talk to you. Alone.” He glances at the back office, then nods. “Follow me.” The office smells like sawdust and old coffee. I close the door and lean against it, trying to steady my hands. He narrows his eyes. “If this is about the bid on the Turner building, you can—” “It’s not,” I interrupt. “It’s…personal.” He stiffens. “We don’t do personal, Evans. Not you and me.” I want to laugh. Or cry. Instead, I blurt out, “I’m pregnant.” The words hang in the air, thick and sticky. He blinks. “What?” I repeat it, softer this time. “I’m pregnant. It’s yours.” He stares at me, silent. For a second, I think he’s going to laugh. But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns away, running a hand through his hair. “This is some kind of joke, right? You’re screwing with me.” I shake my head. “I wish I was.” He looks at me—really looks at me—and I see something shift in his eyes. Fear. Anger. Maybe hope, twisted and ugly. “Why’d you come here?” he asks. “Why not just—handle it?” Because I can’t, I think. Because it feels like lying. Because I wanted him to know. “I thought you deserved to hear it from me,” I say, voice cracking. He laughs, but it’s bitter. “My old man’s gonna love this.” We both flinch. The Cross-Evans feud isn’t just about business. It’s blood-deep. Decades old. The stuff of small-town legend. “What are you gonna do?” he asks. “I don’t know,” I admit. He leans against the desk, looking everywhere but at me. “You keeping it?” I nod. “Yeah.” There’s a long silence. He finally looks at me, eyes softer now. “You sure it’s mine?” The question stings, but I get it. We barely know each other. One night doesn’t make a lifetime. “Yes,” I say. “It’s yours.” We stare at each other, trapped in the silence. “I need time,” he says finally, voice rough. “Me too.” I leave before I can say something stupid. Outside, the air is cold and sharp. I breathe in, trying to clear my head. I can’t tell my family. Not yet. Not until I have a plan. But as I drive away, I realize there’s no plan in the world that can fix this. — That night, Lexie calls. “You sound weird,” she says. I almost blurt it out, but bite my tongue. “Just tired.” She hums. “Come to the lake house this weekend. We’ll drink cheap wine and forget our problems.” I promise I’ll think about it, but my mind is somewhere else. Stuck in that office with Mason. Stuck between two families who would rather burn everything down than see us together. My phone buzzes again, this time with a text from an unknown number. Mason: We need to talk. Tomorrow. I stare at the screen, heart racing. I’m not ready for tomorrow. I’m not ready for any of this. But tomorrow is coming, whether I like it or not. And somehow, I know—this secret is only the beginning. ---