By eleven that morning, Lena Whitmore had already been told to sit down six times.

The tension in the ballroom remained thick long after Elaine swept away toward the bar to demand a glass of sparkling water. Julian pulled up a chair beside Lena, his hand never leaving her waist, offering a quiet solidarity that she desperately needed.

"I'm sorry," Julian whispered, pressing his forehead against her shoulder. "I should have stopped her before she brought Vance into the building."

"You can't stop her when she gets an idea in her head," Lena said softly, leaning into his warmth. "She views this baby as a second chance to control a Whitmore."

Julian’s expression darkened. He knew exactly what she meant. Julian was the middle child, the quiet artist who had chosen architecture over corporate finance, much to his father’s eternal disappointment. His older brother, Richard, had been the golden child—until he abandoned the family business five years ago to live off-grid in Europe, effectively cutting ties with the Whitmore family. Since then, Elaine and her husband, Arthur, had projected all their unfulfilled corporate ambitions onto Julian and, now, his unborn child.

"She won't get to control our child," Julian said fiercely. "I won't let her do to him what she did to Richard and me."

Guests began arriving shortly after one o'clock. The quiet, intimate gathering Lena had envisioned was quickly overtaken by high-society figures in tailored suits and silk dresses. Socialites from Arthur’s charity boards, junior partners from the firm, and distant cousins Lena had met only once or twice drifted through the room, offering polite congratulations and dropping lavishly wrapped gifts onto the expanding table.

Amy stayed close to Lena's side, efficiently serving as a human shield whenever Elaine attempted to steer prominent donors toward Lena for photo opportunities.

"You're doing great," Amy murmured as she handed Lena a glass of ice water. "Just three more hours of smiling at people who think babies are born wearing velvet suits."

"I don't know how much longer I can stand in these shoes," Lena admitted, wincing as a sharp ache radiated down her lower back.

"Sit down then! Who cares if Elaine glares at you?"

Before Lena could answer, a commotion stirred near the entrance of the ballroom. The heavy oak doors had swung open, admitting Arthur Whitmore. Tall, stern, and possessing the cold authority of a man who managed billions of dollars, Arthur walked into the room with his signature brisk stride. Beside him walked a young woman with sharp features, dark hair, and an impeccable designer coat.

Lena’s heart skipped a beat. She recognized the woman immediately.

It was Victoria Sterling.

Victoria was the daughter of Arthur’s primary business partner, and three years ago—before Julian had proposed to Lena—Victoria had been Elaine’s top choice for Julian’s wife. The Sterlings possessed old money, political connections, and a reputation for ruthless social maneuvering. When Julian chose Lena, a humble high-school art teacher from a working-class background, Elaine had concealed her bitterness behind a mask of polite tolerance, but she had never quite forgiven Lena for taking Victoria's place.

"Why is she here?" Amy whispered, her eyes narrowing as she watched Victoria greet Elaine with a warm, familiar kiss on both cheeks.

"Elaine must have invited her," Lena said quietly, watching Julian’s reaction.

Julian’s brow furrowed in immediate annoyance. He stepped forward as his father approached the table.

"Father," Julian said formally. "I didn't expect to see Victoria here."

Arthur adjusted his golden cufflinks, his expression unreadable. "Victoria was in town visiting her family estate. Her father and I concluded a major merger agreement this morning, so I invited her to join us. It is good for family visibility."

"This is a baby shower, Father," Julian said, his voice laced with restrained anger. "Not a press conference for the Sterling-Whitmore merger."

Victoria stepped up to the couple, offering a perfectly practiced, dazzling smile. "Julian, congratulations. And Lena... you look so... maternal."

The word hung in the air, subtle and laced with condescension.

"Thank you, Victoria," Lena replied evenly, maintaining her composure. "It's nice of you to stop by."

"I brought a small token from my family," Victoria said, gesturing to a uniformed assistant behind her, who stepped forward carrying a large, heavy box wrapped in silver silk. "It's a vintage silver rattle from the late nineteenth century. An antique family heirloom."

Amy let out a soft, barely audible scoff from behind Lena.

"How generous," Lena said politely. "Thank you."

Victoria leaned in slightly, her voice dropping so only Lena and Julian could hear. "I must admit, Lena, I was surprised when Elaine told me you were holding the event here. I thought you would prefer something... simpler. Back in your hometown, perhaps?"

The insult was clear, aimed directly at Lena’s modest upbringing. For years, statements like that had made Lena feel small, inadequate, and out of place in the glittering world of the Whitmores. But looking at Victoria now, with her hollow smile and desperate need to impress Arthur, Lena felt nothing but mild pity.

"My family values love over location, Victoria," Lena said smoothly, looking her straight in the eye. "And right now, this room is filled with people who love my child. That's all that matters to me."

Victoria’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered, nodding curtly. "Of course. How sweet."

She turned and walked away toward the bar with Arthur, leaving Julian to let out a long, heavy breath.

"I hate this," Julian muttered, placing his hand over Lena's bump. "I hate every single person in this room right now, except for you, Amy, and this baby."

"Hey," Lena said softly, cupping his cheek. "We're almost through it. Just a few more hours, and then we go home, order pizza, and leave all of this behind."

Julian smiled faintly, kissing her forehead. "Deal."

As the afternoon dragged on, however, the discomfort in Lena's lower back transformed from a dull ache into a persistent, rhythmic pressure. She tried to ignore it, attributing it to Braxton Hicks contractions or the sheer physical exhaustion of standing for hours in an unsupportive pair of heels.

She excused herself from a conversation with one of Elaine’s charity associates and moved slowly toward the hallway restrooms, seeking a moment of quiet away from the noise, the string quartet, and the suffocating perfume of white roses.

The hallway was dimly lit and cool. Lena leaned against the wood-paneled wall, taking deep, slow breaths. She closed her eyes, placing her palms flat against her stomach.

Just hold on a little longer, baby, she thought softly. Just a few more weeks.

A sharp, sudden pain tightened across her abdomen, taking her breath away entirely. Lena gasped, her knees buckling slightly as a warm sensation flooded down her legs, soaking through the pale blue dress.