The very next day Addison’s phone erupted with notifications. Her calendar blazed with Jaxon’s surgical revisions—career milestones repositioned, strategic meetings redistributed, an engagement window carved into spring like a promise.

“When did you restructure everything?” she murmured, scrolling through the systematic overhaul.

Her lunch with Nora had vanished, replaced with a clinical “REST” block during peak productivity hours.

“I didn’t ask for rest optimization,” she muttered, jabbing at the screen. “I asked for lunch with my friend.”

The realization struck with crystalline clarity when she tried to deny the changes. Jaxon’s love expressed itself through meticulous management—not malicious, but absolute.

Every detail of their shared existence flowed through his strategic oversight.

That night, Addison couldn’t sleep, deciding if she liked that kind of Jaxon’s treatment, and morning brought nausea that doubled her over, clutching the marble counter.

She dialed the clinic with trembling determination. “I need an ultrasound appointment.”

“Congratulations! When was your last period?”

“About two months ago or something like that.”

“Perfect! We can see you tomorrow at ten. You’ll want to bring your partner for this exciting moment—”

“I’ll be coming alone.”

“Of course, some women prefer to process privately first. We’ll take excellent care of you.”

After that she hung up the phone and her day crawled past in a haze of forced normalcy. Every email from Jaxon’s assistant updating “their” schedule felt like another chain around her neck. Every meeting felt hollow.

By evening, desperation clawed at her chest. She needed Nora—her best friend since college, needed someone who saw through Jaxon’s polished loving facade to the control underneath.

An hour later Addison sat curled on her couch, picking at leftover Chinese takeout while Nora rattled off details about her latest dating disaster.

“So this cryptocurrency genius shows up wearing a tuxedo t-shirt—to a wine bar, Addie—and launches into mansplaining blockchain like I’m his personal financial advisor.” Nora gestured wildly with her chopsticks. “I mean, the audacity!”

Addison managed a weak smile, pushing lo mein around her container.

“Wait…” Nora’s voice shifted, her comedic energy evaporating. “You haven’t laughed once, and you love my terrible date stories!”

She set down her food, studying her friend’s face.

“Something’s really wrong, isn’t it?”

The gentle concern in Nora’s voice cracked something inside Addison. Tears she’d been holding back all day finally spilled over.

“Oh girl.” Nora immediately moved closer, wrapping her arms around Addison. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. That’s what we do—”

“I’m pregnant,” Addison whispered against her friend’s shoulder.

Nora pulled back, eyes wide but not judgmental—just protective and fierce.

“Okay. Okay, that’s um… how are you feeling about it?”

“Terrified. Happy. Completely overwhelmed.” Addison wiped her cheeks. “I want this baby, but I’m scared to tell Jaxon. He’s going to lose his mind.”

“But he’s crazy about you,” Nora said, settling beside her.

“That’s what makes this so confusing.” Addison’s voice cracked. “He used to look at me like I was this incredible discovery he couldn’t believe was real. He was always so protective, so attentive.”

“Yeah, remember that proposal? The botanical gardens, the string quartet, hiring professional photographers just to capture your reaction?” Nora added softly.

“Exactly! But lately…” Addison’s hands twisted in her lap. “I feel like I’ve become part of his routine. Like I’m this beautiful piece that fits perfectly into his master plan, but he’s stopped actually seeing me. He makes decisions for us without asking—what restaurants we go to, which events we attend…”

Addison’s tears came harder now, months of suppressed frustration pouring out. “I’m so scared, Nora. What if I can’t do this alone?”

“You won’t be alone. Not ever.” Nora’s voice carried absolute certainty. “But first, you need to talk to him.”

The city lights flickered beyond the windows as silence settled between them—not empty, but full of possibility and fierce determination.

“Whatever you decide,” Nora said finally, “about timing, about conversations, about everything—you’re testing love against control and I’ll support you completely.”

“Even if it means detonating the most sophisticated management system in the city?”

“Especially then.”

Some time, drinks and disruptive conversations full of laughter and hugs later, Nora gathered her belongings, embracing Addison with fierce solidarity before departing.

“Call me after tomorrow’s appointment. Whatever you discover, we’ll strategize countermeasures.”

The apartment settled into pristine quiet then. Addison stood surrounded by Jaxon’s carefully curated environment—every detail selected to support their ascending success trajectory.

Her phone pulsed against the coffee table.

Unknown number: Avoid lobby 2:15–3:00. Tomorrow.

Picking it up, she stared at the screen, confusion threading through her chest. Before she could process the message, another materialized.

Unknown number: Please, Dove.

The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering against marble, as her face drained of color.

Only one person had ever used that endearment. Only one person who could shatter even the most perfectly orchestrated plans.

The one she thought was dead.