Part 2: “Three,” she whispered, pressing both hands to her stomach. “We’re going to need a bigger breakfast table.”
They decided to announce the pregnancy publicly at the Kingsley Foundation Winter Soirée, the most important charity event of the year, held at the Waldorf Astoria. Amara designed her own gown for the night: ivory silk, gold embroidery at the sleeves, a neckline inspired by the magnolia petals from their wedding.
She spent months finishing it.
She did not know Olivia had already made her move.
Three weeks before the soirée, Olivia told Carter she was pregnant.
She wasn’t.
But Carter did not know that.
She cried in his penthouse office with one hand on her flat stomach and told him she would be humiliated if he let Amara announce her pregnancy first.
“You know what they’ll say,” Olivia whispered. “They’ll say I trapped you. They’ll say I’m disposable. They’ll say she won.”
Carter should have thrown her out.
Instead, he listened.
Because Olivia’s tears made him feel powerful.
Amara’s success made him feel small.
On the night of the Winter Soirée, Amara entered the Waldorf ballroom on Carter’s arm, glowing. Three hundred guests turned to look at her. Politicians, developers, bankers, museum trustees, society wives, editors, and photographers all watched the woman everyone believed would define the next era of New York architecture.
Thirty minutes into dinner, Carter stood.
He tapped his champagne flute with a knife.
The room quieted.
Amara looked up at him with soft pride, one hand resting on her belly.
Carter smiled, but not at her.
“At Kingsley Development,” he said, “we believe in legacy. We believe in loyalty. We believe no individual ambition should ever embarrass the family name.”
The room shifted.
Amara’s smile faded.
Carter turned toward her.
“My wife will now apologize to Miss Olivia Vance for the public embarrassment her career and behavior have caused this family.”
For three seconds, Amara did not understand.
Then her fingers tightened over her stomach…
—————————————
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