Eva’s purse hit the ground with a soft thud.
Her belongings scattered. Lipstick rolled. Keys jangled. A small white box
caught my eye.
Noah blocked the doorway, his voice low and steady. “Leave now, or I call
the police.”
Eva’s face twisted. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
She retreated a step, then another. Her eyes flicked to the purse, but Noah’s
presence held her frozen. With a final shriek of “This isn’t over!”, she turned
and fled.
The hallway fell silent.
I bent to gather her things. My fingers brushed the white box. It was a
pregnancy test. The expiration date caught my attention—purchased six
months ago.
Six months. Not three.
My pulse quickened.
Noah knelt beside me. “What is it?”
I held up the box. “She claimed the bachelor party accident was three
months ago.”
His jaw tightened. “Show me.”
Inside the purse, I found more. Two more test boxes, all bought months
apart. A phone peeked out, screen lit. I shouldn’t look. I did.
A fertility tracking app glowed up at me. Dates marked in red going back five
months. Notes: “Miles family worth confirmed.” “Harper Group merger
public.” “Target: conception window.”
The words blurred. Then sharpened with perfect clarity.
Noah’s hand closed over mine. “Bianca. This is evidence.”
I stared at the screen. “She planned it.”
“Yes.”
“All of it.”
“Yes.”
My anger crystallized into something colder. Harder. “The slap. The fall. The
public humiliation.”
Noah guided me upright. “You should file assault charges.”
I had been focusing on escape. On healing. On forgetting.
But Eva wanted a war.
The next morning, we sat in a coffee shop near campus. Noah reviewed legal
documents on his tablet while I nursed coffee gone cold.
“Bianca!”
Eva’s voice cut through the murmur of morning customers.
She stood by the entrance, makeup perfect, belly just starting to show. Her
eyes locked on mine with predatory focus.
“I need my purse back. You stole it.”
Noah stood. “You dropped it during your harassment.”
“Harassment?” She laughed, high and false. “I was concerned about my
friend.”
She strode to our table, her gait careful. Too careful. As if each step was
choreographed.
“The test results show I’m eight weeks along,” she announced, loud enough
for nearby tables to hear. “Miles and I conceived on New Year’s.”
New Year’s. Three months after the first positive test in her app.
My knuckles went white around my cup. “Your app says otherwise.”
Her face blanked for a heartbeat. “App?”
“The fertility tracker. With notes about Miles’ wealth.”
Her composure cracked. “You went through my phone?”
“You left it behind.”
She recovered fast, plastering on a smile. “Those dates are approximate.
Apps aren’t accurate.”
“They’re accurate enough to show you bought pregnancy tests five months
ago.”
The coffee shop had gone quiet.
Eva leaned in, her voice dropping to a hiss. “Miles deserves better than a
spoiled rich girl who can’t even keep her man interested.”
Noah’s hand found my shoulder. “Let’s go.”
But I held my ground. “You got pregnant after you found out about the
Harper Group merger. You researched his net worth. You targeted him.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Her eyes darted sideways.
Confirmation.
My phone rang.
Miles. Again.
Noah saw the screen. “Answer it. Put him on speaker.”
I did.
Miles’ voice poured out, strained and desperate. “Bianca, baby, where are
you?”
Baby. The endearment he hadn’t used in months.
“Come home,” he continued. “This is all a misunderstanding. Eva explained
everything.”
“Did she explain the fertility app? The tests bought months before your
‘accident’?”
Silence.
Then, a forced laugh. “She’s just anxious about the baby. She tracks
everything. You know how women are.”
Noah’s grip on my shoulder tightened.
I spoke slowly, each word precise. “She tripped me. You hit me. This isn’t a
misunderstanding”
“Bianca—”
“Don’t contact me again.”
I moved to hang up.
His voice turned to ice.
“Bianca, you have twenty-four hours to come back. Or I’ll make sure
everyone knows what kind of woman you really are.”
The call disconnected.
My hand trembled. Not with fear. With fury.
Noah turned me to face him. His eyes held no pity. Only respect.
“Now,” he said, “we file those charges.”
I nodded.
The game had changed. Eva wanted to play the victim? Fine.
I had evidence, witnesses, and a man who believed me.
She had lies, manipulation, and a timeline that didn’t add up.
Twenty-four hours.
Let them come.
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