In the days following my earth-shattering pregnancy reveal, a tense quiet seemed to descend over the Westbrook mansion like a suffocating pall. Almost as if the entire estate were holding its breath, anxiously waiting to exhale until the first shockwaves commenced.
Because we all knew they were coming, like the initial rumblings before a massively disruptive earthquake violently hits. The family's reaction to my impending child could only be described as the ultimate seismic threat to their perfectly constructed facade of corporate dominance.
On the surface, Jack strode the marbled hallways barking orders into his phone as usual, the infallible master of his domain. That superficial image of rigid control remaining seamlessly intact no matter how huge the private bombshells detonating in
