Page 158 of What Goes Around

I leaned back slightly and observed.

Marissa let out a small, knowing laugh. “Oh, Brandon,” she said gently. “You’re hopeless.”

He looked between them. “What?”

She reached for Apple’s hand and squeezed it. “Tell him.”

Apple hesitated just long enough for the moment to swell, then smiled. “I’m pregnant.”

Brandon froze.

“Pregnant?” he echoed.

Marissa beamed. “You’re going to be a grandfather.”

Chapter 50: The Announcement

For a moment after the words left Marissa’s mouth, Brandon didn’t react.

He sat very still, his gaze fixed on Apple’s hand where it rested lightly over her stomach, like he was recalculating something in his head. Timelines. Headlines. Damage control.

“Okay,” he said at last, slowly. “And who’s the father?”

Apple’s smile didn’t disappear, but it tightened at the edges.

Marissa turned toward Brandon immediately. “Brandon. This isn’t the time.”

He looked at her. “What do you mean? It’s exactly the time. People will ask.”

Apple’s eyes flicked toward Nick for a second, then snapped back to Brandon.

“It’s complicated,” she said.

I leaned back slightly, folding my hands in my lap, watching the scene unfold like theater.

Brandon inhaled once, measured. “Is it Nick’s?”

Of course he’d seen the photos. Everyone had.

Apple didn’t answer right away.

I watched his expression shift, calculation clicking neatly into place. Nick’s family was wealthy. Old money. Connections. Brandon was already building a future in his head where this problem solved itself quietly and profitably.

“I’m not managing another scandal blind,” he said, voice low.

Apple flinched. The graduation party fiasco was clearly still playing on repeat in his mind.

Then Brandon stood.

“Nick,” he called, loud enough to draw attention. “Come over here.”

I lifted my glass and took a slow sip, then raised it slightly toward Apple.

Well played.

Nick stood almost immediately. He didn’t look happy. He looked like someone walking toward bad news he already knew was coming. His face was pale, jaw tight, posture rigid. As he approached, his eyes found mine. There was something desperate in them, like he was looking for an anchor.

I didn’t give him one. I looked away.