Virgin Dot Com Novel

[Jasmine's POV] Work feels surreal after everything that happened. Like I'm moving through a world that looks the same but fundamentally isn't, where I'm supposed to pretend normalcy while carrying secrets that weigh more than my entire body. I sit at my desk reviewing distribution contracts for a new EP release, and the words blur together because underneath the professional competence I'm performing, my hand keeps drifting to my stomach. Eight weeks now. Still flat. Still hiding a truth that gets heavier every day I don't speak it.

The contracts are straightforward-standard terms, nothing that requires legal review. I initial where needed, make notes about release dates and marketing coordination, send follow-up emails to the label contacts. Normal A&R work. The kind of thing I could do in my sleep after three years of learning this business from the ground up. Except nothing feels normal when you're growing a human whose father could be any of three men, and those three men have no idea they're about to become parents in approximately seven months. My phone buzzes.

Text from Liam: Come to the office when you have a minute. The casual phrasing doesn't fool me. When all three brothers want to see me at once, it's never casual. I save my work, smooth down my dress-loose-fitting because my jeans are already getting tight around the waist-and walk to their office with my heart doing that stupid accelerated thing it's been doing lately. Anxiety? Pregnancy hormones? Both? They're all there when I enter. Liam leaning against his desk with that golden retriever energy barely contained. Asher in his chair looking composed but with something bright in his eyes.

Finn sprawled on the couch grinning like he knows something I don't. "Sit," Liam says, gesturing to the chair across from him, and the command makes me think of other times, other contexts, before I shove those thoughts away. I sit. Wait. My hands fold in my lap to hide their trembling because suddenly I'm terrified they somehow know that this meeting is about the pregnancy I've been hiding for weeks. "We have news," Asher says, and there's satisfaction in his voice I can't quite parse. "About your songs." My songs.

The ones I've been writing for years, the lyrics and melodies I pour myself into during sleepless nights when the world gets too heavy to carry. The ones I never thought anyone would hear because I'm A&R management, not an artist, and my role is finding talent rather than being it. "Kai Rivers wants to record them," Liam says, and the name lands like a bomb. Kai fucking Rivers-chart-topping, Grammy-winning, sells-out-stadiums Kai Rivers. "His team heard the demos. They want to start recording next month. Three songs for his next album." The information doesn't compute. My songs.

My words about survival and desire and the particular flavor of loving three men simultaneously. In Kai Rivers' voice. On an album that will reach millions of people who have no idea the songwriter spent a week being sexually harassed by the CEO's grandfather and came out the other side with PTSD and a positive pregnancy test. "Jasmine?" Finn's voice cuts through the spiral. "You okay? You look like you're gonna pass out." "I'm fine," I say automatically, which is becoming my default lie. "Just...

surprised." "Good surprised?" Liam asks, and there's hope in his voice that makes my chest tight. He wants me to be happy. They all do. They have no idea I'm too busy calculating due dates and paternity odds to properly process career milestones. "Yeah. Good surprised." I force a smile that probably looks more manic than pleased. "This is incredible." Asher stands, pulls a small box from his desk drawer. Tiffany blue. Expensive. He hands it to me with careful formality. "Congratulations.

You earned this." Inside is a gold Cartier bracelet-delicate, beautiful, the kind of jewelry that costs more than I make in six months. The kind of gift that says you matter, you're valued, we see your talent. I should be thrilled. Should be crying happy tears and thanking them profusely. Instead, I'm calculating whether a Cartier bracelet will still fit when my wrists swell in the third trimester. "Thank you," I manage, and my voice only shakes a little. "Really. This is...

thank you." Liam helps me fasten it, his fingers warm against my pulse point, and I wonder if he can feel how fast my heart is racing. Wonder if any of them notice I've been wearing looser clothes, avoiding alcohol at dinners, disappearing to vomit in bathrooms with increasing frequency. "We're proud of you," Finn says simply, and the sincerity in his voice makes me want to scream. Because they're proud of my songwriting accomplishments while completely unaware I'm carrying a pregnancy I haven't told them about, and the cognitive dissonance is eating me alive.

I escape as soon as socially acceptable, mumbling about needing to update my schedule for the recording sessions. Make it to the bathroom and lock myself in a stall, breathing hard, the Cartier bracelet cold against my wrist. Lunch with Nora is my lifeline. We meet at the café three blocks away, far enough from Cadence that I can pretend to be human for forty-five minutes. She takes one look at my face and doesn't bother with pleasantries. "You look like shit. What happened?" "Brothers gave me news about my songs. And this." I show her the bracelet.

"That's a 'we're sorry we let our grandfather sexually harass you' bracelet if I've ever seen one," Nora says dryly, because subtlety isn't in her vocabulary and I love her for it. "Also probably worth more than my car. How are you feeling? Still puking your guts out every morning?" "Every morning, most afternoons, and occasionally during meetings if someone's wearing the wrong perfume." I pick at my salad without enthusiasm. "Had my first ultrasound yesterday." Her eyes light up.

"Show me." I pull the grainy black and white images from my bag, and something in my chest loosens looking at them. That tiny blob with the flickering heartbeat. Proof that this is real, that I'm not imagining the nausea and exhaustion and emotional volatility. Nora studies them with the focus she usually reserves for contract negotiations. "Cute parasite. Do the dads know yet?" "No." The word comes out flat. "Jasmine." Her voice drops into that serious register she rarely uses. "It's been weeks. You had the fucking ultrasound.

When exactly are you planning to tell them they're about to be fathers?" "I don't know which one is the father," I remind her, like that's not the main reason I've been paralyzed with indecision. "How do I even start that conversation?" "'Hey guys, remember all that unprotected sex? Congratulations, one of your sperm won the lottery.' Done." She stabs her chicken with unnecessary violence. "You're overthinking this. They love you.

They're not going to freak out." "They might freak out." "Then they can freak out together while you eat pickles and cry at commercials or whatever pregnant people do." She leans forward, expression softening marginally. "Look, you can't keep hiding this. Eventually you're gonna start showing, and surprising them with 'oh by the way I've been pregnant for five months' is way worse than telling them now." She's right. I know she's right. But knowing doesn't make the fear any less paralyzing. "What if I made it special?" The idea forms as I speak it. "Like a gift?

A surprise?" Nora's grin is wicked. "Now you're thinking. How do we want to package this baby announcement?" We spend the next thirty minutes planning like we're coordinating a product launch instead of revealing life-altering news. Dinner tonight at Liam's place. I'll bring the ultrasound photos in individual boxes, one for each of them. Make it feel like celebration instead of crisis. I pull out my phone before I can second-guess myself and text all three: Dinner at Liam's tonight? 7pm? I have something I want to give you. The responses come quickly: Liam: Of course. I'll cook.

Asher: I'll be there. Finn: Mysterious. I like it. Tonight. They'll know tonight. The secret that's been consuming me for weeks will finally stop being mine alone. The relief and terror hit simultaneously, and I'm not sure which feeling is stronger. Virgin Dot Com