The CEO's Stand-in: Pregnant by Another

Get rid of it. Mr. Ashford won't be held hostage by some bastard.

The assistant's face was cold. He tossed a black card onto the bench outside the hospital.

It was the third month since I'd walked away from my sugar daddy, and there he was, catching sight of me on a street in Europe. One hand under my pregnant belly. Coming out of a clinic.

"Ambitious. Just stupid," the man said, flat as ice.

He'd sent his assistant to pass along the order. Abort the child.

I left the card where it lay. I smiled.

"You've got the wrong idea. This is my husband's baby."

"We got married two months ago. It has nothing to do with Mr. Ashford."

He never imagined that one week later, a paternity test would rip his ten years of arrogance to shreds. And this time, the one left to regret it for the rest of his life would be him.

Chapter 1

Winters in London are always damp and gray. The wind came down the street for no reason at all, sharp enough to sting.

Desmond had heard me out. Not a flicker on his face. He only managed a small, practiced show of surprise. "Is that so?"

He'd been at Damien's side a long time. His talent for reading a room had only sharpened with the years.

His eyes moved behind his glasses, down to my belly. "How far along are you, Ms. Rourke?" Polite. Careful.

"About twelve weeks."

A slight nod. The smile stayed on his face, warm and far away. "Then the timing lines up a little too neatly with when you left Mr. Ashford."

As the man's most trusted assistant, he'd seen too many women. Women who'd do anything to stay at Damien's side.

I pulled out my phone. "I have a wedding photo. Me and my husband."

He cut me off, still polite. "That proves nothing."

"Mr. Ashford is... sensitive about children born out of wedlock. I'd keep that in mind, Ms. Rourke."

"Otherwise he wouldn't mind putting you back on that operating table. A second time."

My fingers went stiff around the phone. I lifted my eyes, just a little.

The first snow of the year drifted down.

And I met his gaze. The man behind the glass wall high above, dark and cold.

He was looking down at me. Waiting, maybe, for me to get caught again. For my face to go pale and small.

He was used to being the one who held the reins. And my being pregnant, again, was a thing that pushed against a line he'd drawn.

I put the phone away. Let out a slow breath. Turned to Desmond.

"Do me a favor. Tell Mr. Ashford I don't make the same mistake twice."

My voice came out almost gentle. I meant it. "I've got no attachment to the child I lost back then. No plans to climb anywhere on a baby. No interest in his money."

"This is exactly what I said it is. My husband's child. Nothing more."

I really did carry Damien's child once.

It was my sixth year at his side.

A small life, tied to me by blood, took root in my belly, and lit something in me I hadn't felt about living in a long time.

At seventeen I left home to cover my father's gambling debts and came to the city with nothing. I spent a few years working the clubs, a hostess paid to drink with clients, up and down through all of it. No family to speak of. Even fewer friends.

That was the first time I'd been so reckless. I hid it from Damien. I wanted to keep it.

Then one night at a business dinner, drinking in his place, I got sick. More than once.

Some VP's date joked that maybe I was pregnant.

I saw it clearly. The barely-there crease in Damien's brow. That sharp, weighing look dropping to my stomach.

He didn't allow accidents in his life. This sudden child tripped every wire he had.

And worse. I'd kept it from him this long.

Chapter 2

It was the first time he'd ever turned his anger on me. Teeth set, voice edged with contempt. "I underestimated you, Adeline. You've really got a talent."

Cold-faced, he threw me out of the house, and left me with this:

"You've got one night to think. If you still can't remember what you are, pack up and get out."

It snowed that night.

The wind bit at my face. I looked out at the white going on and on, one hand resting on the small swell of my belly, my eyes hot and red, and I let out the softest breath.

Three months of nerves pulled tight, finally going loose. Maybe that wasn't the worst thing.

I made myself think it lightly.

I'd probably be the only one of his little mistresses who walked away with no payout and left him angry on top of it.

The fetus was already twelve weeks. Force it out now, the doctor said, and the cervix could tear.

And I'd been drinking for years. My body was weak.

If they took the baby, the doctor told me, I might never carry another one. Not for the rest of my life.

The man only crushed out his cigarette. His black eyes didn't move. "And how is that my problem?" Quiet. Even.

Keeping a kid out of wedlock was easy enough in his world.

Even his circle of high-nosed friends had half-pushed him toward it: just have it, ship it overseas, raise it out of sight.

"You're past thirty. It's been only her all these years. A kid wouldn't be the worst thing."

Damien said nothing.

Later, a few rounds in, one of them slurred, "Come on, Damien. You kept her around this long. You're telling me you never once meant any of it?"

Another one, fishing. "Don't tell me you're still carrying a torch for Selene."

The first love. The girl who'd gone overseas young and dropped off the face of the earth. Damien only cut him a cold look. "She's got nothing to do with this."

And when the talk swung back to me, he answered like it bored him. "Easy on the eyes. Figured I'd keep her around a few more years."

A hostess from the bottom of the pile. Fine for a mistress. Not for a wife.

A child that low was one he'd never take.

I was good about it, from start to finish. The day I went in, I didn't cry. Not one tear.

Then I nearly died on the table. The bleeding wouldn't stop.

Weeks in the ICU before I dragged myself back.

The day they discharged me, he actually pushed a meeting to come.

He wore that crisp dark coat, his eyes cold and level, and he made it as plain as he could. "Adeline. I can't marry you."

"I'll only ever have a legitimate heir. Not some child that can't stand in daylight."

I pressed my pale lips together and gave him a faint smile. "I know."

That was the thing he liked best about me.

I knew my place. I understood. I was obedient enough.

Outside, the snow came down soft, and the howling wind threw itself at the sealed glass.

From seventeen to twenty-seven.

It landed on me then. This was the tenth winter of snow I'd watched fall over New York.

The best years a woman gets. Left here too.

Maybe it was because I took the blame so gracefully, because I'd just walked to the edge and back, that he let it go.

The private room was warm. The hard lines of his face slowly eased, and he reached for an apple on the tray and started peeling it.

"I had my assistant pick out some bags and jewelry for you. They'll be sent over in a while."

I watched the peel come away in one long, quiet spiral.

Something stung behind my eyes and climbed, and I held it there. Held it. Didn't let it fall.

Chapter 3

There was still snow caught on his long lashes. His face was cool, intent, every motion exact.

"You've only got a few years with me left. Once I marry, I'll let you go."

He lifted a slice of apple to my lips and, rare for him, softened his voice to coax. "Adeline. Be good. I'll take care of you, hm?"

He did take care of me.

Ten years at his side were, honestly, the highest, brightest stretch of my life.

Even at the end, when Selene showed up.

He never once let me be shamed.

I brushed the snow off my shoulder and told Desmond, "To put Mr. Ashford's mind at ease, I'll go in for a prenatal paternity test in a couple of days."

"Then I'll trouble you to let me know, Ms. Rourke. I'll come along."

Plainly, he was afraid I'd fake the result.

I nodded. "That's fine."

He handed me a business card with a smile, and got one last warning in. "If anything comes up, Ms. Rourke, reach me here. Mr. Ashford is getting married soon. Do mind your manners. The future Mrs. Ashford is sensitive about this sort of thing."

No need to worry, really. Before I left, I'd already deleted every one of Damien's contacts, changed my number and every account, and sold off the place he'd set me up in.

If I hadn't run into him on the street today.

I don't think we'd ever have crossed paths again in this life.

And the future Mrs. Ashford was, most likely, the first love who'd just come back into the country.

I pulled up a smile and nodded. "Then I'll wish Mr. Ashford a happy marriage."

Snow came drifting down from the edge of the sky.

I buried my face in my scarf, turned, and walked home alone down the snow-lined street.

That dark, cold gaze from high in the tower stayed on me the whole way.

Years ago, on a night like this one, carrying me home drunk, he'd said it plainly. He would only ever marry for a match.

Any relationship that couldn't turn a real profit was a temporary expense.

He wanted an old-money match, class for class, everything tuned to his own advantage.

Keeping me was a transaction. Priced and paid.

I sank into it even as I saw it clear.

But only today did it land.

Rules were built for stand-ins like me.

The one that got away lived outside the rules.

Even with nothing to her name, she'd still have his favor.

No one knew why she'd surface now, this first love who'd gone abroad young and dropped out of sight.

But I knew.

I once had an absurd dream.

In the dream, she never belonged to this world. She'd come for one thing, to win Damien's love, and the moment she had it, she slipped back to the world that was hers.

Over there she married, had a child. But money got tight and the husband strayed, so she chose to come back to Damien.

To test whether he still loved her.

Before I left, she named a time. She wanted to see me.

In the caf, the woman wore a white dress, no makeup, taking quiet measure of my clothes and my face.

She was trying hard to look like the clean, innocent girl she'd once been. But the tiredness in her eyes, the calculation there, those didn't lie.

Me, I'd been kept well by money. There was an ease to me, quiet and unhurried, the look of someone who'd never once worried about getting by.

It stirred something in her she couldn't put a name to. Resentment.

She asked me only three questions.

"How long have you two been together? Or, how long have you been at his side?"

I held my coffee cup and answered, slow and clear. "Nine years and six months."

Chapter 4

In my seventh year with Damien, we went half a year without contact.

Some said he was marrying for a match. Some said he'd found a closer stand-in.

Just when I thought the whole thing was about to be cut clean off.

Desmond called me one day, out of nowhere.

After one long night tangled up in each other.

He let me take the most important place at his side, the only one left there.

The woman across from me didn't like that.

She hadn't wanted a timeline this exact.

But she pulled her lips up, playing at not caring. "That long, huh?"

"So did you sleep together?" That was her second question.

I blinked.

She caught it too, how the question came out a little laughable. Ten years, after all. And Damien was a normal man.

Of course there was want.

But I didn't mind handing her something she'd want to hear. "Not in the first five years."

Damien really had waited for her.

Like she'd finally found her place in his heart, she let out a breath, and her smile turned a few degrees more real. She scolded me, gentle. "So that's it. I came back too late."

Then she asked her last question. "When you did it, did he kiss you?"

Kissing, touching. Those were supposed to belong to lovers.

She needed that one badly, to prove it.

In the still air, she watched my face for any flicker.

For a second I drifted somewhere else, and answered fast. "No."

Her tight fingers loosened all at once. Every knot of worry drained out of her like a tide going out.

What took its place was the lightness of a winner. Smug.

"Good. Then I know. All these years, thank you for looking after Damien."

She finally lifted a gracious smile, taking on the air of the woman who belonged at his side, her tone even carrying a fond little complaint. "He's cold by nature. Not good at caring for anyone. You must have swallowed a lot."

I didn't deny it. Just a soft sound in my throat.

I'd pictured this day long in advance, so nothing much moved in me.

I'd seen enough lovesick girls in the clubs. The ones who thought that if they stayed long enough they'd get made official, and ended up torn apart for it, then warned off by the real wife.

I thought, as a stand-in who lived in the shadows, I'd been lucky enough already.

Except.

I'd lied to her about one thing.

Damien didn't mind kissing.

Especially the moods a single kiss could settle. He wouldn't waste time or money working those out.

Now and then, when he was sated, he'd pull me in and kiss me, careless, easy.

Not much heart in it, honestly.

But those moments, with their thread of warmth.

They always gave me the illusion that he and I were just a normal couple.

You see, a woman is always moved by these small, ordinary things, and in the end goes down into it willingly.

I was no exception.

Winter nights come on fast.

My husband was away, on a training program in another country. Afraid I wouldn't look after myself, he'd hired a cook to keep me fed.

When I got home, the cook set a small plate in front of me, all mysterious about it. Black truffle mushroom pasta.

A new thing she was trying, she said, hoping I'd like it.

I went still for a moment. Then I smiled, and pushed it away, apologetic. "I don't like pasta."

Chapter 5

Since she hadn't gotten a read on my taste, the cook looked a little embarrassed and went off to make something else.

The living room was quiet. Outside the window, a bright moon hung high.

That clean, deep scent of black truffle drifted up, dragging my memory hard back toward before.

Back then I was young and reckless. Always up at all hours.

When my energy gave out, I'd get hungry.

That was the first night I ever stayed at his place.

A huge mansion, and not a scrap of quick food in it.

In those early years, every minute I had went into pleasing my boss, working for more tips.

Dinner was two careless bites. I couldn't cook, and I sure couldn't use the tools in that kitchen of his.

All I could do was dig bread out of the cabinet and huddle on the couch, gnawing at it.

Maybe Damien was in a good mood that night. He looked at me sitting there, half-starved and pitiful, and actually turned and went into the kitchen.

I waited, drowsy.

When I cracked my eyes open.

In the dim amber light of the living room.

The man came toward me, elegant and unhurried, in loungewear that matched mine, his long, fine fingers sliding a plate of pasta across. His voice was light. "Try it."

For a long time after, every time I saw black truffle, I thought of that bowl of pasta.

These small things pulled me, over and over, into that tender, merciless net.

I dug my nails into my palm.

If I wanted out, all the way out, I couldn't touch a single thing tied to those memories again.

Monday, I took a strand of my husband's hair, sealed it in a clear bag, and tucked it into my purse.

At the hospital, it wasn't just Desmond waiting. Selene was there too.

Next to how plain she'd looked that day, she was a great deal richer now.

The newest luxury bag on her arm, heavy makeup smoothing out every flaw, even the tiredness under her eyes wiped clean.

Money really is the best tonic a woman can get.

I paused mid-step and gave a small nod. "Ms. Voss."

She didn't answer. The pride and the sourness on her face were barely hidden as she looked my belly up and down.

Into that delicate silence, Desmond spoke, respectful. "The future Mrs. Ashford wasn't easy in her mind. She came to see for herself. If Ms. Rourke has nothing to hide, surely she won't mind."

I tightened my fingers and smiled. "Of course not."

"The lady has brought a hair sample from Mr. Ashford as well. Running them together will make it more credible."

Thorough of him. I had no objection, and handed the clear bag over.

When I came out of the hospital, blood drawn, the snow had cleared and the sky was bright.

Hard sunlight bounced off a black car, understated and expensive.

The man leaned against the door, the line of his profile cold, a cigarette lit between his long fingers. He seemed to be waiting for someone, impatience already sitting at his brow.

Three months, and he hadn't changed.

Me, I'd just finished the most important thing in my life.

I meant to slip away without a sound.

But the next second his eyes lifted, and his gaze locked onto me.

People came and went, and still they left a clear ring of space around this cold, high-blooded man.

I had no choice but to force myself to meet his eyes. I smiled, polite. "Mr. Ashford. What a coincidence."

"No coincidence." He looked down, his mocking gaze sweeping the small swell of my stomach. "Seems the last lesson didn't cut deep enough. You think you can run the same play twice."

I tried to explain. "No. You've got it wrong."

He cut me off. "Wrong?"

Chapter 6

He said it back like he'd heard some clumsy joke. "The timing. The motive. You've got both. And you're telling me it's a misunderstanding?"

He flicked the cigarette away, leather shoes on the wet, cold ground, and came at me, step by step. "Three months after leaving me, and you're conveniently twelve weeks along? Tell me. What man is so capable he had you into a new life this fast, in such a hurry to carry his kid?"

Vicious words. A reasonable read. For a moment I had nothing to say.

"Adeline. Ten years at my side, you should've learned to be smarter than this. Don't run such a stupid trick. And don't push me to burn through the last of what I feel for you."

He stood over me and passed sentence, every word cold as a blade.

Always this. Arrogant, certain, measuring the whole world by his own logic.

This child, once again, had stepped on his wire.

The jittery sunlight couldn't thaw a single ounce of the cold.

I breathed out, slow. I didn't want to waste another word.

I lifted my head and looked at him, calm and serious in a way I never had before. I didn't give him the polite "Mr. Ashford" anymore.

"Damien." My voice was soft, but clear enough. "Do you really think my life has no choice in it but you?"

"Finding the right person, marrying, having a sweet little kid. That was always part of my plan. And the report isn't even back yet. So why sentence me now?"

Mist blurred my eyes. I asked it in a voice soft and stubborn.

"Why won't you believe me? Damien."

He watched me without a word, the cold in his eyes never thinning.

Until a tear slid from the corner of my eye and dropped onto his expensive, handmade shoe.

The long fingers at his side twitched. His mouth pressed thin. He looked away.

Playing weak always worked on him.

I knew exactly what I had going for me.

He stepped back in silence and opened the distance between us.

A moment later his eyes went cold and heavy, his voice a warning. "Adeline. You'd better be able to swear that's the truth."

"Of course. The report comes back in a week. Mr. Ashford will get an answer he's satisfied with."

He stared at my back, and the cold in his gaze turned into something harder to read.

An answer he's satisfied with?

A strange thing rose in his chest.

His? Or not his?

Some nameless unease wound itself around his heart.

And it hit him.

Whatever the answer turned out to be, he wouldn't be satisfied with any of it.

Everyone thought I was after a place through the child.

The truth is, I never had that much hunger for money or standing.

Back in those early years, the only thing on my mind was probably how to last a little longer at Damien's side.

People love to use light as a figure for salvation, for love.

So in my early twenties.

I liked to call Damien my light. The one salvation in a rotting, dissolute life.

I even wanted, low as it was, to shove out every other woman at his side and be the only one who stayed.

Maybe you'll think I'm laughable.

But you have to understand.

The year I met him, I'd just turned twenty.

He paid off my father's gambling debts, cleared out the loan sharks who'd kept me scared out of my mind day and night, and gave me the chance to stay in college.

Chapter 7

Anyone, I think, would have gone down hopelessly in a spot like that.

So after I graduated, I stayed at his side, glad to.

I went with him to the business dinners, the deal-making, and took down glass after glass of hard liquor in his place.

He didn't actually care for drinking.

Anything he didn't have to touch, he didn't. I handled the rest.

Back then I always hoped I could stay a few more years.

So every time the liquor burned through my throat, I made no sound. I'd even smile at him, sweet.

An approving look from him would leave me flushed. And leaning on his shoulder under the cover of being drunk, my heart would go and go.

There were always women around him.

Some for the banquets. Some arranged by his family.

Most didn't last three months.

I hung on, year after year, on the strength of one skill. Drinking.

The longer I stayed at his side.

The clearer the gap between us got.

He couldn't marry me.

He used to say it often.

Later I knew it without his saying so.

You take a shortcut, you don't get to complain about the thorns all through it.

The class gap was a canyon.

I understood that.

So he was never the man I'd picked to marry.

The results came on a Friday. I went to the hospital as agreed.

Desmond collected the report and walked me to a restaurant nearby.

Selene had been waiting a while, her face unusually calm.

Just as I moved to open the report, Desmond pressed a hand to my wrist, a distant, polite smile on his face. "Since Ms. Rourke is so sure of this result, why not let the future Mrs. Ashford be the one to reveal it."

Something was off. I could feel it, faintly.

Selene's mouth curved, like she'd seen through the whole thing already and had only come to collect the answer.

She opened the report, ran her eyes down it, then tossed Damien's copy onto the table, brisk. "Explain yourself, Ms. Rourke. Damien hates being lied to. About a child, most of all."

My eyes dropped. The big print on the page said it plainly.

99.99% match. Paternity confirmed.

Looking at that absurd line, my heart couldn't help the way it shrank.

Desmond saw himself out and left the space to the two of us.

For a moment I just blanked, and picked the report up, and read it over, again, again.

Selene watched, pleased with herself, and dug in. "Nothing to say, Ms. Rourke? Working out how to lie? I get it, wanting into the upper circles. But Damien and I are about to be married. Whose stomach are you trying to turn, dragging a bastard into it?"

It came together fast for me.

No wonder she was so sure of the result.

She'd gotten to it ahead of time.

Maybe I looked too meek. Younger than her. Easy to push around.

But I didn't spend those years in the clubs for nothing.

And after all the business dinners at Damien's side, I'd heard plenty about the ugly things people do to climb.

That day, every sample passed through her hands and Desmond's.

A fool could see the crack in it.

I tossed the report back in front of her, and I pitied her. "Selene. You really are scared of me."

The smile on her face stalled.

I leaned in and let out a knowing, quiet laugh. "You know full well this child isn't Damien's. But you're going to make it his anyway. Aren't you?"

Her eyes went wide, stunned. She opened her mouth to fire back, and my next line shut it for her.

Chapter 8

"You went to all this trouble for one thing. So Damien would see the hard proof with his own eyes. So he'd believe Adeline Rourke is a woman who never learns, one clawing at him with a bastard. So the last scrap of old feeling and guilt in him would curdle the rest of the way into disgust. Into rage."

Her face went iron in a heartbeat. Her voice climbed. "What are you even talking about? What trouble did I go to?"

The mocking edge of my mouth pulled wider, and I kept peeling back the thing she thought she'd hidden. "You want him to push me away with his own hands. Clean, final, no loose ends. Because you know better than anyone how much Damien dreads a child born out of wedlock, how much he cares about blood. So you handed him the one reason he could never forgive me for."

That was it. Her real fear wasn't the child. It was the old feeling in Damien she couldn't be sure of.

She had to snuff that spark out herself.

Ten years. Five times the two years she'd spent saving him.

Of course she was afraid.

She shot to her feet and slammed the report on the table, past caring now. "This is the truth. I already sent it to him. This is all Damien will believe. You could talk yourself blue, and he'd only think you're lying. Playing him."

I laughed, easy, and settled back on the couch. "You think you weigh a lot in his heart. Do you?"

"That's ten years, Selene." The more scared she got, the more I went for the soft spot. "Ten years you couldn't erase if you tried."

That broke her. Every word came grinding out from between her teeth. "Adeline. You're the one who was never loved. Understand?"

"Ten years, so what? If I hadn't left, a club girl like you would never have gotten near enough to wait on Damien. Can you even count the men you've been with? You stole ten years of perks that belong to Mrs. Ashford. Played the fine lady so long you actually forgot what you are?"

I tilted my head and smiled, taking no side. "What's this. Is Ms. Voss jealous?"

She sneered. "Jealous? Of what? You were a toy to him, something to kill time with. Oh, right. Didn't you carry his child once, too? Did you see him keep it?"

"And this one." Her hand shot out, nearly jabbing my stomach, her face all raw malice. "You think it'll be any different? Let me tell you. Even if it really is Damien's, born, it's still a bastard that can't stand in daylight. Just like you, talked about behind your back your whole life. Cheap trash whelping a little bastard."

Something in my face finally went all the way cold. I stood up sharp, took the coffee at my elbow, and threw it in her face.

That was when Damien walked in.

He came through the door and saw her at once. Coffee down her face, a mess, shaking and crying.

He didn't need a second to decide.

His face was calm and cold, but his eyes were black and sharp, and he took the full glass of ice water off the table and poured it straight down over my head.

Clean the whole way. Not a flicker of hesitation.

"Done making a scene?"

Not a ripple in his voice, and the tone of it was cold to the bone.

The ice water ran off my hair, down the side of my face, into my collar.

Chapter 9

The cold cut so deep I couldn't stop shaking.

I shut my eyes, and hazily, I thought back to my first year at his side.

There'd been a scene like this one too.

The first time he took me to a business dinner to close a deal.

I was too nervous, and pouring the wine, I splashed a man's sleeve. A CEO.

He stood up, calm, and in front of the whole table, poured the entire bottle down over my head.

He scolded me in that same even tone. "Cat got your tongue? Apologize to Mr. Reyes."

But this wasn't like ten years ago.

This time there was no bitterness in me, no anger. It just struck me as funny.

Funny to the edge of cruel. Funny enough that the tears nearly came.

I forced the sting back down in my red eyes and met his gaze from below.

My voice came out hoarse, shaking, one word at a time, laying the facts down flat, with nothing in them.

"Damien. I've never done a single thing to wrong you. Not ever."

"For ten years I did everything you said. You told me to drink, so I drank. Even when it bled my stomach and landed me in a hospital, I never once refused. You told me to go charm someone, so I went. Even with his hands all over me, taking whatever he wanted, I didn't fight. You told me to get rid of the child, so I did. Even knowing I might die on that table, I didn't hesitate. Not for a second."

"Wasn't I obedient enough, Damien?" My eyes burned, red all the way through. "So why would you do this to me?"

His gaze sank. He said nothing.

I dragged a smile up, and the tears raced each other down my face. "I was always good. Never once made trouble for you. When it was over, I ended it clean, took no payout, left myself no way to ever reach you. I even wished you happy. I meant it."

My throat closed so hard the words stopped for a moment. I only stared at him, almost stubborn, the way you stare at someone you need an answer from.

"So why would you do this to me, Damien."

I rarely cried in front of him, all those years. Rarely.

His black eyes held on me, his throat moving once, faint.

Scalding tears welled up and spilled and hit the floor.

As if they'd struck him square in the chest. Hot enough to make something at the center of him flinch.

The fingers at his side clenched without his meaning them to.

The hand that had lifted that ice water so cleanly a moment ago now sat like a thousand pounds. Too heavy to raise.

He'd sat through more make-or-break meetings than he could count, and for the first time, he didn't know what to say. His hard gaze stayed on my tear-tracks and wouldn't pull away