Chapter 24
24
GIANNA
I pace the room, heart hammering, as several wild scenarios of me pregnant and giving birth flash through my mind. The room spins. My lungs contract. I’m not ready . I swallow hard against the rising panic that threatens to push me into a full-blown meltdown.
“Breathe, just breathe,” I whisper to myself, but my lungs refuse to cooperate.
I can’t believe that bastard actually got me to beg for him to fuck me, to give me his cum like some sex-crazed lunatic. An electric tingle rolls down my spine as I recall that moment. God, I was so far gone, so completely enslaved by pleasure that the thought of getting pregnant with his child had felt hot as hell.
Even now, in the middle of my panicked spiral, a small part of me wonders… Would it really be so bad? After all, like he mentioned, we’re legally married. Any child we have would have two parents. A filthy-rich dad.
My hand drifts to my belly, and the image of a small boy with bright blue eyes—Michael’s eyes—materializes in my thoughts. My breath catches. No, what the hell am I thinking?
I shake my head violently, forcing the image away. “Get it together, Gianna.”
Even if I ever consider having children, now is not the time. Not so soon after our so-called marriage. I still barely know Michael. Hell, a week ago I hated him with every fiber of my being, convinced he had betrayed me. If I truly knew him, I would have been able to read his expression that night and realize he was just as blindsided as I was.
I spin around and march straight towards the ensuite, letting the bulky sheet wrapped around me fall to the floor as I reach the door. Plopping onto the toilet, I brace my hands on my thighs and start pushing like I’m taking the most determined shit of my life. Come on, come on . Maybe if I force it out now, it won’t stick. Maybe I can undo what just happened.
Long, agonizing minutes pass as I grunt with effort, my knuckles white against my thighs, but the only thing that comes out is a hot stream of pee. If anything was leaking out before, it’s all gone now, absorbed into my body where his swimmers are probably already racing towards their target. My foot taps anxiously against the floor as I chew my nails.
Fuck. It seems whether I like it or not, I could really end up pregnant.
Unless I can get my hands on the plan B pill.
But how the hell am I supposed to do that? I can’t leave Michael’s house. Not because I’m a prisoner here—I’m not—but because I’m terrified of what might be waiting for me outside.
Dario is dead. Carlo’s plan to marry me is thwarted.
Uncle Aldo must be unraveling right now, and there’s no telling what he’ll do next.
I chew harder on my already ragged nails. Then, like a beacon in darkness, Elira’s face flashes in my mind—her warm smile, the phone number she pressed into my palm with a whispered ‘if you need anything’.
I go still.
Could I? Would she help? I mean she was willing to somehow get me out of marrying Michael when she thought he was the one who hurt me. This seems infinitely simpler by comparison.
My stomach twists. It’s worth a shot .
I wipe hastily and leap off the toilet, absently flushing as I rush back to the bedroom with renewed purpose. I drop to my knees and frantically dig through the tattered remains of my dress scattered across the floor, searching for the pocket. Panic builds in my chest as seconds stretch into minutes. Where is it, where is it? When I finally locate the small card with Elira’s number scrawled across it, I’m practically hyperventilating.
Relief slams into me so hard I nearly sag to the floor—only to face my next obstacle: I don’t have a phone. I threw mine away while on the run to prevent being tracked.
Damn it.
I need to ask Michael for a new phone. But until then, I’ll have to borrow Gracie’s. I hope she’s still awake.
I throw on the nearest clothes I can find—Michael’s shirt and boxer shorts—because I’m too desperate to waste precious minutes going back to my own room for something proper. Taking the stairs two at a time, I burst into the sitting area, thanking every saint when I find Gracie reading a book, thick glasses perched on her nose.
She glances up at me as I enter, dropping her book. “Hi, I hope you didn’t rip into Michael too much earlier? It might seem insensitive to you, but I promise I wasn’t hurt by his reaction to you trying to help. I understand where he’s coming from.”
Where he’s coming from? Curiosity fills my being but gets instantly shoved aside by my more pressing concern. “Yeah, yeah—can I borrow your phone for a few minutes, please?”
Her brows furrow in concern. “Sure… is there a problem?” She reaches for the device resting on the coffee table and hands it to me.
“No, of course not.” I force a laugh that sounds hollow even to my own ears, fingers closing around the phone like a lifeline. “Thank you, I’ll be right back.”
I retreat quickly, feeling her worried gaze burning between my shoulder blades as I flee back to my room. Once safely behind closed doors, I punch in Elira’s number with trembling fingers, but have a moment of hesitation when I see the time. It’s past 9 PM.
Shit.
Then I dial anyway.
If she’s asleep, she’s about to not be.
The line rings. And rings. And rings.
Come on, pick up.
Panic flares. What if she doesn’t answer? Shit, shit, shit. Would I have to ask Gracie to get it for me instead? That would be so embarrassing, oh my God.
“Hello?”
“Oh, thank God. Hi, Lira, this is Gianna–” I pause, then add awkwardly, “Michael’s wife. We met a few days ago at our wedding and then again this evening for dinner and–”
“Gianna! I know who you are.” Her soft laugh spills through the line. “I’m so glad to get your call, and so soon too. Did you want to thank me for coming to dinner?”
“Yes, that and I–” I bite my lip hesitantly, suddenly worried that it might be TMI if I just blurt it out. “I hope I didn’t wake you?”
“No, no, of course not. I’m awake. What’s up?”
I gulp. “I need your help.”
Silence. Then some rustling, followed by muffled conversation on her end. My stomach knots. Shit. Is she telling her husband I’m on the phone and ridiculously demanding her help? Did I make the wrong decision?
“Hi, sorry about that. I was with Maximo, but I assume this is something sensitive, and you wouldn’t want him listening in. I’m in the bathroom now, so you can ask away. Did something happen?”
My heart is pounding erratically at this point, my fingers cold with nerves, but I decide to just rip off the bandage. What’s the worst that could happen? She says say no? Maybe tells her husband, who then tells Michael? He knows I wasn’t happy with him cumming in me, so he should be expecting me to do something like this.
“I need your help to get the plan B pill,” I blurt out.
“Oh,” she replies, and I can’t tell if it’s surprise or hesitation. “I–”
But I barrel on, stopping her before she can say no. “I’d go get it myself, but I have a situation with the people who hurt me a few days ago—if I leave, I might run into them, and I can’t risk getting hurt again. I don’t have any friends I can ask, and you did say to call you if I needed help, so–”
“Gia, Gianna, hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain yourself. I happen to have some at home with me and some extra birth control pills as well if you want.”
A dizzying rush of relief makes my knees buckle, and I collapse on the edge of my bed. “That would be great, thank you. Thank you so much.”
“It’s really no problem. I get it. We’ve all been in your shoes once or twice. And don’t worry—Michael won’t know about this if you don’t want him to.”
“Really? You won’t tell your husband?” I ask, perking up.
“Well… no. We don’t keep secrets from each other. But Maximo is a big boy and doesn’t tell his friends everything. He knows when to keep his mouth shut. I’ll be sure to drum it into his ears.”
I deflate a little. “Oh. Alright. Thank you.”
“I’ll be over soon. Make sure to have an excuse ready for Michael,” she says, then hangs up before I can tell her Michael isn’t home.
I sigh and drop back on the bed, studying the ceiling for a moment. At least, she’s coming with the pills I need.
Once I take them and get on birth control, it won’t matter if Michael keeps insisting on not using protection. A fraction of the anxiety in my belly dissolves.
I push myself up and go return Gracie’s phone, finding her exactly where I left her, though her expression now holds undisguised concern.
“Is everything alright?” she asks again, watching me closely.
I hesitate. I don’t want to lie to her. She’s been really nice to me. But at the end of the day, her loyalties belong entirely to Michael, which I don’t blame her for—I just can’t risk her saying something.
“Elira forgot her stuff with me, and I called to let her know,” I say lightly.
She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push. “Alright. She’ll be here soon, I assume? Do you want me to prepare anything for her?”
“No, it’s not necessary, I–” I pause, considering. Would it be rude to just collect the pills and rush Elira out before Michael gets back? “…Maybe something light,” I correct myself. “Thank you.”
I offer Gracie a small smile, which she returns with a nod as she gets up from the chair. She removes her glasses, tucks them into their case, and places it atop her book before making her way towards the kitchen. I follow her, watching her work so I don't succumb to the urge to hover anxiously by the window to check for Elira’s arrival.
Besides, I’ll need to approve her entrance through Synthia’s control panel since she can’t come inside the compound without me being aware—one of the few things I appreciate about Michael’s house. Unlike Uncle Aldo’s compound, there aren’t a dozen armed men loitering around with heavy weapons for protection.
Here, there’s only Synthia, the AI that controls almost everything in the house, and the layers of security software I’m discovering were all created by Michael himself. And so far, they all seem foolproof. My husband is a genius .
I mean, he single-handedly founded HartSphere, one of the top three tech companies in the States. Despite myself, a glimmer of pride settles in my chest.
Nobody is getting in or out of our compound without someone inside approving it. Synthia detects any presence near the gates or along the fenced perimeter and sends alerts through a subtle beeping alarm to keep us aware of potential threats.
As I watch Gracie putter around the kitchen, I absently tug at the hem of Michael’s shirt, suddenly aware of how disheveled I must look—messy hair, his oversized clothes hanging off me… Yeah, I need to freshen up.
Pushing to my feet, I say, “I’ll be right back, Gracie,” I’m not sure where Elira is traveling from, but I should use the chance to take a quick shower and change into something of my own.
Back in my room, I neatly fold Michael’s borrowed clothes—fighting the urge to inhale his scent as I do—before tucking them into my drawer. Then I step into the shower, tilting my face into the warm stream, careful not to let the water soak my hair.
The rest of my anxiety drains from my body with the water sluicing down my skin. Now that there’s a solution in sight, I can breathe again—enough to finally process what happened with Michael earlier.
I should be fucking terrified by how easily—and quickly—he got me under his spell.
He had me speaking in tongues and seeing God in a matter of minutes. Heck, he had me begging for a fucking child. Who does that? My husband is an absolute master of seduction.
And where the hell is he this late anyway?
Yes, I kicked him out—but only from the room, not the whole damn house. Is he angry with me? Is he out there sulking? I can’t picture that proud, composed man pouting in a corner, so I just shake my head, dismissing the thought.
I step out of the shower, wrap a towel around my body, and return to my room where I quickly pull on fresh clothes. I should probably do something about the shredded remains of my dress still scattered across his bedroom floor. If Gracie sees them and connects the dots, I might actually die.
Before I can decide, the little alarm starts ringing through the house.
Elira is here.
I bolt out of the room, practically flying down the stairs, reaching the Synthia panel by the front door at the same time as Gracie.
She side-eyes me with obvious suspicion, but I wave her away, tapping on the glass panel. A sleek, black SUV idles outside the gate. The back window rolls down, and Elira’s head pops out. She waves cheerfully, and I blow out a relieved breath as I unlock the gate for her.
Then I open the front door and go down the steps to wait for her there. It takes another couple of minutes—since the gate is far from the house—but soon enough, the SUV rolls up the driveway and eases to a stop in front of me.
The moment she climbs out, I rush towards her, grabbing her hand. “Thank you so much for coming all the way here.”
She gives me a warm smile. “It’s no trouble at all, Gia.”
I lead her into the house and up the stairs to my room. “Gracie is making some dessert if you’d like,” I offer as I close the door behind us.
She waves a hand. “I’m okay. I can’t stay that long. Here, have this first.” She takes out a pill from her pocket and hands it to me.
The sight of it makes my stomach knot with urgency. Without a second thought, I spin on my heel and hurry to the bathroom. Flipping the sink on, I cup my palm under the stream. It’s not much water, but it’s enough to swallow the pill.
No way in hell am I going downstairs for a glass—Gracie would ask questions.
As the pill slides down my throat, a wave of calm washes over me. Relief. Peace. And beneath it all, a bone-deep gratitude for Elira. She’s such a nice woman.
When I emerge from the bathroom, she’s absently twirling the tips of her red curls, studying the framed tulips on the wall. “Thank you so much, Elira,” I say, gaining her attention.
She smiles and hands me a complete package of additional pills. “I got these at a pharmacy on my way here. I’ve been on an implant for so long, I was worried the pills I had at home might have expired, so I got you fresh ones.”
“I could kiss you right now.” And I’m not even joking. I’m not usually a touchy person, but I’m so moved by her kindness that I step forward and wrap her in a tight hug. She returns the embrace, rubbing soothing circles on my back.
When we pull away, I stare at the floor, suddenly feeling shy. I’ve never had a girlfriend before. Did I overdo it?
But Elira just squeezes my arm. “I’m glad you called me, Gia, and if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to reach out.”
I nod gratefully and thank her yet again.
She just waves it off like it’s nothing. “You can start the pills in the morning—give the plan B a chance to work. But you’ll need to abstain from unprotected sex for the next forty-eight hours so the drug has time to kick into your system.”
“Alright,” I murmur, closing my fist around the packet. How the hell am I going to fight Michael off for forty-eight hours? He can be a determined bastard when he wants to be.
Elira sighs, like she can read my thoughts. Then she says, “I’d love to spend some more time with you, just us girls, but it’s getting late. How about a brunch date later? I understand you can’t really go anywhere for now, but I don’t mind coming here.”
“I would love that so much,” I say enthusiastically as we leave my bedroom.
“Perfect.” She hugs me one last time before I walk with her to the door. As she gets into her car, I watch with a soft, affectionate smile and wave her off.
Then, as soon as she’s gone, I hurry back to my bedroom and slide the pills under my mattress. I don’t want Michael to find out about them yet. I’m not sure how he’d react, and I’m not in the mood for another argument tonight.
It’s already going to be a hassle trying to figure a way out how to avoid sex for the next two nights. And speaking of—where the hell is he? How could he just abandon the house because I told him to get out?
I roll my eyes as I leave my room to go tell Gracie that Elira couldn't stay for dessert after all. We’ll keep it in the freezer for tomorrow night.
I’m halfway to the kitchen when the Synthia alarm goes off again.
I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat. Then I rush to the panel just in time to see Michael’s car driving into the compound.
Fuck, there’s no way he didn’t pass Elira’s car on the way here.
I can only hope he didn’t recognize it.
Because if he did, I’m in for one hell of an interrogation when he walks through that door.