Chapter 13 #4
“Dad...” I whispered, voice cracking into fragments. “You may not see me as your daughter anymore... but I still see you as my father. Please. Don’t do this.”
For a split second — just a flicker — something passed through his eyes.
Pain?
Memory?
Regret?
Then it vanished.
He smirked — cold, hollow, almost amused — before driving his heel deeper into my stomach.
The impact was devastating.
Air exploded from my lungs in a sharp, involuntary gasp.
White-hot pain detonated low in my belly, spreading outward like shards of broken glass grinding inside me.
My muscles seized. My spine arched instinctively — trying to escape the force — but the men holding my wrists forced me flat again.
He stomped.
Harder.
The second blow landed with brutal precision.
A wave of nausea surged through me. My vision flashed white for a second — ears ringing — as if something inside had shifted violently under the pressure.
“Dad...” I sobbed, choking on the word. “Please...”
He ignored me.
He raised his heel again.
“Stop calling me by that name, you bitch.”
The third stomp crushed down with deliberate cruelty.
Pain exploded through my abdomen — deeper this time — and I screamed.
The sound tore through my throat raw and broken.
Something felt wrong.
Not just pain.
Not just bruising.
But tearing.
As if invisible threads inside me had snapped.
Harris stepped forward slowly, crouching beside me with clinical detachment.
He grabbed the hem of my sundress and lifted it without hesitation — exposing my stomach to the cold air.
It was barely rounded.
Softer than usual.
Different.
“Vasquez,” Harris said calmly, eyes scanning my body, “are you certain she’s pregnant again?”
My father’s gaze dropped to my abdomen.
He studied it like a diagnosis.
“I’m a trained physician,” he replied flatly. “I recognize the physiological changes. The subtle bloating. The increased sensitivity. The way she’s protecting her middle unconsciously.”
Pregnant?
The word shattered through my mind.
No.
No — that couldn’t be true.
My heart pounded violently.
I hadn’t known.
Hadn’t suspected.
Ruslan and I had been reckless — desperate for comfort in the chaos of everything collapsing around us. But I had blamed my missed cycle on stress, on trauma, on exhaustion from running and hiding.
Not this.
Not now.
Harris straightened slowly — then without warning, his fist drove straight into my exposed abdomen.
The impact was calculated.
Precise.
Crushing.
I screamed again as the blow forced my body to convulse violently. My muscles contracted involuntarily, trying to shield what lay inside — but there was no protection from his strength.
He leaned closer, eyes dark with resentment.
“Remember three years ago?” he hissed. “We came here. We offered you stability. Protection. Power. All you had to do was divorce that Greek bastard and marry me.”
His jaw tightened.
“Finish the alliance. Secure my inheritance.”
I shook my head weakly — or tried to.
“You refused.”
Another fist slammed into my abdomen.
Pain radiated through my core, sharp and nauseating.
“And now,” he continued coldly, “you dare carry another one of his whelps?”
He turned his head slightly and gestured to two of the larger men standing nearby.
Their faces were emotionless.
“Punch her,” he ordered calmly. “Until the pregnancy ends.”
My blood turned to ice.
“No—” The scream ripped from my throat. “Please! I’ll marry you. I swear — I’ll do whatever you want!”
Tears streamed down my face.
“If I’m pregnant... it’s a blessing. It’s not a threat to you!”
Harris laughed softly.
“Everything about you is a threat to control.”
He stood upright. “You don’t get to negotiate anymore.”
He pointed toward the hallway.
“We’ll take you from here. Marry you immediately. Invalidate your marriage to Baranov through legal channels — our lawyers are excellent at dismantling inconvenient unions.”
His eyes dropped to my stomach again.
“But you cannot walk down the aisle carrying his spawn.”
He nodded.
That was the signal.
The two men dropped down beside me — kneeling on either side like executioners preparing a punishment.
Their fists rose.
My breathing turned shallow and panicked.
“Please...” I whispered weakly. “Don’t...”
The first blow landed.
Low.
Brutal.
My abdomen buckled under the force, muscles spasming violently as pain radiated outward in sharp waves.
The second blow followed almost instantly — harder than the first.
It felt like something inside me shifted.
Like bone grinding against tissue.
The third punch came without hesitation.
My body jerked violently with each impact — trapped between their grip and the crushing strikes.
Searing pain flooded through me.
Then warmth.
Too much warmth.
I froze.
A strange sensation spread between my thighs — thick, sudden, and terrifying.
Blood.
Dark at first.
Then brighter.
Then flowing.
“No... no...” I breathed.
The men didn’t stop.
They kept striking until my screams turned into choked sobs.
The pain changed.
It wasn’t just external anymore.
It was internal.
A deep cramping sensation twisted through my pelvis — violent contractions pulling at my core like something was being forcibly expelled.
My vision blurred.
Black edges crept into my sight.
The room spun.
Voices around me faded into a distant echo.
I felt it.
The life inside me — fragile, newly forming — slipping away in a final catastrophic surge of pain.
One last cramp.
One final release.
Then —
Nothing.
The agony didn’t disappear.
But something essential had gone silent.
My body went limp against the marble as my strength drained out of me.
Darkness swallowed my vision completely.