Chapter 20 Life Unplanned
Lila
The bracelet sits in the top drawer of my nightstand, untouched since the day it arrived. I still don't know why I kept it. Two months pass without a word from Kolya—no more packages, no more threats. Just silence. But I know better than to mistake silence for mercy. He’s biding his time, watching, waiting.
What he doesn't know is that I'm not alone anymore.
Every night, I find myself in one of their beds. It started out of needing comfort, safety, closeness after years of isolation and fear. Now, it's become something else entirely. A routine.
Some nights, I fall asleep curled into Ethan’s warmth, his arms locked around me as if he can physically hold my nightmares at bay. Other nights, I slip beneath Bastian’s sheets, lulled by the steady, reassuring beat of his heart against my back. Then there are nights I seek out Ryker, drawn to the reckless energy that somehow always soothes me in the dark.
It’s not always about sex, though that heat simmers between us, undeniable and growing stronger every day. More than that, it’s about a sense of belonging. About waking up surrounded by them, safe and wanted in a way I haven't felt ever.
Like this morning: I went to bed tangled with Ethan, only to wake sandwiched between him and Ryker. Ethan’s arm rests protectively over my waist, his face pressed to the curve of my neck, while Ryker has one heavy leg thrown over mine, trapping me as if subconsciously deciding I can’t move without his permission.
I should be annoyed by the possessiveness. Instead, I feel... treasured and cared for.
A low groan rumbles from Ryker, his face buried against my shoulder. "Mmm, you should probably stop moving like that," he murmurs, his voice dropping lower, rougher. He nuzzles closer, his breath hot on my skin. "Or keep squirming against us both, Baby Girl, and we might just have to find out how well you handle two cocks at once."
I huff a laugh, the sound shaky. His crude words send unexpected heat pooling low in my belly. Being pressed between them like this feels intense enough, but the idea Ryker just planted, being with both of them at once, makes my stomach flip. Not just with nerves, but with a startling flicker of curiosity.
Just as the thought takes hold, Ethan makes a sleepy noise of protest, his arm tightening instinctively around my waist. “No,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep but firm. “You don’t got anywhere else to be. Stay.”
Warmth spreads through my chest, an ache so deep and unfamiliar it almost scares me. Ryker’s kinky demand, Ethan’s protective hold... it's overwhelming. I’m not used to this. Being wanted like this. Cared for. Loved without expectation or demand, just... theirs.
No. I can’t go there. Not yet.
A loud knock shatters the moment, followed by Grim’s gravelly voice. “Rise and shine, princess. Your fan club can suck it up—time for training.”
I groan, pressing my face into Ethan’s chest. “Two months, and he’s still an asshole.”
Ethan’s fingers trace absent circles on my back. “Yeah, but he’s our asshole.”
Ryker smirks against my skin. “Wanna bet how long until he foams at the mouth when you ignore him?”
I sigh, shifting to sit up even as their arms resist. “Tempting, but if I make him wait too long, he’ll just drag me out.”
Ethan mutters something under his breath about Grim needing a hobby.
Ryker just grins, stretching lazily. “Fine. But you’re making it up to us later.”
I roll my eyes, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. “I make it up to you most nights, Cage.”
His grin widens. “Damn right, you do.”
The weeks settle into a strange rhythm. Between Grim's relentless training—his irritating watchfulness forcing me alert—and shifts at the flower shop, I take cautious steps back towards normalcy. Here, surrounded by the guys during shared meals and quiet evenings, I slowly feel less broken, more like myself. But the depth of feeling growing for them remains terrifying.
Until one morning, when everything changes.
I wake up in my own bed for the first time in weeks. The cool sheets feel strange after nights tucked against solid warmth. Bastian had come to bed with me last night, but he must have gotten up early, probably already focused on work. The absence still makes the room feel colder than it should.
A weight presses on my chest, my stomach churning, a slow, sickening roll. The room is still dark, shrouded in early morning shadows, but the scent of coffee drifts from the kitchen; at least one of them is already up. Yep, it's probably Bastian—he’s always the first to move, his body seeming to reject stillness.
I try to push up, but the moment I move, my stomach clenches violently. A cold sweat breaks out along my spine. This isn't just exhaustion from stress. My head is thick with fog, limbs weighted like wet cement.
Maybe I’m just run-down. My body has been through hell—running from Kolya, near misses, hiding, healing, fighting nightmares. That has to be it. I just need rest.
Except… the nausea doesn’t fade. It claws up my throat, violent and unrelenting. My stomach twists again, and before I can think, I lurch out of bed, sprinting for the bathroom. I barely reach the toilet before I’m on my knees, heaving, hands gripping the cold porcelain like an anchor.
Fuck.
A few minutes later there's a knock at the bathroom door. "Lila?" Bastian's voice is low, steady, but threaded with concern.
Shit.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing my voice to sound normal. “I’m fine.”
A beat of silence. “That didn’t sound fine.”
I groan, resting my forehead against the toilet seat. Of all the men here, why him ? Ethan might brush it off as bad food. Ryker would probably joke about my cooking. But Bastian? He misses nothing.
The door creaks open. Shit, I forgot to lock it.
His measured footsteps enter. Of course, he checked. Couldn’t just let me suffer in peace.
“Lila.” His tone shifts—softer, but firm. “Are you sick?”
I force myself upright, wiping my hand across my mouth. “It’s nothing. I just…” I swallow hard, willing my stomach to settle. “Maybe just stress.”
His gaze locks onto mine, assessing, calculating. He doesn't believe me.
“You look pale,” he observes. “And you barely ate yesterday.”
My pulse kicks up. Dammit, Bastian.
“I wasn’t hungry.” I push to my feet, gripping the counter to steady myself. “Not a crime, is it?”
He tilts his head, watching me like a puzzle. “Not a crime,” he concedes. “But unusual for you.”
I swallow, throat dry. He’s not letting this go. I need to get out before he presses harder, asking questions I cannot answer. My gaze flicks to the toothbrush and paste on the counter. The acrid taste in my mouth is damning evidence.
Turning my back to him for a second, I quickly squeeze paste onto the brush and scrub furiously at my teeth, rinsing and spitting in record time.
Still facing the sink, I grip the edge, forcing a deep breath before turning back around. I force a smile, hoping he didn't notice the frantic haste. “I’m fine, Bastian. Just need some fresh air.”
His jaw tightens as if he wants to argue, but after a moment, he exhales through his nose and nods. “Alright.” His gaze lingers as I slip past him.
I know he doesn’t believe me.
But, neither do I.
My hands tremble as I stand before Grim’s door, my stomach churning with something far worse than nausea. I don’t know how to ask him for this. If I even can. But I have no choice. If I’m right—if this is really happening—I can't handle it alone.
I swallow hard and knock twice.
The door swings open almost instantly, as if he expected me. His sharp gaze sweeps over me, reading every tell I fight to hide. “What?”
I hesitate. Back out now, Lila. But the nerve might vanish forever.
“I need to add a stop on the way to work,” I say quietly. “And I need you not to ask questions or tell the guys.”
His brow lifts. “That’s a hell of an ask, princess.”
“Please, Grim.” My voice cracks, raw with desperation I hate revealing. “It’s important.”
His expression shifts subtly. Grim rarely shows softness or concern, but he recognizes desperation when he sees it. Whatever flickering panic he detects in my eyes is enough. He nods once. “Get your shit. We leave in ten.”
Relief washes over me, so sharp it’s almost painful.
As we step outside, I take a deep breath. "Grim, can you take me to the doctor? I think I need to see someone.”
The drive is silent, thick with unspoken tension. The further we get from the house, the heavier the dread becomes. This is happening.
The doctor’s office is small, tucked away where no one would look for me. Grim parks, fingers tapping the steering wheel before he turns to me. "So, why are we here, princess?" I just shake my head, unable to form words. He watches me for a long moment, then exhales sharply. "Last chance to back out."
I shake my head. No turning back.
He sighs. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”
My legs feel weak stepping out of the car, my breath uneven. What if I’m right? What if I’m wrong? I don’t know which answer terrifies me more. Being wrong means facing how broken I still am, unravelling over nothing. Being right means... my body isn’t even my own anymore….
Grim follows me inside, a silent wall at my back. He doesn’t press, but I feel him watching. Always watching.
Checking in, my hands won’t stop shaking. I shove them into my pockets, willing myself composure.
Soon, I’ll have an answer. And then?
No idea what comes next.
The exam room is cold. Too cold. My hands are clammy, my leg bouncing uncontrollably. Every breath feels shallow. The paper crinkles beneath me on the exam table. Rising nausea makes grounding myself impossible.
Grim sits in the corner with his arms crossed, his watchful presence anchoring me slightly despite his unreadable expression. I know he won’t leave me alone; he's here.
The doctor, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes but a clinical air, finishes her examination and steps back, tapping on her tablet.
"We ran tests based on your symptoms," she says, reviewing the results. "And Lila... you’re pregnant."
The words float, unreal.
Pregnant?
I stare, waiting for the correction, the punchline.
She offers none.
A wrecking ball slams into my chest, stealing my breath. My heartbeat stutters, then roars. My hands clench. I shake my head violently, a choked laugh escaping me. "No. That’s… that’s impossible. I have an implant. I can’t be—"
The horror hits like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs.
My implant.
My hand flies to the inside of my left bicep, fingers scrabbling past the fabric of my hoodie sleeve to frantically press against my skin, searching. Where the small rod should be, a familiar subtle ridge beneath the skin, there’s nothing. Just smooth, unblemished flesh.
No. No, no, no.
My blood runs cold. My breath catches, a strangled sound in my throat.
A memory, sharp and sickening, flashes through my mind: one night, months ago, waking up in Kolya’s bed, my arm aching with a dull throb. He’d been sitting beside me, watching me with that cold, possessive gaze, a small, bloody gauze pad on the nightstand. When I’d asked, groggy from whatever he’d given me, he’d just smiled, that chilling smile that never reached his eyes, and said, ‘Just a little adjustment, моя краса. For your own good.’ I’d been too out of it, too used to unexplained pains and his control, to question it further. I’d dismissed it, like so many other violations.
But it wasn’t just an adjustment. It was this .
He had been told he was infertile. He'd flaunted it, even. This wasn't about him wanting a child. This was about control. About taking even this from me, ensuring I could be a vessel if and when he decided, or perhaps even setting me up for... for what? To be a bargaining chip? To break me further when I eventually found out? The layers of his cruelty are a labyrinth.
A laugh tears from me—sharp, bitter, teetering on the edge of hysteria. My chest heaves.
The doctor gives a sympathetic look. "I assure you, it is. Results are conclusive. You're about two months along."
Breath rushes out in a sharp exhale. Two months. Relief hits so fast my head spins. Not Kolya’s. My chest tightens between hysteria and disbelief.
But panic crashes back immediately. If not Kolya’s… whose is it then?
"Lila?" Grim’s voice is low, cutting through the fog, edged with something I can’t quite place—not concern, not exactly, but… attention.
I barely hear him. My vision tunnels, the room tilting. Nausea slams me with renewed force.
Kolya did this.
He stole my choices. He stole my body’s autonomy. Again. And again.
Shaking hands press against my stomach, a useless attempt to erase reality. It’s real . Inside me. I have no idea what to do.
The doctor turns to Grim, her kind smile fixed. "Congratulations, Dad."
Grim snorts. "Damn, guess I’m a miracle worker, huh?" He leans back, smirking like this is the week's best entertainment.
I stare, slack-jawed, disbelief momentarily overshadowing fear. “Are you serious right now?”
His grin widens. “What, you want tears? Not my style, princess.”
I whip my head toward him, stomach twisting anew. "Grim—"
He lifts a hand. "What? Correct her? Say, ‘Oh no, Doc, just chaperoned her for fun’?" He grins wider. "Nah, riding this out. Might get a free cigar."
Amusement flickers in his eyes, but when he truly looks at me, it fades. My chest tightens, hands shaking harder. What if the guys hate me? Throw me out? What if—
"Breathe, princess." Grim’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, though the smirk returns. His eyes—just for a second—aren't amused. He watches too closely, bracing for me to shatter. "You look like you’re about to pass out, and I don’t do fainting damsels in distress. Bad for the reputation."
A strangled sound escapes me—half sob, half hysteria. "Oh my Gosh, Grim, I don’t know what to do," I whisper, voice breaking. The possibility lodges like ice in my chest. My stomach churns with fresh, acidic nausea. What if they see this as betrayal? A trap? What if they fight over... over who the father is? Will it tear them apart? Will they blame me? Cold sweat prickles down my spine. He sees it, naturally, but keeps going.
"Look, worst-case? They kick you out, we run off into the sunset. Best-case? Three overly protective dudes fighting to rub your feet. Either way, you win."
"Grim, you can’t tell them. Not yet. Please." My voice wavers, hands clenched.
"Princess, you know this isn’t something you can hide forever, right?" His voice is flat, but there's an unreadable flicker in his steel-grey eyes. I swallow hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. "I just—I need time. Time to figure out… how. How to tell them. To make them understand this wasn't..." My voice trails off. A trap. A lie. He exhales sharply, a sound like air hissing from a punctured tire, and rubs a hand down his face. His jaw ticks.
Secrets, especially from Bastian, Ryker, and Ethan, aren't his usual game. He's the one who enjoys stirring the pot, not covering the simmering mess. But then his gaze lands on me, really lands, sees the raw terror, the way I’m vibrating with barely suppressed panic, the sheer desperation clinging to me. He might be a menace, but he’s not entirely without... something. Maybe it's a twisted sort of respect for surviving, or maybe he just recognizes a truly spectacular shitstorm brewing and wants a front-row seat. After a long, tense pause, he gives a short, almost imperceptible nod. "Fine." The word is clipped. "You get a little time. But you don’t get forever, princess. This kind of news? It has a way of getting out." Then, the familiar, infuriating smirk creeps back onto his face, though his eyes remain calculating. "And if you think they’re protective now ? Hoo boy. Wait ‘til they find out they’re potentially a daddy. Or three. It’s going to be unbearable. Full-blown, ‘Lila, did you breathe too hard? Do you need a pillow for your pillow?’ protective. Honestly," he leans back, eyes glinting with dark amusement, "I might stick around just for the entertainment value. This is gonna be better than cable."
Relief floods me, fleeting. The truth's weight presses down, suffocating. Fear coils tighter, making it hard to breathe. What if they don’t take it well? Look at me differently? What if I ruin everything? Or they think I'm trying to trap them!
I clench my jaw, fingers tightening on my hoodie. Despite everything, Grim’s words plant a flicker of something—not quite amusement, but close. The image of them hovering, treating me like glass, almost distracts from the crushing uncertainty.
The thought of their faces—Ethan’s warmth turning wounded, Bastian’s mask slamming down into icy indifference, Ryker’s grin freezing into wary distance—makes a cold fist clench my gut, stealing my breath. Losing them... the imagined silence where laughter echoed feels like suffocation. They're my home, my safety net, solid ground after years of freefall.
This secret feels like a fracture line threatening to shatter it all. Grim bought me time, but it feels fragile. Sooner or later, I face them.
On the way to work, I stare out the car window. How the hell do I tell them? The words dissolve into panic before they form. My breath hitches, heart hammering, as I picture their faces when the truth comes out.
I squeeze my eyes shut, inhaling shakily. Part of me wants to run, pretend this isn't happening. But I can't undo it. Can't keep pretending I'm strong enough alone. I want to trust them, believe they'll stand by me. But after everything? Hope feels like too great a risk.