CHAPTER 30 #2
He pauses. I can feel his irritation radiating through the wood.
"Why is the door locked?" he asks. His voice is right there. inches away.
I unlock it.
I open the door.
Silas fills the frame. He is wearing a charcoal suit, no tie. He looks impeccable. Powerful. Dangerous.
He looks at me. His blue eyes sweep over my face, scanning for threats, for lies, for secrets.
"You’re pale," he says.
He steps inside, closing the door behind him. He crowds me against the sink.
"And your heart is racing," he adds, holding up his phone. 135 BPM. "What happened?"
"I..." I swallow. "I felt sick."
"Sick?" His eyes narrow. He reaches out and places his hand on my forehead. His palm is cool, rough. "You don't have a fever."
"I ate something bad," I lie. "Those gummy bears. I think the sugar... it was too much."
He studies me. He looks at the sink. He looks at the trash can.
My heart stops.
If he looks in the trash...
"You went out," he says. "To the bodega."
"Yes."
"Why didn't you ask the staff?"
"I wanted to walk, Silas. Is that a crime?"
"It is if you're sick," he says.
He moves his hand from my forehead to my cheek. He strokes my skin with his thumb.
"You smell different," he murmurs.
I freeze.
"What?"
He leans in. He buries his face in the crook of my neck. He inhales deeply.
"Your scent," he says, his voice dropping to a low growl. "It’s... sweeter. Heavier."
He pulls back. His eyes are blown wide, pupils dilated. He looks like the wolf catching a scent on the wind.
"Are you hiding something from me, Ivy?"
"No," I whisper. "Nothing."
He stares at me. The silence stretches, taut and agonizing. He knows. He doesn't know what, but he knows the chemistry has shifted.
He moves his hand down. over my throat. Over my chest.
He rests his hand on my stomach.
I stop breathing.
Does he feel it? Can he feel the microscopic change in the cells? Can he feel the second heartbeat that hasn't even started beating yet?
His hand is heavy. Warm. Possessive.
"You’ve been tired," he says slowly, thinking out loud. "You’ve been eating bland food. You’ve been moody."
His eyes snap up to mine.
The realization hits him like a lightning strike.
I see it happen. The shock. The calculation. And then... the darkness.
"Ivy," he warns, his voice vibrating with a terrifying intensity. "Tell me."
I can't lie. Not with his hand on my womb. Not when he’s looking at me like that.
"I..." I choke on the words. Tears well up in my eyes. "I took a test."
He goes perfectly still.
"And?"
"It’s positive."
He doesn't move. He doesn't breathe.
For a terrifying second, I think he’s going to hit me. Or leave. Or scream.
Then, he drops to his knees.
Silas Vane, the King of New York, the man who burned a shipyard to the ground, falls to his knees on the bathroom floor in his three-thousand-dollar suit.
He presses his face against my stomach.
He wraps his arms around my waist, burying his face in the fabric of my sweater.
He takes a shuddering breath.
"Mine," he whispers into my belly.
It’s not a question. It’s a decree.
He lifts his head. His eyes are shining. Not with tears—Silas doesn't cry—but with a fanatical, burning light.
"You did this," he says, looking up at me with awe and madness. "You made a legacy."
"Silas," I whisper, touching his hair. "Are you... are you angry?"
"Angry?" He laughs. It’s a jagged, incredulous sound. "I have conquered the city. I have destroyed my enemies. But this..."
He presses a kiss to my stomach. Then another. Then another.
"This is the only thing I didn't have."
He stands up abruptly. The movement is violent in its speed.
He grabs my face.
"Everything changes," he says. "Now."
"What do you mean?"
"The security," he says, his mind already racing, calculating, fortifying. "It’s not enough. We need more guards. We need a medical team here, in the penthouse. You are not leaving this building."
"Silas..."
"No," he cuts me off. "You walked to the bodega today. Alone. With my heir inside you."
His face twists with horror.
"If anything had happened to you... if a car had hit you... if someone had touched you..."
He paces the small space of the bathroom, raking his hands through his hair.
"I was careless. I let you have too much freedom."
"Silas, stop," I say, stepping toward him. "I’m fine. The baby is fine."
"You don't know that!" he roars, spinning on me. "We need scans. We need blood work. I need to see it. I need to know it’s safe."
He grabs his phone. He dials a number.
"Luca. Get the medical team. Get Dr. Aris. I want the full OBGYN suite installed in the guest wing. Today. Within the hour."
He listens for a second.
"I don't care if he’s in surgery. Pull him out. Tell him if he’s not here in twenty minutes, I’ll burn his hospital down."
He hangs up.
He looks at me. The look is terrifying. It is total, suffocating obsession.
"You are never leaving my sight again," he vows.
He walks over to me and picks me up. He carries me out of the bathroom, treating me like I am made of spun glass that is already cracking.
He lays me on the bed. He pulls the duvet over me, tucking me in so tight I can barely move.
"Stay," he commands.
He sits on the edge of the bed. He puts his hand back on my stomach. He stares at it as if he can see through the skin, through the muscle, to the tiny spark of life inside.
"I will build a world for it," he whispers. "A world where nothing can touch it. A world where there are no monsters except me."
I look at him. I see the walls going up. I see the cage tightening.
I wanted a family. I wanted a connection.
But as I look at the fanatical devotion in his eyes, I realize the truth.
I haven't just created a child.
I have created a new obsession.
And this one might consume us all.