Chapter 7 #2
His jaw tightens. "Later."
"Did you follow me from work?"
"Later, Seraphina."
Before I can push, he's pulling out his phone, calling someone.
"Leo. I need the doctor. Now." A pause. "Ten minutes. Have him ready."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"And we have a problem." His voice drops. Gets colder. "I just killed Dimitri Morozov."
The name means nothing to me. But the way he says it matters. Changes things.
"Yes, I'm sure. He had the family tattoo." Another pause. His voice drops lower. "Alexei's cousin. Yes, I know what that means. We just started a war."
He hangs up.
War. The word echoes in my head.
I want to ask who Dimitri Morozov is. Who Alexei is. What war means.
But another cramp steals my words. Worse than before. I double over, gasping.
"How much further?" I'm desperate now. Too scared to care about anything except the blood that won't stop.
"Five minutes."
Five minutes feels like forever.
The blood is still coming. I can feel it. Warm and wet and wrong. Soaking through my jeans, onto his expensive leather seats.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "Your seats—"
"I don't give a fuck about the seats."
The buildings blur past. He's driving too fast, weaving through traffic with terrifying precision.
I close my eyes. Try to breathe through the pain.
This isn't happening. This can't be happening.
"Stay with me," Adrian says, and for a moment his voice is almost gentle.
Almost.
I force my eyes open. We're pulling into an underground parking garage. Private. Empty except for a few expensive cars.
He parks, comes around to my side, lifts me again.
"I can walk."
"You can barely stand."
He's right. The world is tilting, spinning, and I can barely focus on anything other than the pain ripping through me, and the blood leaking out of me.
I should be scared, but I'm so tired. And everything hurts. And the blood won't stop.
The elevator opens into a hallway. It's white, clean and clinical. A doctor's office. There's a door at the end of the hallway. Adrian kicks it open.
An older man in a white coat is waiting, and he doesn't appear fazed.
"On the table," he says.
Adrian sets me down carefully. The paper crinkles under me.
"Trauma?" the doctor asks Adrian.
"She was attacked. Slammed against a wall. Hit in the face and abdomen." Adrian's voice is clinical now. Detached. "Started bleeding a few minutes after."
The doctor's eyes narrow slightly. "I need to examine her. Alone."
My heart slams against my chest, and I glance at Adrian, eyes wide. I don't want him to leave, and he must sense that.
"No." Adrian's voice is flat. Final.
The doctor's jaw tightens, but he doesn't argue.
He turns to me instead.
"I'm Dr. Reeves. I'm going to examine you now. Check for internal injuries. Can you tell me when your last menstrual period was?"
My last period.
I try to think, but my brain is foggy.
"I don't know." The words come out slurred. "Maybe ten weeks ago. I'm not regular. I'm on the shot…"
"Last time you got it?"
I wrack my brain. "I'm not sure," I admit.
The doctor and Adrian exchange a look.
"I'm going to do an ultrasound instead of an x-ray," Dr. Reeves says carefully. "Check for internal bleeding. Is that alright?"
I nod. I don't have the energy to do anything else.
He helps me lie back. Lifts my ruined shirt. The cold gel makes me flinch.
The ultrasound wand moves over my stomach. Dr. Reeves' eyes are on the screen, his expression neutral.
Then his face changes. Just slightly.
"What?" My voice cracks. "What is it? My mother had cancer. Ovarian. Is it a tumor?"
The doctor inhales. "No," he says quietly. He glances at Adrian, then back to me. "Were you aware you're pregnant?"
The world stops.
Everything stops.
"What?"
"You're pregnant. About ten weeks, based on the fetal development."
Eight weeks.
The gala.
The stranger.
Adrian.
Oh God.
Oh God.
"That's not—I can't be—"
But even as I say it, I know it's true. The nausea. The exhaustion. The sore breasts. The late period.
I'm pregnant.
I'm pregnant with Adrian Nero's baby.
"The bleeding appears to be from trauma and stress," Dr. Reeves continues, his voice gentle. Professional. "But the fetus looks stable for now. Strong heartbeat. However, given the circumstances, you need to see an OB immediately. This isn't my specialty—"
"The baby is okay?" My voice is small. Broken.
"For now, but you need monitoring. Rest. No stress." He looks at Adrian meaningfully. "And you need to be careful. The next forty-eight hours are critical."
I turn my head to look at Adrian.
He's staring at the ultrasound screen. At the tiny shape that's our baby. I can't tell what he is thinking.
His face is unreadable. Not surprised. Not shocked.
Something else. Something that makes my blood run cold.
Satisfaction. Possession. Calculation.
Like this is exactly what he wanted.
"Well," he says softly. "That changes things."
"No," I whisper. "This doesn't—"
Another cramp. Sharper this time. I cry out.
Dr. Reeves is talking. Saying something about rest and monitoring and coming back in forty-eight hours.
But I can't hear him over the roaring in my ears.
Adrian moves closer. His hand covers mine on my stomach. Possessive. Claiming.
I want to jerk away. Want to scream. Want to run.
But I can't move. Can't do anything except stare at him.
At the man whose baby I'm carrying.
The man who just killed someone in front of me.
The man who's looking at me like I'm his.
He leans close. His lips brush my ear. Only I can hear him.
"You're carrying my child," he murmurs. "That makes you mine."
I want to argue. Want to fight.
But darkness is pulling at me. Merciful. Welcome.
The last thing I see before I pass out is his face.
Silver eyes watching me like I'm something precious.