Chapter Seven
“Well,” Hyunwoo says, leaning over the bathroom counter with both hands braced on the marble, his grin so wide it’s practically splitting his face in half, “would you look at that.”
His voice is full of smug satisfaction. We’re both staring down at two separate pregnancy tests laid side by side on the counter—one the traditional line variety showing two clear pink lines, the other a digital readout displaying the word PREGNANT in unmistakable block letters.
No ambiguity this time. No squinting at faint shadows or holding the stick up to different light sources or wondering if maybe the test was defective.
Two tests, two positives, one undeniable result.
I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s been a month since my heat, and it was the longest and most aggressive heat of my life—three full days of it, relentless and consuming, my body burning through wave after wave of need that left me barely coherent between crests.
For three straight days Hyunwoo kept me knotted near-constantly, day and night, the two of us holed up in his bedroom like the outside world had ceased to exist. We both called off everything—Hyunwoo cancelled his meetings with the resort developers and I had Ye-eun cover my clients at the gym.
We stayed locked in for the duration, taking breaks only to shower, hydrate, eat whatever could be grabbed quickly from the kitchen, and take the increasingly anxious dogs out for brief walks between rounds.
Kal and Machete spent most of those three days stationed outside the bedroom door, whining intermittently and looking deeply concerned every time one of us emerged looking destroyed and smelling like sex.
By the time the heat finally broke and I was able to claw my way back to rational thought, I was so thoroughly stuffed full of Hyunwoo’s come that I was genuinely surprised it wasn’t leaking from my ears.
My womb felt heavy and swollen, my hole was so used and loose that I could barely keep anything inside me even with the plug, and my entire body ached in places I didn’t know could ache.
After all that, if I hadn’t gotten pregnant, we would’ve had to accept that one or both of us was medically infertile and the whole arrangement was doomed.
But here we are. Two pink lines and a word in block letters that changes everything.
Hyunwoo looks pleased now, grinning broadly as he straightens up and gives me a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. He picks up both tests, examining them with satisfaction, turning them over in his hands like they’re trophies.
“I’ll make a call and get us into my private clinic this afternoon for an ultrasound,” he says, already pulling his phone out of his pocket with his free hand. He points one of the pregnancy tests at me like a pointer. “Get ready. We’re leaving in an hour.”
He strides out of the bathroom, and I hear him in the hallway already talking to someone on the phone, his voice bright and businesslike as he arranges the appointment. I sigh, but I’m resigned. What’s done is done, after all. Literally.
Still, as I turn toward the mirror, I can’t help pressing a hand against my lower belly.
It’s still flat, no visible change at all, my abs the same as they’ve always been beneath the thin fabric of my t-shirt.
But knowing there’s something in there now—an actual embryo, cells dividing and multiplying, something alive and growing—makes my palm tingle against my skin.
I stare at my own reflection for a long moment, my hand resting over my navel, and feel something I wasn’t expecting.
Like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff and looking down and realizing the ground is a lot further away than you thought it was.
I pull my hand away and splash cold water on my face.
Hyunwoo drives us to the clinic with the windows down, humming along with the radio, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the song playing.
He’s more cheerful than I’ve seen him in weeks—his whole demeanor lighter, looser, the tension that’s been sitting in his jaw whenever his mother calls visibly absent for the first time in months.
The black Maserati pulls into the parking lot of the maternity clinic and causes a small commotion.
Other patients climbing out of sensible sedans and practical minivans pause to stare at the sleek sports car sliding into a spot near the entrance, and a couple of nurses standing by the front doors exchange glances.
Hyunwoo seems completely oblivious to the attention as he kills the engine and practically bounces around to the passenger side, grinning as he holds my door open with an exaggerated flourish and a little bow.
I give him a flat look as I climb out.
“You seem unusually pleased about all this,” I say, shutting the door behind me. “I get it, the inheritance is a big deal, but I didn’t think you actually wanted a baby this badly. I figured you were doing it mostly for the money and to get your grandmother off your back.”
Hyunwoo falls into step beside me, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tailored slacks, and tilts his head like he’s considering the question seriously for once.
“Well, it is a lot of money,” he concedes, his tone light.
Then something shifts in his expression—just slightly, a flicker of something more honest passing across his features before the easy grin slides back into place.
“But admittedly, I do feel quite satisfied. For a while there I was genuinely afraid I might be the one who was infertile.” He shrugs one shoulder, casual, but I catch the way his gaze drops to the pavement for a second.
“That there was something wrong with my sperm, or some genetic issue from my parents both being alphas. Alpha-alpha pairings can produce offspring with reduced fertility sometimes. So I’m kind of relieved to find my swimmers work just fine. ”
I blink at him, caught off guard. “I didn’t even realize you’d been worried about that.”
“Of course I thought about it.” He glances at me sideways.
“I’m only human, Yuggie. And it was entirely possible I was the problem.
Every time those tests came back negative, part of me was wondering.
” He holds the clinic door open and ushers me inside with a hand on my lower back. “But no matter now.”
The waiting room is painted in soft pastels—mint green walls with framed prints of flowers and gentle watercolor landscapes, the kind of aggressively soothing decor that’s supposed to make you feel calm but mostly just makes me feel like I’m sitting inside a greeting card.
I lower myself into one of the cushioned chairs and immediately start bouncing my knee, a nervous habit I’ve never been able to break.
Around us, other pregnant omegas sit in various stages of pregnancy—some barely showing beneath loose sweaters, others with bellies so round and prominent they look ready to pop at any moment, their hands resting on the swells of their stomachs with absent-minded tenderness that pregnant people seem to develop.
A couple of them have alphas sitting beside them, attentive and hovering, and one omega near the window is alone, scrolling through her phone with her feet propped up on the chair across from her.
Hyunwoo drops into the seat next to me with ease, crossing one ankle over his opposite knee and reaching for the magazine rack beside him.
He plucks out a glossy publication—some kind of childbirth and parenting magazine with a beaming couple on the cover—and flips it open with genuine curiosity, tilting it toward the light.
I glance over his shoulder and immediately wish I hadn’t.
The page he’s landed on features a full-color anatomical diagram showing the stages of omega male birth in graphic cross-section detail—the baby’s position in the womb, the dilation of the birth canal, the progression of labor illustrated in four increasingly alarming panels.
I look away fast, my stomach doing a slow, queasy roll.
“Put that away,” I mutter.
“Why? This is fascinating.” Hyunwoo turns the page. “Did you know the omega male birth canal can dilate up to—”
“I said put it away.”
He snorts but closes the magazine, tossing it back onto the rack. “You’re going to have to learn about this stuff eventually, you know.”
“Eventually is not right now in a waiting room where I’m already trying not to throw up.”
A nurse in pale blue scrubs appears in the doorway and calls my name.
I stand up too fast, my knee cracking, and follow her down a short hallway into an exam room that smells like antiseptic and latex.
She hands me a paper gown and tells me to undress from the waist down, then leaves with a polite smile.
I change behind the thin curtain partition, folding my jeans and boxers onto the chair and pulling the paper gown over my lap as I sit on the exam table.
The vinyl surface is cold against my bare skin even through the paper covering, and the stirrups at the end of the table gleam under the fluorescent lights with a menacing kind of promise.
I shift uncomfortably, hyper-aware of the thin barrier between my naked lower half and the rest of the room.
Hyunwoo settles into the visitor chair across from me, pulling out his phone and scrolling with one thumb, his posture relaxed. He looks up after a moment and catches me staring at the stirrups.
“Relax,” he says. “It’s just an ultrasound.”