Chains of Velvet

Chapter 5

The blood wouldn’t wash away easily.

Even after Lucien carried me into the penthouse bathroom and stood with me under the scalding spray of the massive shower, the memory of that woman’s head exploding clung to my skin. Crimson streaks had run down my swollen belly in the ballroom. Now, pink-tinged water swirled around our feet as Lucien’s hands moved over me with ruthless gentleness.

“You’re still shaking,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous. One palm pressed flat against the heavy curve of my abdomen while the other lathered soap across my chest. Our son kicked hard, as if protesting the violence he’d felt through my body. “The doctor is on his way. But first… you need to remember who you belong to.”

I closed my eyes, tears mixing with the water. “Lucien, I was terrified. That woman tried to stab our baby. They were all laughing at me—at us. I thought if I disappeared—”

His fingers tightened on my hips, turning me to face him. Water cascaded over his powerful shoulders as he stared down at me, eyes black with fury and something deeper. Hunger. “There is no disappearing. You tried to run from me in public. In front of my enemies.” He backed me against the cool tile, careful of my belly but unrelenting. “That cannot go unpunished, little freak.”

The word freak should have hurt. Instead, it sent a shameful thrill through me. He said it like a prayer now.

He dropped to his knees, mouth worshipping the taut skin of my pregnant belly—kissing every stretch mark, licking away the last traces of blood. Then lower. His tongue found my slick entrance, already weeping for him despite everything. I moaned, fingers threading through his wet hair as he devoured me, two thick fingers pushing inside while his thumb circled my cock.

“Please…” I didn’t know if I was begging him to stop or never stop.

He rose, spinning me gently so my hands braced the wall. “You don’t get to run,” he growled against my ear, lining up his massive cock and thrusting in deep. The stretch burned beautifully, his knot already swelling. He fucked me with controlled power—deep strokes that rocked my pregnant body without harming the child—while one hand rubbed my belly and the other stroked me in rhythm. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I gasped, pleasure and guilt crashing together. “I won’t run again.”

“Liar.” His teeth sank into my shoulder as he knotted me, flooding me with heat. We stayed locked like that under the spray until the doctor arrived.

The medical check was thorough. The doctor frowned at my elevated blood pressure and the slight contractions the trauma had triggered, but declared the baby stable. “More rest. Less stress. Male omega pregnancies are delicate miracles. Another incident like tonight could push you into early labor.”

Lucien’s jaw clenched. Once the doctor left, he carried me to bed and wrapped me in his arms, my back to his chest, his hand never leaving my rounded stomach.

“You scared me tonight, Finn.” The admission was quiet, almost vulnerable. “When I saw her blade coming for you… for our son…” His voice hardened again. “No more chances. From now on, you stay within my sight or behind tripled security. No more thoughts of escape.”

I swallowed hard. The failed attempt had cost lives. Marcus and his omega were dead. The gala had dissolved into scandal, and rumors would spread faster now. Lucien’s power might have grown through fear, but whispers of his “unstable male breeder” would follow. I had only made things worse.

Days blurred after that.

My pregnancy progressed rapidly into the third trimester. My belly grew even heavier, skin stretched tight and shiny. Simple walks around the penthouse left me breathless. Lucien became more obsessive. He worked from home, attending meetings via video while I rested beside him. He fed me by hand sometimes, massaged my aching back and swollen feet every night, and fucked me with increasing frequency—slow and deep when I was tired, or bent over the edge of the bed when his possessiveness flared.

One afternoon, as I lay on the couch with a book he’d bought me, a sharp contraction made me gasp. Lucien was at my side instantly, hand on my belly.

“It’s too early,” I whispered, fear gripping me. The baby was strong, but I was a freak. My body wasn’t built for this.

“You’re not losing him.” Lucien’s tone left no room for doubt. He called the doctor again, then spent the evening with his head on my belly, talking softly to our son while his fingers traced soothing patterns on my skin. Later, he took me gently, knotting me as I cried into his neck—from pleasure, pain, and the terrifying realization that part of me was beginning to crave this cage.

But the abyss still terrified me.

At night, when Lucien slept, I stared at the locked balcony doors and wondered if I could ever truly stop trying to run. The gala had shown me the cost. Blood on my belly. Lives destroyed. Yet staying meant accepting that I was his prized freak forever—loved violently, protected ruthlessly, never free.

“You’re thinking of leaving again,” Lucien said one evening, weeks later. My belly was massive now, navel popped out, movements slower and more labored. He had me straddling his lap on the wide armchair, my robe open so he could watch my swollen body as I rode him slowly.

I shook my head, but he gripped my hips, guiding me down harder onto his thick cock.

“Don’t lie to me.” His thumb brushed my leaking nipple, then lower to where we joined. “I see it in your eyes. The conflict. You still believe you’re a monster who doesn’t deserve safety. Or me.”

A particularly strong kick made me moan. Lucien’s eyes darkened with pride.

“I am a freak,” I whispered, tears falling. “Men aren’t supposed to conceive. The world saw that at the gala. They’ll always see it. And one day… you’ll tire of the mockery and discard me.”

His knot swelled, locking us. He pulled me down into a crushing kiss, hands framing my face. “Never. You are the only one who can give me this.” He rubbed my belly possessively. “My miracle. My omega. The world can laugh. I’ll bury every last one of them.”

The intensity of his love—dark, all-consuming—both warmed and suffocated me.

As my due date approached, the tension only grew. Lucien began preparing a nursery in the penthouse, but I noticed new security measures: cameras in every room, trackers discreetly added to my clothes. Escape felt more impossible than ever.

Yet in quiet moments, when his hand rested protectively over our soon-to-be-born son and his voice rumbled soft praises against my skin, a dangerous thought took root:

Maybe the abyss wasn’t something to escape.

Maybe it was the only place a freak like me could ever belong.

But deep down, the small, unbroken part of me still whispered: Run.