Chapter 5

Blood Before Morning

Alvara

I slid down until I was sitting on the cold floor, my back pressed hard against the side of the bed, my knees drawn tightly to my chest as if I could fold myself small enough to disappear. The tiles were icy beneath my bare legs, but I welcomed the chill, it grounded me, kept me from falling apart completely.

I counted my breaths carefully.

One.

Two.

Three.

If I didn’t, I knew the sobs would tear out of me, loud and uncontrollable, echoing through the walls of a house that already felt like a prison. I couldn’t let them hear me break. I couldn’t give anyone that satisfaction.

So this had always been the plan.

The realization settled slowly, painfully, like poison spreading through my veins. Adrian had never intended to keep me. Not for love. Not for partnership. Not even for the child growing inside me. His parents had never wanted me either.

The hurried wedding, the forced smiles for the cameras, the sudden concern about my health, it was all a performance. A carefully rehearsed lie to protect their family name.

They didn’t want the world knowing their precious son had impregnated a house help and denied her.

So they wrapped the truth in silk and lies.

A fake marriage.

A borrowed ring.

A timed exit.

Give birth, then disappear.

My chest burned as the truth settled deeper, heavier. I wrapped my arms around myself, my shoulders shaking as I tried, and failed, to hold everything in. Slowly, I placed my trembling palm against my stomach, as if touching the only innocent thing in this whole mess.

“I’m sorry, my child,” I whispered, my voice breaking apart. “I’m so sorry.”

The tears finally came then, hot, silent, relentless. They soaked into my sleeves, into the fabric of my nightdress, into everything I was.

“I didn’t mean to bring you into this kind of life,” I continued softly, my words barely louder than my breathing. “I never wanted this for you. I never imagined this would be your beginning.” My hand shook as I rubbed small, protective circles over my belly. “But I’m afraid… this is all I can give you right now.”

My throat closed.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” I whispered desperately. “When you get here, I swear I will.”

I didn’t know how.

I didn’t know when.

But I had to believe in something, anything, otherwise I would shatter beyond repair.

Later, I climbed onto the bed and lay flat on my back, staring blankly at the ceiling. The hours dragged on, slow and cruel. Sleep refused to come. Each time I closed my eyes, my thoughts attacked me mercilessly.

Divorce.

Disgrace.

Being sent away with a child like unwanted luggage.

God.

I had never wanted this life. I had never imagined myself here, unloved, merely tolerated, planned around like an inconvenience. I had dreamed of love, of warmth, of a home built on patience and mutual respect. Instead, I was living inside a carefully constructed lie.

Now even sleep has abandoned me. Pregnancy had stolen that too.

Every sound in the house felt threatening. Every footstep in the hallway made my heart race. Every distant voice made my stomach twist. I flinched at shadows, at silence, even at the sound of my own breathing.

By the time sleep finally claimed me, it was restless and shallow, filled with half-formed fears and broken images.

*****

A knock on my door startled me awake.

I opened my eyes sluggishly, my body heavy as if weighed down by invisible chains, my head pounding. “Come in,” I murmured, my voice rough with exhaustion.

Mrs. Whitmore entered quietly, carrying a tray.

“Good morning,” she greeted softly.

“Good morning,” I replied, forcing myself to sit up, even though my muscles protested.

She placed the tray gently on the bed. Toast. Tea. A simple breakfast. The smell alone made my stomach churn.

“Your breakfast,” she said.

“No,” I said immediately, panic tightening my chest. “You don’t have to bother. I’ll make something myself later.”

“Mrs. Seraphina insisted,” she replied calmly. “She said I should take care of you.”

I didn’t know what to say. My throat closed, words trapped behind fear and suspicion.

“I am a mother,” she continued, her voice softer now, more personal. “I know what pregnancy entails. I can assure you, I would never harm you or your child. Never.” She paused, studying my face carefully. “Please stop stressing yourself. Stress is dangerous.”

I stared at her, stunned. No one had spoken to me like this in a long time. Words failed me. All I could do was nod slowly.

She moved toward the door, then stopped, her hand resting on the handle.

“Be careful,” she said quietly. “And know who you trust in this house. Don’t trust anyone.” Her eyes met mine, steady and knowing. “Not even me.”

Then she left.

I sat there long after she was gone, replaying her words again and again. Kindness in this house always came with a shadow. And like she said, I would trust no one.

I was getting dressed after my bath when my phone rang.

Mrs. Seraphina.

My stomach twisted violently. I let it ring out, watching the screen until it went dark.

Then it rang again.

I sighed and answered. “Good morning, ma.”

“Good morning, Alvara. How are you doing?” she asked smoothly.

“I’m fine.”

“You were sleeping when I came yesterday,” she continued. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

I stayed silent, listening.

“I’ve spoken to Adrian,” she went on. “Eliora will be leaving today. You don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

Relief flickered briefly in my chest, but it died just as quickly.

“But,” she added gently, “Adrian says you’ve been getting on his nerves. Please stop making him angry. I don’t know you to be troublesome.”

My fingers tightened around the phone.

A green snake in green grass.

“I’ve heard you, ma,” I said, my voice steady despite the sickness rising in my chest.

“Take care of yourself,” she concluded.

The call ended.

I stood there, phone still pressed to my ear, wishing, aching, to say everything I had bottled up. But silence had become my survival.

When I stepped out of my room later, Adrian was exiting his at the same time. I opened my mouth to speak, but he brushed past me like I didn’t exist.

Then I heard the sound of boxes being dragged.

I leaned over the railing and saw Eliora downstairs, struggling with her luggage. My heart lifted, pride and relief blooming unexpectedly.

Even if my stay here was temporary, for now, this house would be mine, without her presence suffocating me.

She looked up and smirked.

“This isn’t over!” she shouted. “I’m only leaving temporarily. That bastard you’re carrying isn’t changing anything!”

“Cry me a river,” I replied calmly, smiling.

Adrian turned sharply to look at me. I didn’t care anymore.

They walked out together. Adrian’s anger was visible, raw, almost childish. He looked like a boy whose favorite toy had been taken away. And for the first time since I arrived here, I felt… satisfied.

He returned later and stood in the sitting room, staring at me for a long moment.

“You think you’ve won?” he asked finally.

“I haven’t won,” I replied calmly. “But one obstacle is gone.”

He laughed, loud at first, then slowly, chillingly.

“The removal of that obstacle,” he said, “is the beginning of your hell in this house.”

My heart skipped violently.

“From today, no guests. You eat when others eat. Everything follows my rules.”

“I’m not your child, Adrian,” I snapped. “I can do whatever I want.”

“Then try me,” he said, smiling.

That smile terrified me. It wasn’t anger, it was something darker.

“Try me and see if you’re my child or not.”

He walked upstairs, leaving fear curling deep inside my bones.

That night, my mother called. I ignored it. Then she called again. And again.

I turned my phone off.

This was my cross to carry.

After bathing, I stood before the mirror. I looked smaller. Thinner. But my eyes were sharper, harder.

From today, I decided I would document everything. Quietly. Carefully.

I would protect myself.

I would stop reacting emotionally.

I would survive.

Sleep took me eventually.

A knock woke me again.

Morning.

I sat up and pushed the bedsheets aside to stand

And froze.

There was blood.

Dark. Not much. But enough.

My heart slammed violently against my ribs. My hands shook as I checked myself.

No pain.

Just fear.

Pure, paralyzing fear.