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Chapter Seventy

作者: Pure Moon
last update 公開日: 2026-10-20 12:20:11

Ava's POV

"Yes, Daddy. I am."

The words left my mouth soft and certain. Corren looked at me for a long moment, the intensity in his eyes easing into something close to approval. He leaned down and kissed my forehead, brief and possessive, then stepped back.

"Sleep," he said. "You'll need it."

He left the room without another word. The door clicked shut behind him.

I stayed in bed, the sheets still warm where his body had been, the deep ache between my thighs reminding me of everything we had do
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    Corren’s POV“I want to see you alone, sir.”The doctor’s request hung in Ava’s room with more weight than its quiet tone suggested. She remained on the bed, pale against the pillows, eyes moving between us with a fear she was trying and failing to fully conceal. I did not like the shape of that fear. I liked the doctor’s expression even less.There was something in the way he stood—shoulders square, hands still at his sides, the professional calm of a man who had delivered difficult news before and knew exactly how much silence to leave before the next sentence. Not theatrical. Not sympathetic. Just certain. That certainty was the most dangerous thing in the room.“You can say whatever you want to say here,” I said. “Let everybody hear it.”He looked at me without making a speech.The look did not sound encouraging. It sounded like a threat to my life—not of violence, but of consequence. The kind of look men gave when the next sentence would rearrange a household, a marriage, a caref

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    Ava’s POV“How are you doing?”“I am fine, doctor.”The answer came out too quickly. I felt it myself—the thin edge of performance that never quite covered fear. The doctor stood beside the bed with his bag open on the side table, calm in the way professionals stayed calm when powerful men waited in the background. Corren remained near the door, not leaving, not yet interrupting. Callista had not followed us upstairs. That small mercy did nothing for the larger dread sitting under my ribs. My palms were damp against the sheet. Every polished object in the room felt too still, as if the walls themselves were listening for the wrong answer.“How is your stomach doing?” the doctor asked.“It hurts.”“Constant or coming in waves?”“Both. It started sharp. Now it stays.”“Where exactly?”I hesitated, then rested my hand lightly below my navel. “Here. It started at school. Sharp at first. Now it’s… lower. Constant.”He nodded and drew the chair closer. The legs made a soft sound against the

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