Chapter 8

She wasn't scared for herself at all because the fear of death never reached her but now she was scared to her core for her child. She didn't even know how to do all this alone because there was no father for the child, heck she didn't even know who was the father of this child. She clearly remembers she was given contraceptive pills from time to time but still she got pregnant and she came to know about when her belly started to grow.

The curve of her belly was screaming at her that there was a heavenly presence, a gift of god was growing inside her belly and from that day she knew she had to hide herself from the people around or they wouldn't let the growing infant inside her live. She asked that girl- Emma to help her who was hesitant at first fearing her own life but then she decided to help not wanting an innocent to die with the hands of these sinners.

Since then Innara was hiding there in her room while the people around the place were thinking that she ran away and were looking for her everywhere. They even checked the whole place but Emma successfully hid her in the best place possible away from those predatory eyes. Emma extended a packet of bread towards her gaining her attention.

"Eat it for now and I'll bring something fulfilling for you later." Emma said looking at the curve of her baby bump.

Innara's lips trembled and she took a few steps towards Emma. She placed her cold hands on Emma's with gratefulness shining in her eyes.

"T-Thanks Emma. Without you, I don't know what I would have done." She said feeling so emotional due to her hormones as well as the weight of how she pays the debt of her favors?

"Don't worry Innara, I'm just trying to do something good in my life and if I can save you and this baby from these people then maybe god would also show a little mercy on us." She resonated patting Innara's hands back softly.

Innara sniffed with a nod and took the packet of bread from her while giving her a firm nod Emma left from there not having enough time because if anyone would see her unnecessarily going inside the room again and again then they will get suspected of her. Meanwhile Innara was lost in the guilt of pulling Emma into all this and risking her and her siblings lives too. Once she'll be out of this place she'll make sure to do something for her and her siblings too, only if she survives.

Her hands rested gently on her stomach, as if protecting the life inside her from the dangers she could not escape. Her breath was shallow, but steady, as if the baby somehow reminded her to breathe through it all. The fear was a constant hum in the back of her mind, but so was the strength. She had to be brave now — not just for herself, but for the little life she was about to bring into this world. A life that she would protect with everything she had left.

For a moment, she didn’t feel like the girl she used to be. She didn’t feel like the broken woman who once ran in the dead of night, fleeing from the same dark things that had stolen so much from her.

She is a mother now. And in that, she found the courage to face whatever would come.

Slowly she sat down on the floor in the corner and opened the packet of the bread. Taking out a slice she took a small bite and hummed in delight with a small smile coming upon her lips. She caressed her belly bump and started taking small bites from the head gently humming because she was feeling so hungry but didn't show it in front of Emma because she didn't want to trouble her much.

Emma was doing more than enough for her and she already had to pay a lot for her favours. She looked down at her belly bump again and this time there was a small smile playing on her lips. In inner thoughts were hazy and tangled because no matter how much she tried to find a way away from here all her thoughts came to halt knowing there's no way out until a miracle happens which she didn't think is possible.

"Don't worry baby your momma will protect you with her life." She said with a determination in her voice because she knew even if there will be no way out of here she won't let anything happen to her unborn child.

She sat cross-legged on the cold floor, her back against the wall, a torn packet of bread in her lap. It was stale, barely edible, but she chewed slowly, as if savoring each dry bite meant pretending she had some control over her life.

Her other hand cradled her belly — protective, instinctive. Seven months along, and still hiding.

The room was small, almost bare. A thin curtain hung over a single cracked window. The mattress in the corner sagged. The air smelled faintly of rust and mold, but it was safe. It was hers — if only for a little while.

Then it came.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The bread dropped from her hand.

She froze.

The knocking wasn’t polite. It wasn’t patient. It was sharp, loud, and angry — the kind of knock that didn’t wait for permission to enter. Her heart slammed against her ribs, faster than her breath could catch it.

Whoever it was, they knew.

Someone had seen Emma slip into the building. Or maybe they’d followed her. Maybe it was him. Or worse — the men who worked for him. The ones who smiled with gold teeth and broke girls like her for fun.

She stood slowly, one hand gripping the edge of the table, the other pressed against her belly. Her baby kicked — a flutter, a whisper — as if it, too, felt the danger pressing in.

The knocking came again, louder.

“We know someone’s in there!” a voice barked. Male. Familiar. Not kind.

Her eyes darted around the room. No back door. No window wide enough. Just four thin walls and a locked door she knew wouldn’t hold if they really wanted in.

She backed into the shadows, her breath shaking now, lips parted in a silent prayer she hadn’t said in years.

She wasn’t ready to run again. Not now. Not like this.

But if she had to —

she would.

For the baby.

For the life still waiting to begin.

The door crashed open with a deafening crack.

Wood splintered as it slammed into the wall, and the force of it made her flinch so hard she dropped the bread she had been clutching moments ago. Her breath caught. Her hand flew to her belly instinctively, protectively.

He stood there — tall, broad, and breathing like an animal that had chased its prey through hell. His face was twisted with rage, lips curled in disgust, his eyes wild with months of frustration.

Three months.

Three months he had searched for her — through back alleys, brothels, cheap motels, and train stations. Every whisper. Every lead. Every dead end. And now, finally, she was here — cornered like a rat in the same brothel he was doing his job.

“You little bitch,” he spat, stepping inside without hesitation. “You really thought you could run? That you could hide from him?”

His voice boomed through the small room, bouncing off the walls like a curse. He slammed the door behind him, locking it with a click that made her knees weak.

She stepped back, heart hammering. Her eyes flicked toward the tiny window — too small to escape. Her legs were heavy, trembling beneath the weight of her swollen belly. There was no way out.

“I should break your damn legs for this,” he snarled, approaching her with clenched fists. “You have any idea what you cost us? What he did to the girls because you disappeared?”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him. Not again.

“I had to leave,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice from breaking. “I had to protect—”

“Protect?” he barked a bitter laugh. “From what? From a life you never chose? From a man who fed you, clothed you, and let you live like a goddamn queen while others starved?”

She said nothing. What was the point? He didn’t see a girl. He saw property. A possession that had dared to escape.

His eyes dropped to her stomach. The roundness of it. The proof.

His expression shifted — not softer, but more dangerous.

“So that’s why you ran.”

He took another step closer, and her back hit the wall.

“You’re coming with me. Right now. He wants to see you. He wants to decide what happens to you.”

And in that moment, she knew—

This wasn’t just about punishment.

It was about control. About sending a message.

And she had no choice but to fight for herself. And for the child who hadn’t even opened its eyes yet.

He lunged forward and grabbed her wrist.

His grip was iron, fingers digging into her skin like shackles. Her breath hitched, her eyes widening in panic. It was happening again — the touch, the powerlessness, the sense of being dragged back into the hell she had barely escaped.

But this time, something inside her snapped.

Not loudly. Not fiercely.

Quietly.

Like a mother protecting more than just her body.

“No—don’t touch me!” she gasped, twisting against his hold. Her other hand flew up to push him away, feebly, desperately. Her strength had long faded — weeks of hiding, hunger, and fear had taken their toll. Her body wasn’t the same. It ached. It swayed under the weight of the baby.

But she fought.

Her hand clawed at his chest, at his arm, at anything. Her teeth clenched. Her legs shook, but they didn’t give out. She wasn’t strong — but she wasn’t giving in.

“Let me go!” she screamed, eyes blazing through the tears that blurred them. “I’m not going back! Not again!”

For a split second, he was stunned.

Not because she was overpowering him — she wasn’t.

But because even now — thin, pale, barefoot and pregnant — she resisted.

“You’ve got fire, huh?” he sneered, slamming her wrist into the wall to pin her there. “You think that’ll matter to him? You think he cares about your little tantrum? You belong to him.”

The word made her chest tighten.

Belong.

Her knees buckled slightly, and she winced as her belly pressed against the cold wall. But she lifted her head again — her eyes still wild, still full of something raw. Not courage, exactly.

Just survival.

“Then tell him,” she whispered, trembling, “he’ll have to kill me this time.”

And in that moment, she didn’t look like a runaway.

She looked like a woman who had lost everything but the will to fight for one thing that mattered:

Her child.

She kept struggling, even as her limbs weakened.

Every part of her ached, her breath coming in short, frantic gasps, but she didn’t stop. Her free hand clawed at his jacket, her body twisting away, heart pounding beneath the swell of her belly. She didn’t have strength left — not really. But fear and motherhood made her fight like she did.

The man’s patience finally snapped.

“Enough!” he growled, and with one sudden, savage motion, he raised his hand and struck her across the face.

The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.

Her head jerked to the side, pain blooming behind her eyes. The world tilted, spun, and then — black.

She crumpled to the floor like a broken doll, her hands still twitching toward her stomach even in unconsciousness.

He stood over her, panting, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His eyes lingered on her for a moment — no guilt, no hesitation. Just a cold annoyance. The job was done.

He crouched down, checked her breathing — shallow, but steady. Then he looked at her belly. His lip curled in disgust.

“Stupid girl,” he muttered.

He dragged her limp body toward the mattress, dumped her there without care, and locked the door behind him with a sharp click of steel. One lock. Two.

Then he was gone.

His boots echoed down the hallway as he pulled out his phone.

“She’s here,” he said into the receiver.

“She’s alive. And carrying.”

There was a long pause. Then a voice on the other end — calm. Calculating.

“Don’t let anyone near her. I’m coming myself.”