Chapter Fourteen

(Selena's POV)

The walls of this room are too clean and polished. It feels like a palace and a prison all at once. I sat at the edge of my bed, arms wrapped around my stomach, though it’s still flat, I know what’s inside me.

Five days ago, doctor Emery had smiled and told me the words that changed everything: “Selena, you're pregnant. About four weeks along.”

For five days, I've been staring at the ceiling until the shadows blurred, waking up with panic fluttering in my chest, thinking; No, this can't be happening. And then, realization slowly sinking in that this is actually happening. That something—someone—is growing inside me, and that this isn’t a dream I can blink away.

I’ve spent every hour since trying to convince myself there’s been a mistake. Maybe the test was wrong or maybe the doctor mixed up the results. But deep down, I know better.

I haven’t seen my period in a month. I’ve been nauseous every morning, more exhausted than I’ve ever felt, and emotionally frayed like a thread pulled too tight.

That night in the cabin was supposed to be a moment, a slip into something reckless. A rebellion against the cold life I was being forced into. I never knew it would come back like this—with tiny heartbeats and silent questions.

I don’t even know his last name.

The thought makes my chest tighten. How do I carry a child whose father I can’t even find? Whose name I don’t fully know?

I think back to the moment in the car at the hospital's parking lot, when Sophia had slipped the bodyguard a wad of cash and sent him off for bottled water from a store ten minutes away. As soon as he disappeared, I broke.

I didn’t just cry, I shattered.

My body curled into the passenger seat like I was trying to disappear inside myself, sobs racking through me like waves I couldn’t stop. Sophia pulled me into her arms and rocked me like a child, whispering, “You’re okay. You’re not alone. We’ll figure this out.”

But she doesn’t know half of it.

She still checks on me constantly, but I’ve said little. What could I say?

That I’m married to one man, pregnant with another’s child, and can’t even imagine ending the pregnancy because when I put my hand on my stomach, something inside me whispers; “Don’t.”

Abortion isn’t an option. I don’t know if it’s instinct, faith, or fear, but the thought of ending this child’s life feels like tearing out a part of myself. This baby, this tiny, growing being, is the only thing in my life that doesn’t feel like a business transaction.

I haven’t seen Damien in nearly a week. Not that it’s unusual. He disappears for days and returns like a storm cloud, cold and unreadable.

The doorknob clicks suddenly and my entire body tenses. I already knew it was Damien. Nobody comes in without knocking except him.

Damien strides in like he owns the air I breathe.

His eyes scan the room like he’s expecting it to look different. Maybe he thinks I should be doing something more useful with my time—like polishing silver or approving merger deals. God forbid his wife is in her room with a thousand bricks on her chest.

“Why are you just sitting here?” he asks, no greeting or warmth.

My hands instinctively press into the mattress as I sit straighter. “You could’ve knocked.”

“It’s my house,” he says, walking over to the small bar near the dresser and pouring himself a drink, even though it’s not yet noon. “I don’t knock.”

Of course not.

He turns to me with that infuriatingly composed expression. “You’ve been holed up here for days. Are you sick?”

The word lands like a warning but I composed myself and offered a shrug. “Just tired.”

“Then get some rest,” he says like it’s that simple. Like rest will fix this.

He studied me again, and it felt like he could see through me. Can he tell?

He finishes his drink and sets the glass down with a sharp clink.

“You missed dinner with the Mastriani family.”

“I wasn't feeling well.”

He narrows his eyes. “That wasn’t a suggestion. We have obligations, Selena.”

I rise from the bed slowly, crossing my arms, more out of defense than defiance. “I didn’t ask for this life. I didn’t ask to be paraded around like a porcelain doll at your business dinners.”

His voice stays calm. “But you agreed to it. You took the name and wore the ring.”

I glance at my hand, at the glittering band that feels more like a shackle than a symbol. “That doesn’t mean I belong to you.”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance? Amusement? I can never tell with Damien. He wears his mask too well.

“You’re overthinking again,” he says, brushing invisible lint off his cuff. “Maybe you need a distraction. A charity event, perhaps?”

I nearly laugh. A distraction. From what? The child I’m carrying that doesn’t belong to him? The life I live every day with a man who doesn’t love me?

He turns to leave, but pauses at the door.

“Your parents want us to have dinner with them this weekend.” He says without looking at me.

Of course they called him and not me.

I nodded. “Okay.”

“Good.”

Then he’s gone.

The door closes behind him. I collapse onto the bed again, hands cradling my stomach, and for the first time, I whisper the truth into the quiet:

“I’m scared.”