003

SERENA’S POV

I froze. The word hung in the air between us like a fragile, shimmering thread that might snap if I breathed too hard.

“Pregnant?” I managed, my voice breaking on the single syllable.

Dr. Ana smiled, gentle yet steady. “Yes. Approximately six weeks along. The tests are conclusive. Everything looks healthy and strong.”

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes searching mine as though trying to measure whether the news had truly sunk in. “Congratulations, Serena. You’re going to be a mother.”

The room seemed to tilt beneath me. I gripped the armrests of the chair as if they were the only solid things keeping me anchored to the earth. My heart pounded, loud and insistent against my ribs, and my vision blurred with sudden tears.

Pregnant.

After three long years of disappointment, negative tests, and whispered prayers in the dark, a part of me had quietly stopped believing this day would ever arrive. The dam inside me broke. Tears spilled freely down my cheeks.

“I… I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Dr. Ana replied, her smile never wavering. “This is your moment.”

But was it truly mine alone? The joy rising inside me was already shadowed by a sharp, familiar ache. Thorne. Last night’s fight came roaring back with brutal clarity—his voice cold and cutting, his words like jagged glass. “You’re barren, Serena.” He hadn’t even waited for my response before storming out of the room. And now? Now I was carrying his child.

Dr. Ana handed me a folder filled with instructions and appointment details, her voice fading into soft background noise as my thoughts spiraled in every direction. I managed a polite goodbye and stepped out into the crisp afternoon air. My hand instinctively settled over my stomach, as though I could already shield the tiny, fragile life growing inside me.

I had to tell him. He needed to know.

The drive home passed in a blur, the steady hum of the engine underscoring the chaotic storm of emotions battling inside me—hope, fear, lingering anger, and a small, stubborn flicker of faith that refused to die. When I pulled into the garage, my chest tightened at once. Thorne’s car was nowhere in sight. He still hadn’t returned.

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. “He will come back,” I whispered to myself, repeating the words like a mantra, forcing myself to believe them. He had to come back. This baby—our baby—would change everything.

Inside the house the familiar scent of pinewood polish greeted me. I caught sight of Marisol, one of the house staff, stepping out of the kitchen.

“Marisol,” I called, my voice lighter than it had been in months.

She straightened and turned toward me. “Yes, Luna?”

“Please tell the cook to prepare a special dinner for tonight,” I said, unable to keep the tremor of excitement from my tone. “And let me know the moment Thorne returns.”

Her eyes widened slightly, curiosity flickering across her face. “Are we celebrating something special?”

I hesitated, my hand brushing lightly against my stomach once more. “Yes,” I answered softly, a secretive smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “Something very special.”

Her expression brightened with quiet understanding. She nodded and disappeared down the hallway.

Upstairs, alone in the quiet of my room, the full weight of everything began to settle over me. My hands trembled as I opened the wardrobe and sifted through the rows of dresses. When my fingers brushed against a soft white flowing gown, I paused.

“This one,” I whispered, drawing it free. The fabric felt light and full of quiet promise. I laid it carefully across the bed and let myself imagine Thorne’s face—the way his eyes would widen, the way his lips might part in disbelief when I told him he was going to be a father. I pictured the guilt that would follow, his apologies tumbling out in a rush of regret. And I would forgive him. Of course I would. Because none of the pain from last night would matter anymore. We would finally have our baby, our family. Everything we had dreamed of, everything we had fought so hard for, was finally within reach.

A quiet laugh escaped me, the sound almost foreign after so many heavy days. I turned once in place, the hem of my skirt brushing against my ankles, a rare lightness spreading through my chest.

“This is it,” I murmured to the empty room, my voice trembling with fragile hope. “Everything’s going to be okay now.”

The words lingered in the air like a prayer wrapped in delicate certainty. Yet beneath the joy a shadow still lingered—an uncertainty I wasn’t ready to name. What if Thorne didn’t come back?

I shook the thought away and smoothed the gown on the bed with careful hands. “He will.” I clung to that hope as tightly as I could. Tonight would change everything. It had to.

The clock ticked loudly in the quiet dining room, each passing minute gnawing steadily at my nerves. It was already past ten, and Thorne still had not returned. I sat at the carefully set table, hands clasped tightly in my lap, stealing repeated glances at the wall clock. My plate remained untouched. The rich aroma of the food did nothing to stir my appetite.

I tried calling him again, but the phone went straight to voicemail. My heart squeezed with fresh worry. A small, fearful part of me wondered if something terrible had happened. Yet my wolf remained calm, her presence steady and unbothered inside me. If Thorne were in true danger, I would have felt it through the bond. That quiet certainty offered a measure of comfort, but it did nothing to loosen the tight knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach.

I rose and began pacing, bare feet making soft sounds against the polished floor. My mind raced through countless possibilities—where he could be, why he hadn’t called—yet every scenario left me more unsettled than the last.

And then I heard it: the familiar low hum of his car pulling into the garage. Relief washed through me so strongly that I exhaled a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I moved quickly back to the table, smoothed the front of my dress, and checked once more that everything still looked perfect. Tonight was supposed to be special.

The sound of his footsteps grew louder, echoing across the pavement outside, and then the front door creaked open. There he stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the light from outside. My heart fluttered with anticipation as his eyes locked onto mine. His gaze flicked briefly to the set table before settling on me again. Something shifted in his expression—a flicker too quick and complicated to name.

“Welcome back,” I managed, my voice soft yet laced with fragile hope. “I’ve been waiting. Come, sit. Dinner’s ready.”

He didn’t move at once. Instead he stepped fully inside, shoulders taut, the faint scent of rain still clinging to his jacket. In his hand he held an envelope, its edges crumpled as though he had been gripping it far too tightly for far too long.

“Serena,” he said, his voice low and measured, as if he were weighing every wor

d carefully before releasing it. “We need to talk. The food can wait.”