Chapter Twelve

Dante pov

The first time it works, no one celebrates.

There is no relief. No smiles. No softening of the room.

Just confirmation.

Clinical. Quiet. Final.

The doctor doesn’t look at Elara when he speaks. He looks at me.

“The implantation took.”

I nod once.

“That’s all?” I ask.

He adjusts his glasses. “She’ll need monitoring. Hormone support. Reduced stress.”

Stress.

I glance at Elara.

She’s sitting still, hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on a spot just above the floor. Calm on the outside. Too calm.

“She will follow instructions,” I say.

“Yes,” the doctor replies. “You’ll know for certain in a few weeks.”

Weeks.

Time is a currency I no longer waste.

***************

I don’t tell her.

Not that day.

Not the next.

Life continues under stricter rules. Her schedule tightens. Food measured. Sleep monitored. Guards closer than before.

She notices.

She doesn’t complain.

That’s what unsettles me.

Most people resist when control tightens. They push. They test boundaries.

Elara folds inward.

Observe.

Waits.

Weeks pass.

Then the test comes back.

Positive.

I’m in my office when the doctor calls. The city hums beneath the windows, unaware that something permanent has just been set in motion.

“It’s confirmed,” he says. “She’s pregnant.”

I ended the call without comment.

I sat there for a long moment, fingers steepled, mind already moving.

This changes things.

Not emotionally.

Strategically.

An heir is no longer theoretical.

It exists.

Inside her.

***********

I called her that evening.

She arrives quietly, posture straight, eyes lowered. She’s thinner. Paler. But there’s something else now. A subtle shift I can’t quite name.

“You’ve been feeling different,” I say.

It’s not a question.

She hesitates. “Yes, sir.”

“Explain.”

“I get tired faster,” she says carefully. “Certain smells make me sick. And I” She stops herself.

“And?” I prompt.

“And I’ve been dizzy,” she finishes.

I watch her closely.

“You suspected,” I say.

She nods. “I didn’t want to assume.”

Smart.

“The results came back today,” I say.

Her breath catches.

“You’re pregnant.”

Silence.

Her fingers tighten together.

She doesn’t cry.

She doesn’t smile.

She just sits there, very still.

“I see,” she says quietly.

That reaction is not what I expected.

“You don’t seem surprised,” I say.

“I prepared myself,” she replies.

“For what?”

“For whatever you’d say.”

I study her face. Searching for something fear, hope, relief.

I find none of it.

“This is what you’re here for,” I remind her.

“Yes, sir.”

“You will be under constant supervision now.”

She nods.

“You will not leave the property without security.”

“Yes.”

“You will not take risks.”

“I won’t.”

“You will protect the child.”

Her hand moves without thinking.

To her stomach.

Then it freezes.

She lowers it slowly.

“I understand,” she says.

That’s when something shifts.

Not in her.

In me.

****************

Alicia reacts badly.

She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t cry.

She goes quiet.

That’s worse.

“So it worked,” she says calmly when I tell her.

“Yes.”

She nods. “Then congratulations are in order.”

“They’re not,” I reply.

Her lips curve faintly. “Of course not.”

She studies me for a long moment. “You’ll be careful.”

“I always am.”

“With her,” she adds.

“I’ll be careful with what matters.”

Her eyes flicker.

“And what about me?”

I don’t answer.

***************

The days that follow are tense.

Elara moves differently now. Slower. More deliberate. Guards track her every step. Doctors come and go.

She asks no questions.

That concerns me.

One evening, I found her in the sitting room, staring out the window.

“You should be resting,” I say.

She turns. “I was.”

“Thinking isn’t resting.”

She gives a faint smile. “I’m learning that.”

I step closer.

“You’re quiet lately.”

“I don’t want to say the wrong thing.”

“There are no right things,” I say. “Only acceptable ones.”

She nods.

Then, carefully, “May I ask something?”

I pause.

“Ask.”

Her fingers twist together. “What happens… after?”

The question hangs between us.

“After what?”

“After the child is born.”

“That depends.”

“On me?” she asks.

“On outcomes.”

She absorbs that.

“And the child?”

“The child stays.”

Her throat tightens. “With you.”

“Yes.”

She nods again.

No argument.

No pleading.

Just acceptance.

That should reassure me.

It doesn’t.

*************

The call comes late at night.

Unknown number.

I answer.

“You moved too fast,” a voice says.

I don’t speak.

“She’s pregnant,” the voice continues. “That complicates things.”

“Who is this?” I ask.

“Someone who knows what happens to men who build empires without successors.”

My grip tightens.

“You’re closer than you think,” he adds. “And so is she.”

The line goes dead.

I stand slowly.

Luca appears at the door. “Problem?”

“Yes,” I say.

I walk toward Elara’s wing without hesitation.

She’s asleep when I enter. Curled on her side. Guarded even in rest.

For the first time, I see it clearly.

She isn’t just carrying an heir.

She’s carrying leverage.

I turn to leave

And freeze.

Her eyes open.

She looks at me.

“Sir?” she whispers.

“How long have you been awake?” I ask.

“Long enough,” she says softly, “to know something’s wrong.”

I stare at her.

And for the first time since this began

I don’t know what to say.