Chapter Four – Cracks in the Ice

Maya stared at Adrian as though he had just spoken in another language.

“Twins?” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Adrian nodded once, his jaw tight, eyes locked on the ultrasound report. “Yes. Two heartbeats. Two babies.”

Her knees wobbled, and she sank into the nearest armchair before her legs gave way completely. Twins. She hadn’t even wrapped her head around carrying one child, let alone two.

“This wasn’t part of the deal,” she murmured, pressing a shaky hand against her still-flat stomach.

Adrian’s eyes flicked up, sharp and unreadable. “Life doesn’t care about deals, Maya. You of all people should know that.”

The words stung, and she glared at him. “Don’t you dare lecture me. You think this is easy? You think I signed up to risk my body, my life, carrying not just one baby, but two?”

Something flickered in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or fear. He stepped closer, voice lower. “I didn’t ask for twins either. But now that it’s real… we do what we must.”

We.

Her heart gave an unsteady lurch. He had said “we.”

Maya forced herself to look away, her throat tight. “This changes everything,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Adrian said quietly. “It changes everything.”

The next few days blurred into a rhythm Maya didn’t ask for but couldn’t escape.

The mansion became her gilded cage. She had a suite of rooms bigger than her old apartment, meals brought on silver trays, and a nurse on call for daily checkups.

It should have been comforting. Instead, it felt suffocating.

Everywhere she turned, Adrian was there—hovering at a distance, his watchful gaze never far. He pretended it was about the babies, but she saw the way his eyes lingered on her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

And she hated that a part of her noticed.

Late one evening, she sat curled on the couch in her suite, a book forgotten in her lap. Her thoughts spiraled—Emily’s treatments, the twins inside her, Adrian’s cold insistence that she live under his roof.

How had her life twisted into this?

A sudden wave of dizziness hit her, sharp and overwhelming. She gasped, clutching the armrest as the room tilted. Her stomach churned, nausea rolling through her in heavy waves.

Her vision blurred. She tried to stand, but her legs buckled.

The book slid to the floor with a dull thud just as the door burst open.

“Maya?” Adrian’s voice was sharp, panicked. He crossed the room in seconds, catching her before she crumpled.

“I’m… fine,” she whispered, though her voice was weak, her body trembling.

“You’re not fine,” he snapped, scooping her into his arms. “You’re pale as a ghost.”

She wanted to protest, to tell him not to touch her, but the warmth of his chest and the steadiness of his arms stole her strength.

He carried her down the hall, his voice a low growl laced with fear. “You should have called the nurse. Damn it, Maya, you can’t keep pretending you’re stronger than you are.”

Her eyelids fluttered. “I didn’t… want to bother anyone.”

“Bother anyone?” His voice cracked, raw. “You’re carrying my children. Nothing about this is a bother.”

Her heart twisted at the urgency in his tone, but before she could respond, the nurse rushed to meet them, guiding Adrian into a guestroom they’d transformed into a small medical suite.

The next half-hour passed in a blur of wires, blood pressure cuffs, and whispered instructions. Maya lay on the bed, too drained to fight, while Adrian stood at her side, refusing to move.

“She’s dehydrated,” the nurse said finally. “Morning sickness is more intense with multiples. Stress won’t help either.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Then eliminate the stress.”

The nurse gave him a look that said that wasn’t exactly how it worked, but she packed her kit and promised to check in every few hours.

When the door shut, silence stretched.

Adrian lowered himself into the chair beside the bed, his hands clasped, his eyes unreadable.

“You scared me,” he said finally, his voice quieter than she’d ever heard it.

Maya blinked, startled. “Scared you?”

He met her gaze, and for once the icy armor was gone. “Yes. I walked in and thought I was going to lose you. Again.”

Her throat tightened. Again. The word carried so much weight, dredging up memories she had buried deep—the miscarriage. The loss neither of them had ever spoken about.

Her chest ached, but she pushed the thought aside. “You don’t get to act like you care, Adrian. Not after everything you accused me of.”

His expression hardened again, but not into anger—into something more painful. Regret.

“I care,” he said roughly. “More than I should. More than you’ll believe. And I will not lose you—or them.”

The intensity in his voice left her breathless. She looked away, staring at the ceiling to hide the emotions bubbling up.

For years, she had convinced herself Adrian felt nothing for her anymore. That his coldness was proof he had erased her from his heart.

But tonight, hearing the crack in his voice, seeing the fear in his eyes…

It was dangerous. Because it made her wonder if the man she once loved was still buried beneath the ice.

The next morning, Maya woke to find a tray of food beside her bed—fresh fruit, herbal tea, toast. A note in Adrian’s handwriting rested on the plate.

Eat all of this. Non-negotiable. – A

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips despite herself. Typical Adrian—demanding, bossy, but quietly caring.

She hated that it warmed her.

Later, as she walked through the garden for some fresh air, she caught sight of him on the terrace, phone in hand, barking orders at someone. His posture was rigid, his voice clipped, but when his eyes flicked up and met hers through the glass, his expression softened almost imperceptibly.

Her chest tightened, and she looked away quickly.

She couldn’t afford to feel this. Not again.

That night, restless, Maya wandered the library. Rows of books lined the towering shelves, dustless, untouched. She traced her fingers along the spines, wondering if Adrian had ever read any of them or if they were just for show.

A photo frame on the side table caught her eye. She picked it up—an old picture of their wedding day. Her in white, Adrian in black, both smiling, both foolishly in love.

Her chest ached. She set it down quickly, blinking back tears.

“What are you doing in here?”

She spun. Adrian stood in the doorway, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his eyes shadowed.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she muttered. “Didn’t realize you kept… this.” She nodded toward the photo.

His gaze lingered on it, unreadable. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.”

The confession hung heavy between them.

Maya’s heart thudded, emotions warring inside her. Anger, longing, grief. Before she could speak, Adrian stepped closer.

“Maya—”

The sudden shrill ring of his phone cut through the moment. He pulled it from his pocket, his jaw tightening as he glanced at the screen.

“It’s the clinic,” he said, voice low.

Something in his tone made her stomach clench.

He answered, listening intently, his expression darkening with each word. Finally, he ended the call and looked at her, his eyes stormy.

“What?” she whispered, her pulse racing.

Adrian’s voice was grim. “The doctor found something unusual in your latest bloodwork.”

Maya’s breath caught. “Unusual? What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer immediately. He just stepped closer, his gaze heavy with something that looked dangerously close to fear.

“It means,” he said slowly, “that the pregnancy… may not be as simple as we thought.”