Chapter Four: The Others

Amira stood in front of the nursery doors, heart pounding like a drum in her ears.

The room wasn’t supposed to be open. Evelyn had said the design plans would be reviewed that morning with Dominic. Yet here it was—wide open, lights glowing, a faint melody drifting out like a lullaby trapped in a snow globe.

She stepped inside.

And froze.

The nursery wasn’t empty.

It was fully decorated—ivory walls, soft animal prints, a crystal chandelier hanging like a crown above a sleek bassinet.

Amira’s hand drifted to her stomach.

This couldn’t have been done overnight. The furniture was worn, slightly chipped. The books on the shelf had cracked spines. A stuffed bunny lay slumped in the corner, its ear half-torn.

This nursery… it had been used.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Amira turned fast.

Dominic stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching her.

“I thought we were reviewing designs,” she said carefully.

“I changed my mind,” he replied. “I had this one restored.”

“Restored?” she repeated. “So this—this isn’t new.”

“No,” he said. “It belonged to my late sister.”

Her brow furrowed. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“You don’t know a lot of things about me, Amira.”

He walked in slowly, running his fingers across the bassinet’s edge.

“She died when I was seventeen. Car accident. Drunk driver. She was seven months pregnant.” His voice didn’t crack. It was too practiced, like he’d told the story a hundred times.

Amira softened slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“She was going to be a mother. I was going to be an uncle,” he said. “This room was supposed to be filled with life. It never was.”

A pause hung between them.

“Is that why you want a child so badly?” Amira asked. “To make up for what you lost?”

Dominic met her eyes. “I don’t want to make up for anything. I want something that’s mine. Something pure.”

“Babies aren’t trophies.”

“No,” he said. “They’re leverage. Legacy. A guarantee that the world doesn’t forget you when you’re gone.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

He stepped closer. “This nursery will belong to our child, Amira. Everything I’ve done—everything I’m doing—is for that.”

She shifted back slightly. “And what if I want to leave? Before the baby’s born?”

The softness vanished from his face.

“Then you won’t leave alone.”

Her stomach knotted.

“You mean you’d follow me?”

“I mean,” he said evenly, “you’d be escorted. And the child would remain under my legal and physical guardianship. You’d have no claim.”

“You’d take the baby from me?”

“You’d be breaking the contract.”

Amira swallowed hard. “This is insane.”

“This is clarity,” Dominic said. “This is power, Amira. You can either fight it or live in it.”

She turned away, unable to look at him.

And that’s when she noticed it—barely visible behind a panel in the wall, just behind the curtain.

A drawer. Scratched at the corners. Almost like it had been opened a hundred times.

“What’s that?” she asked quietly.

Dominic turned to look.

“Nothing,” he said.

But the muscles in his jaw tightened.

Amira stared at the panel. “Did someone else live here? Before me?”

He didn’t respond.

Her eyes widened. “Did someone else carry your child?”

Silence.

“I’m not the first… am I?”

Still, no answer.

She stepped back. “Jesus.”

Dominic finally sighed, as if disappointed in her reaction. “You’re the first to make it this far.”

Her breath caught.

“What does that mean?”

He looked at her like a professor grading a failing student. “It means you’re stronger than the others.”

“Others?” she echoed, voice trembling. “How many?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, Dominic, it does.”

He walked toward her, slow and calm. “They left. They panicked. They refused to understand what I was offering.”

“And what were you offering? A padded cell?”

“I was offering freedom from the world that had nothing for them.”

“Sounds like a cult.”

He chuckled under his breath. “No one here is forced to stay. But those who stay live without need.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “You say that like it’s generous.”

“It is.”

Amira turned, storming out of the room. Dominic didn’t follow.

But his words did.

“You’re the first to make it this far.”

Later that afternoon, Evelyn found her pacing in the greenhouse.

“You should eat,” the woman said gently. “Stress isn’t good for the child.”

Amira turned sharply. “Don’t talk to me about stress.”

Evelyn folded her hands. “You saw the nursery, didn’t you?”

“You knew,” Amira said. “You knew what happened before.”

Evelyn’s expression didn’t shift. “You’re not a prisoner, Miss Wells. You’re a participant.”

“In what? A breeding experiment?”

“No. A restoration.”

Amira’s voice cracked. “How do you all keep saying that like it’s beautiful?”

“Because for Mr. Voss, this isn’t about control. It’s about rebuilding what he lost. What we all lost.”

Amira narrowed her eyes. “You make it sound like you were part of it.”

Evelyn looked away. “He saved my daughter’s life. She was addicted, near death. He gave her treatment, purpose, and a future.”

Amira’s mouth opened slightly. “Is she here?”

“She was,” Evelyn said quietly. “Until she ran.”

Amira’s stomach twisted. “Was she pregnant too?”

Evelyn didn’t answer.

But the silence said enough.

That night, Amira dreamed of cribs filled with shadows.

She woke up gasping, drenched in sweat, heart racing.

Her tablet blinked with a message.

DOMINIC: I suggest you get more rest. Tomorrow will be… demanding.

She didn’t reply.

Because for the first time since she arrived, she knew something for sure.

She wasn’t alone in that house.

Not in spirit.

Not in memory.

And maybe… not even in body.