CHAPTER FIVE: You're Not Going Anywhere.

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The penthouse door locked behind me with a _click_ that sounded like a prison sentence.

Biometric. Steel core. Adrian’s thumbprint only.

“Welcome home,” he said.

Home. Right. Home had a view of Central Park, a kitchen bigger than my whole apartment in Queens, and four men in black suits stationed at every exit.

Not home. Cage. Gilded, expensive, terrifying cage.

“I’m not staying here,” I said. My voice echoed in the marble foyer. “You can’t keep me here.”

Adrian set the pregnancy test on the glass coffee table. Like it was art. Like it was proof. “I can. I did.”

He nodded to one of the guards. The man stepped forward and held out his hand.

“Phone,” the guard said.

I clutched it to my chest. “No. That’s mine.”

Adrian didn’t look at me. He was opening a bottle of water, testing the seal, then handing it to me. “No outside contact until Dr. Levinson clears you. Stress is bad for the baby.”

_For the baby._ Not for me. For the baby.

“Adrian, please.” I backed up until my legs hit the couch. “You’re scaring me.”

Good. He wanted that. I could see it in his eyes.

He crossed the room in three steps. Took my phone from my shaking hands before I could protest. He didn’t even look at it. Handed it to the guard.

“Wipe it. New number. Only mine and Dr. Levinson’s get programmed in.”

The guard left. With my only link to the world.

“You can’t do this,” I whispered. “This is kidnapping.”

“This is protection.” He said it like he believed it. “Valeria has three million I*******m followers. By tonight, they’ll all think you’re a gold-digging whore who faked a pregnancy. Do you want them outside your door in Queens?”

I didn’t. But I didn’t want this either.

“So I’m a prisoner instead?”

“You’re the mother of my heir.” He said it like it was a title. Like it was a job. “My heir doesn’t live in a slum. My heir doesn’t eat ramen. My heir doesn’t disappear because his mother decided she’d rather be _free_ than safe.”

He was pacing now. Running a hand through his hair. For the first time, he didn’t look controlled. He looked… scared.

But scary.

“Susan!” he barked.

She appeared from somewhere. iPad ready. Terrified. “Sir?”

“Cancel all my meetings. Clear the floor. No staff except Marcos and Elena. They’re vetted.” He looked at me. “From now on, no one touches her food. No one touches her water. No one breathes near her unless I say.”

Susan typed frantically. “And Miss D’Souza, sir? She’s calling. The media’s calling.”

“Tell Valeria the engagement is void. Breach of contract clause 12b.” He didn’t even blink. “Tell the media I’ll sue anyone who prints Beth’s name into the ground.”

He was dismantling his life. For two pink lines.

For me?

No. For _it_.

I wrapped my arms around my stomach. Suddenly aware that the thing inside me was the only reason I was breathing free air instead of a jail cell.

“I want to leave,” I said. Small. Broken.

Adrian stopped pacing. Came to stand in front of me. He dropped to a crouch so we were eye level. So I couldn’t look away.

“No,” he said. Simple. Final. “You’re not going anywhere, Beth.”

He reached out. Tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was gentle. His eyes weren’t.

“You walked into my office carrying my baby. You told me it was mine. In front of witnesses.” His thumb brushed my cheekbone. “That was a contract. Verbal, binding, irrevocable.”

“I didn’t sign anything—”

“You will.” He stood. Nodded to Susan. “Bring the NDA. And the cohabitation agreement. And the prenatal care stipulations.”

Susan scurried away.

Cohabitation agreement. He was going to make me sign my life away.

“Adrian, please listen to me.” I stood too, legs shaking. “I don’t know you. You don’t know me. One night doesn’t mean—”

“It means everything.” He cut me off. “It means you’re the only woman on earth carrying a Knight. And Knights protect what’s theirs.”

He pulled his phone out. Dialed. Put it on speaker.

“Levinson.” A man’s voice. Crisp. Doctor.

“She’s here,” Adrian said. “Six weeks. Throwing up. Stress levels high. I want a full panel. Now.”

“On my way, Mr. Knight. Have her lie down. Feet elevated. No exertion.”

Adrian hung up. Looked at me. “You heard the doctor. Lie down.”

“I’m not a child.”

“No. You’re a vessel.” The word hit like ice water. “For my son.”

_Son._ He’d already decided.

“What if it’s a girl?” I shot back.

His eyes flashed. “Then I’ll buy her Manhattan. Now lie down.”

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. If I lay down, I was submitting. If I submitted, I was his.

Adrian sighed. Like I was being difficult. Like I was the unreasonable one.

Then he bent, scooped me up like I weighed nothing, and carried me to the massive white couch.

I struggled. Weak, pathetic struggling. “Put me down!”

He set me down. Gently. Too gently. Then grabbed a throw pillow and shoved it under my ankles. Feet elevated. Doctor’s orders.

“There,” he said. “Was that so hard?”

He stood over me. Blocking the light. Blocking the door. Blocking the world.

“Let me explain how this works, Beth. Because you don’t seem to understand.” He leaned down. Hands on either side of my head. Caging me in. “You’re not leaving this penthouse until my son is born. You’re not seeing anyone I don’t approve. You’re not eating anything I don’t approve. You’re not breathing without my permission.”

His face was inches from mine. I could see the gold in his eyes again. Could smell sandalwood and sin and captivity.

“Why?” I breathed. “Why are you doing this?”

He didn’t answer for three seconds.

Then: “Because six weeks ago, you walked out of my bed and I didn’t stop you.” His voice was raw. Honest. Unhinged. “I’m not making that mistake twice.”

He straightened. Adjusted his cuffs. Billionaire again. Mask back on.

“Rest. Doctor will be here in ten minutes.” He turned to leave.

“Adrian.”

He stopped. Didn’t turn around.

“If it’s a boy,” I whispered, “what will you name him?”

His shoulders tensed.

Then: “Knight. His name is Knight. Like his father. Like his empire.”

The door _clicked_ behind him.

Locked.

From the outside.

I was alone. In a penthouse. With four guards, a doctor on the way, and a billionaire who’d just declared me his property.

My hand drifted to my stomach.

_I’m sorry,_ I told the two pink lines. _Mommy’s in trouble._

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