Chapter 6: The Hidden Harvest

Months bled into one another like watercolor in a rainstorm. One month. Three. Six.

Outside my barred window, the autumn leaves withered and fell, replaced by the biting frost of winter. Inside my stone cage, time was measured only by the growing tightness in my womb and the systematic theft of my strength.

Every three days, Vanessa came. Every three days, she pressed her cold, black-veined palm to my chest, siphoning my energy to keep me entirely docile. She was arrogant. She assumed her dark witch-magic was destroying me completely. She didn't know that the moment she locked the door, I would crawl to the loose floorboard, swallow Healer Maureen’s amber drops, and let my secret, dormant silver spark rebuild what Vanessa had torn down.

I was fighting a war on two fronts: surviving Vanessa’s poison and keeping my baby alive.

By the seventh month, my stomach had rounded into a prominent, unmistakable swell. Hiding a pregnancy in a locked room where guards occasionally tossed in stale bread was a game of life and death. I had torn the heavy, rotting velvet drapes of my window into long, thick strips. Every morning, before the guards arrived, I wrapped the fabric tightly around my abdomen, binding my belly until the pressure made it hard to breathe.

Just a little longer, my sweet boy, I would whisper into the dark, ignoring the ache in my ribs. Just stay hidden.

To the pack, I was a ghost. A forgotten, wolfless maid rotting away in the eastern tower. Even Ethan had erased me. Sometimes, when the wind blew just right, I could hear his deep laughter echoing from the training grounds far below. He was the great Alpha now, preparing for the winter solstice and eagerly awaiting the birth of Vanessa's child—the bastard he still proudly believed was his own. He had completely forgotten the girl he once swore to protect.

But I didn't care about Ethan anymore. My only universe was the kicking, stubborn life growing inside me.

It happened in my eighth month.

Winter was at its harshest, the air in my tower so cold my breath misted in front of my face. I was exceptionally weak that morning. The baby was growing larger, his kicks sharp and demanding, and binding my stomach had become an agonizing chore that barely hid the bulge beneath my oversized, ragged tunic.

The lock clicked. The door swung open, and Vanessa swept into the room.

She wasn't wearing her usual smug smile. Her face was twisted in a mask of pure, ugly rage. I could smell the sharp, metallic tang of her agitated aura. Word down below was that Ethan’s father, Magnus, was putting pressure on them to produce a stronger heir, and Vanessa's fake pregnancy timeline was starting to stress her dark-magic illusions.

She walked straight to my bed and kicked the frame. The rusted metal shrieked against the stone.

"Get up, trash," she spat, her voice vibrating with venom.

I groaned, slowly rolling over, keeping my arms crossed over my chest to bag my tunic forward. "What do you want, Vanessa?" I whispered, playing the role of the broken, dying omega.

"I am sick of looking at your pathetic face," she snarled, grabbing me by the collar of my shirt and dragging me off the mattress.

My feet hit the cold floor, and I stumbled. Instinct—pure, primal maternal instinct—took over before my brain could stop it. As I fell forward, my hands flew straight to my lower stomach, shielding my womb from colliding with the wooden bedside table.

Vanessa’s eyes, sharp and predatory, tracked my movement instantly. She froze.

"Why are you holding yourself like that?" she whispered, her voice dropping to a dangerous, icy register.

"I'm weak," I lied, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "I'm just dizzy. Please."

"No." Vanessa’s eyes narrowed, her gaze locking onto my midsection. "You’ve been getting pale. You’ve been looking... different."

Before I could pull away, she lunged. Her hand shot out, grabbing a handful of my oversized tunic, and pulled.

The cheap, worn fabric tore with a loud, violent rip.

The sudden force snapped the knot of the velvet binding underneath. The makeshift corset unraveled, the heavy purple strips of fabric spilling to the stone floor in a heap.

And there, in the dim light of the tower, my heavily swollen, eight-month belly was fully exposed.

The silence that stretched across the room was absolute. It was so quiet I could hear the howling winter wind clawing at the window pane.

Right then, as if sensing the suffocating danger radiating from the woman in front of us, my baby kicked. Hard. The taut skin of my stomach rippled violently, an undeniable testament to the healthy, vibrant life thriving inside me.

Vanessa stared at my stomach. The color completely drained from her face, her eyes stretching so wide they looked skeletal. She staggered back a step, her hands trembling as she looked from my belly to my face.

"You..." she breathed, her voice shaking with a terrifying mixture of shock and murderous realization. "You're pregnant."

My breath hitched. I didn't try to hide it anymore. I stood tall, my hands wrapping protectively around my belly, my eyes locking onto hers with all the defiance I had buried for months.

"Nine weeks," Vanessa whispered, her mind quickly putting the pieces of the timeline together. "When I claimed my pregnancy... you were already carrying his. You're carrying Ethan’s true heir."

Her shock rapidly mutated into a horrific, twisted smirk. The purple, dark-magic veins began to pulse violently beneath the skin of her throat.

"An omega bastard," Vanessa hissed, taking a slow step toward me. "A threat to my child's throne. Did you really think you could hide this from me, Chloe? Did you really think I would let this thing live?"