All Chapters of THE PREGNANT VIRGIN AND THE RUTHLESS HEIR : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Gesare. The room is too quiet, that's the first thing I notice when I wake again, not the steady beeping of the monitor beside me, not the faint hum of machines or the distant shuffle of footsteps outside the door, is the silence I notice. It's the kind that settles into your bones.The kind that forces you to think.I stare at the ceiling for a long moment, blinking slowly, trying to steady my breathing as everything comes back in fragments from the fall, to the pain I am feeling right now and my chest tightens.I shift slightly, wincing as a dull ache spreads through my body, reminding me that none of that was a dream. That it happened. That I am here because of it, my hand moves instinctively back to my stomach.I freeze the moment my palm rests there.For a second, I don’t breathe, I just feel.Waiting and listening."She is okay." Kumba’s voice echoes in my mind from earlier, steady but strained, "They are both fine." My eyes close slowly, relief washing over me again, softe

Kumba.I don’t sleep, and not by lack of trying. I lie in bed staring at the ceiling for almost two hours, but every time I close my eyes, I see the same thing, I see her on the floor and blood everywhere.Then Moraa’s voice slides into my head right after, the way she sounded soft and controlled. I stopped by your house but there was no one there, she said which was a lie she delivered too easily.By two in the morning, I give up pretending sleep is coming.I sit up slowly and rub a hand over my face before reaching for my phone again.That anonymous text still sits there.Be careful who you trust.I stare at it for a long moment.Who sent it?And how the hell did they know something was wrong?I lean back against the headboard, my thoughts moving too fast to settle.Maybe it’s unrelated.Maybe it’s someone messing around.Or maybe no, My jaw tightens.Nothing about this feels random anymore.I exhale sharply and stand up, pacing the room.I need facts not paranoia.By morning, I’m

MoraaI know something is wrong. I know it before I even fully open my eyes that morning.It’s there in my chest heavy and uneasy like instinct clawing at me from the inside.I lie still in bed for a moment staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself I’m imagining things.But the feeling doesn’t leave.It only grows.I grab my phone from the nightstand quickly.Nothing from Kumba.No good morning text, no follow up from last night, no call.My stomach tightens slightlyThat’s not necessarily strange.He’s busy sometimes, but still something feels off.I sit up slowly, immediately opening our messages again.Reading them and Re reading them.Trying to find some hidden meaning in his tone from yesterday.Actually, I may need to postpone.At the time, I brushed it off.Now?Now the message feels colder somehow.More distant.I bite the inside of my cheekHe doesn’t know.He can’t know.If he knew, that phone call would’ve gone differently, Wouldn’t it?I exhale sharply and throw t

I stare at the message so long the screen starts dimming in my hand.We need to talk, Three words.Three simple words.But they hit like a death sentence.My mouth goes dry instantly.Beside me, my mother slowly lowers the phone, her expression unreadable now in a way that unsettles me even more.Neither of us speaks for a moment.The kitchen suddenly feels too small.Too hot.Too quiet.“What does that mean?” I whisper finally.My voice barely sounds like mine.My mother places the phone carefully on the counter before answering.“It means exactly what it says.”“That’s not helpful.”“It’s not supposed to be.”I stare at her in disbelief.“How are you calm right now?”“Because panic makes people sloppy,” she says sharply. “And sloppy people get caught.”The word sends another wave of nausea through me.“No,” I mutter immediately, shaking my head. “No, he can’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t text me like this.”“Exactly.”I start pacing again, my pulse hammering violently now.But the

Moraa. The message comes at the worst possible time or maybe the perfect one depending on how you look at it. I’m lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, my mind replaying the morning over and over again, Kumba’s voice, his touch, the way he held me like he meant it and yet somehow didn’t, It should have comforted me but it didn’t.Something has been off for a while now. I feel it in the way he looks at me, like he is present, but not really here, like a part of him is somewhere else, somewhere I can’t reach and I hate that feeling of not knowing.My phone buzzes beside me, I don’t reach for it immediately.I assume it’s him but when I pick it up it's an unknown number.I frown slightly before picking it up, unlocking the screen, and opening the message.“There is something your doctor isn’t telling you about the day of your insemination.” the texts saysI sit up slowly and my heart starts to race. I read the message again wondering if I read wrong or maybe it's a wrong number.