I sat cross-legged on the floor of my walk-in closet, the only place in our sprawling mansion where I knew there were no cameras. Three days had passed since Robert had stripped me of everything I'd built. Three days of being monitored, of Sarah's hourly check-ins, of suffocating within these gilded walls.
The USB drive felt cold between my fingers—my emergency backup, hidden in the hollowed heel of an old boot. Robert might control the servers, but he'd never known about this. My hands trembled as I plugged it into my tablet, relief washing over me as my files appeared. Evidence. Proof of my work, my contributions, my value.
A wave of nausea suddenly rolled through me, sharp and insistent. I pressed my palm against my mouth, waiting for it to pass. The third time this week. A terrible suspicion formed in my mind, and I counted back the days since my last cycle.
Six weeks.
My hand drifted to my stomach, flat beneath my silk blouse. Could it be? Despite everything, a flutter of something—hope? joy?—sparked in my chest. A child. Our child.
The closet door flew open, flooding the small space with harsh light.
"What are you doing in here?" Sarah stood in the doorway, her expression pinched with suspicion.
I yanked the USB from the tablet, closing my fist around it. "I needed some privacy."
"Alpha Robert has requested a psychic check-in," she announced, not bothering to mask her distaste. "Now."
My blood ran cold. A psychic check-in—Robert forcing his way into my mind through our mate bond. He hadn't done that since our first year together, when he'd suspected me of communicating with my family.
"I'm not feeling well," I said, rising slowly, fighting another wave of nausea. "Tell him I'll—"
"It wasn't a request, Mrs. Black."
I followed her downstairs to Robert's study, my mind racing. If he pushed too hard into my thoughts, he'd see the USB, my plans, possibly even my suspicion about the pregnancy. I needed to shield those thoughts, to build walls around the most vulnerable parts of my mind.
Robert sat behind his mahogany desk, expression coldly professional. "Leave us," he told Sarah, who exited with a quick nod.
"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to the chair across from him.
I perched on the edge, hands folded in my lap to hide their trembling. "This isn't necessary, Robert."
"I'll decide what's necessary." His voice was flat, emotionless. "Open the bond."
I felt his presence at the edges of my consciousness, probing, searching for weakness. I visualized walls around my secrets, around the knowledge of our child growing inside me—a child I suddenly felt fiercely protective of.
"You're resisting," he observed, his eyes narrowing. "What are you hiding, Elara?"
"Nothing," I whispered. "I just don't want you in my head."
His pressure intensified, mental fingers clawing at my defenses. "You don't have a choice."
Pain lanced through my skull as he forced his way deeper. I gasped, gripping the armrests. "Stop—you're hurting me—"
"Show me what you're hiding!" he demanded, slamming harder against my mental barriers.
Something inside me snapped—a primal, desperate need to protect myself, to protect my child. My defenses transformed into jagged spikes, lashing out against his invasion.
Robert recoiled physically, but the psychic backlash had already begun. Pain exploded behind my eyes, white-hot and blinding. My body convulsed, toppling from the chair to the floor. I heard Robert shouting, felt hands trying to hold me down, then nothing.
I don't know how long I was unconscious. When awareness returned, I was alone on the cold marble floor of Robert's study. Something warm and wet pooled beneath me. With tremendous effort, I pushed myself up on one elbow and looked down.
Blood. So much blood, spreading in a dark crimson stain across my clothes, the floor.
"No," I whispered, understanding crashing over me like a wave. "No, please, no."
My child. My tiny, secret hope. Gone before anyone even knew it existed.
I curled around myself, a wounded animal seeking comfort where none existed. Tears streamed down my face as I pressed my hands against my empty womb, as if I could somehow undo what had happened.
When I could finally move, I dragged myself to Robert's desk, leaving a trail of blood across his immaculate floor. With shaking fingers, I reached for his phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in three years.
"Silverclaw residence," a crisp voice answered.
"Adrian," I choked out, my voice barely recognizable even to my own ears. "It's me."
