Chapter 92
Violet's POV:
I dragged myself back to the apartment, exhaustion weighing down every step. The door clicked shut behind me, and I'd barely made it three steps when the cramping hit—vicious, violent contractions that seized my lower abdomen and drove me to my knees.
My hand flew to the wall for support as I felt it: warm liquid trickling down my inner thigh. Blood.
The doctor's warning echoed through my mind with brutal clarity: Maintain emotional stability. Extreme stress triggers uterine contractions. But how was I supposed to stay calm when the man who'd put this baby inside me had just condemned me as a liar in front of everyone?
My phone was in my hand before conscious thought caught up. Daemon was closest he could get me to the hospital faster.
The call connected, rang once, and disconnected.
He'd rejected it. Deliberately. Immediately.
Something inside my chest went cold. Of course. Of course he wouldn't answer.
I couldn't think about that. Not now.
My fingers moved mechanically, dialing emergency services as another contraction ripped through me. I gave them the address through gritted teeth, my free hand pressed against my stomach as if I could somehow hold my daughter safe through sheer force of will.
The wait felt eternal.
---
The emergency room was a blur of harsh lights and urgent voices. A doctor appeared—middle-aged, competent, his face growing increasingly grave as he reviewed the monitors.
"Miss Goldcrest," he began gently but directly, "the fetal heartbeat is present but weak. You're experiencing significant uterine contractions with heavy bleeding. Given your condition and stress levels, I need to be honest: the probability of carrying this pregnancy to term is less than twenty percent."
Twenty percent. The numbers settled into my chest like stones.
"I want to be hospitalized for fetal preservation," I interrupted, my voice stronger than I felt. "Whatever the odds are, do everything possible to save this baby."
The doctor studied me, then nodded slowly. "We'll admit you immediately and start protocols. However, you'll need a designated companion present—someone to handle logistics, assist with care, sign paperwork."
The question highlighted just how alone I was in this city. My parents were back in Wildfire territory, and the man whose child I was fighting to save had just rejected my call. Which left only one option.
I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and called Evan.
---
Evan arrived within twenty minutes, going straight to the nurses' station to fill out whatever forms they needed. When he finally reached my bedside in the VIP room, I was already hooked to multiple monitors, IV fluids running.
"Why didn't you call me first?" His voice was controlled, but I heard the anger beneath—not at me, but at the situation.
I didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Because the truth—that I'd tried Daemon first and been rejected—felt too raw, too humiliating to speak aloud. I just turned my face toward the window, blinking back tears.
Evan seemed to understand my silence. He sat down heavily in the chair beside my bed, exhaling a long breath. After a moment, he spoke again, his tone more measured.
"You need to tell Marcus and Eleanor," he said quietly. "This isn't something you can keep hiding, Violet. It's not a minor issue anymore—this concerns your life and the baby's life. Your parents need to know."
I closed my eyes, feeling fresh tears slip out despite my best efforts. "I know," I whispered. "Just give me a few days. Once things stabilize a bit, I'll figure out how to tell them."
The thought of my father's reaction when he found out I was pregnant with Daemon's child after the rejection ceremony made my stomach clench. But Evan was right—I couldn't keep this secret much longer.
"Alright," Evan said, though his expression suggested he wasn't entirely satisfied with my timeline. "But don't wait too long. And in the meantime—" His voice softened slightly. "Take care of yourself. Rest. Let your body heal."
I nodded, one hand moving instinctively to rest over my stomach. For my daughter's sake, I would do whatever it took.
The days blurred together after that—medication schedules, monitoring, Evan's daily visits between his clinic hours. I spent most of my time staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to tell my parents, rehearsing conversations in my head that never felt quite right.
But before I could work up the courage to make that call, fate intervened in the worst possible way.
Three days after my admission, the door to my room opened without warning, and Celeste Morrison appeared in a wheelchair, pushed by Riley.
Seated in, Celeste was skeletal and hollow-faced, her baby-blue eyes enormous in her gaunt features. She looked like death wrapped in a hospital gown.
"Get out," I said flatly, not looking up. "Immediately."
"Violet, please—" Celeste's voice was thread-thin. "I just want to say goodbye. Daemon's arranged everything with Northern Summit Pack. Once they confirm the surgical team, I'll be transferred there."
"Congratulations." My tone was absolutely empty. "Now get out of my room."
"Riley," Celeste said softly, "could you give us a moment? Please?"
Riley's eyes narrowed suspiciously but eventually nodded, glaring at me before stepping into the hallway.
The moment we were alone, Celeste's entire demeanor shifted. The fragile mask slipped away, replaced by something sharp and triumphant. She sat up straighter—not much, but enough to suggest she wasn't as weak as she'd been performing.
"There," she said, her voice noticeably stronger. "Much better. Just us girls."
My hand moved instinctively to cover my stomach. "What do you want, Celeste?"
"I want you to understand something, Violet." She leaned forward slightly, her eyes absolutely cold. "Daemon loves me. You see that now, don't you? The way he arranged my surgery, stayed by my side, believed me immediately when I said you pushed me. He didn't even hesitate. He trusts me. Because he loves me."
"Is there a point to this?" My voice was flat.
Her smile widened. "Oh, you still don't get it. Even when you had him, you didn't know how to keep him." Her gaze drifted to where my hand rested on my stomach. "You're in for fetal preservation therapy, aren't you?"
The question hit like a physical blow. Ice flooded my veins. She knew. Somehow she'd found out.
I reached for the call button, but Celeste was faster. She lunged from the wheelchair with shocking speed, slapping the button away and grabbing my wrist.
She twisted and shoved with surprising force. The world tilted violently. I felt myself sliding off the bed, tried to turn, tried to protect my stomach, but—
The impact drove the air from my lungs, sent white-hot agony exploding through my body. But worse was the immediate cramping that seized my abdomen, the warm rush of liquid that told me I was bleeding heavily. A sound escaped my throat—something between a scream and a sob.
"Oops," Celeste said with zero remorse, smoothly lowering herself back into the wheelchair. "I guess your dream of using that baby as leverage is over now."
The door burst open. Riley appeared, taking in the scene—me crumpled on the floor in spreading blood, Celeste pale in her wheelchair.
"Oh my God, Celeste!" Riley rushed to the wheelchair. "What happened?"
"I don't know," Celeste whispered, pressing her hand to her chest. "Violet just fell so suddenly, and I tried to reach the button, but my chest started hurting and I can't breathe—"
"Oh my God, Celeste!" Riley's voice was pure panic as she grabbed the wheelchair handles. "We need to get you to a doctor right now. Your heart—"
They disappeared into the hallway, Riley's urgent shouts for medical assistance fading as she wheeled Celeste away, leaving me alone on the floor in a spreading pool of blood.
It took what felt like an eternity before a nurse passing by heard my strangled cry and rushed in.
---
I dreamed of a little girl with amber-gold eyes and dark hair, pigtails bouncing as she ran toward me on chubby legs. Her laugh was bright and pure. She reached for me with small hands: Mommy!
I tried to catch her, but my hands passed through her like smoke.
The dream shattered.
"Vi." The voice was rough, devastated. Daemon's voice.
I turned my head mechanically. He sat in the chair beside my bed, looking like hell—dark circles shadowing his blood-red eyes, stubble covering his jaw. There was something raw and broken in his expression.
"The baby," I said, my voice flat. "Where's my baby?"
Daemon's throat worked, his jaw clenching. "Vi, why didn't you tell me? We severed the bond, yes, but you were pregnant. You were carrying my child and you kept that from me. How could you not give me the chance to be a father? Is this your revenge—"
"WHERE IS MY BABY." Each word came out sharp and distinct.
He closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were red-rimmed. "You fell." He drew in a shuddering breath. "She didn't make it."
She didn't make it. My daughter was gone. Dead before she'd taken her first breath.
I was moving—ripping the IV from my arm, tearing monitoring leads from my chest, fighting the blankets. Daemon reached for me, trying to get me to lie back, and I shoved him away.
"Don't touch me," I snarled. "Don't you fucking dare."
"Violet, please—"
"Where is Celeste?" I was on my feet, ignoring the spinning room, the blood trickling from my torn IV. "Where is that murdering bitch?"
Daemon's face went still, confused. "What? Celeste is in cardiac ICU. She had another episode after—Riley said when she visited you, you fell and it triggered—"
"She pushed me." The words emerged as a deadly growl. "She came into my room, waited for Riley to leave, and pushed me off the bed. She killed our daughter, Daemon. She murdered her."
Color drained from his face. "That's not—Violet, Celeste can barely stand. She's in a wheelchair, critically ill. There's no way she could—"
"So you're calling me a liar. Again."
"I was there at Kael's apartment! I saw you pull away right before she fell. I saw it with my own eyes—"
"GET OUT!" The scream tore from my throat. "GET THE FUCK OUT!"
I grabbed a plastic pitcher and hurled it at him. It struck his shoulder, water spraying everywhere. I grabbed the next thing—a pillow, a book—throwing each with increasing violence while tears streamed down my face.
"She's a psychopath! She came here to gloat, then shoved me! She murdered our daughter and you're defending her! When I called for help, when I was bleeding and our baby was dying, you hung up on me! You hung up because you were with her!"
"I didn't know you were pregnant! If you'd told me instead of hiding it—"
"Why would I tell you? So you could take her away? Give her to Celeste to raise?"
I grabbed a glass vase and threw it with everything I had. It caught Daemon across the temple with a sickening crack. Blood streamed down his face, but he just stood there.
"I curse you," I whispered, my voice raw and venomous. "I curse you and Celeste both. May you never know peace or happiness. I hope you both rot."
The door burst open. My parents flooded in first, Eleanor's face a mask of horror and grief, Marcus's expression murderous as he took in the destroyed room—me shaking, Daemon bleeding from a head wound with glass shards scattered around his feet.
Behind them came Dominic and Victoria.
My mother rushed to my side, her hands trembling as she helped support me. "Vi, sweetheart—" Her voice broke, thick with tears she was fighting to hold back.
Dominic's face was carved from stone as he strode toward Daemon. Without warning, his hand shot out and connected with his son's face in a vicious slap that echoed through the room.
"Are you even human anymore?" Dominic's voice shook with rage. "How could you let this happen to her? I heard that Morrison girl came here and caused this—and you're still defending her?"
"It wasn't Celeste," Daemon said, his voice flat and certain even as blood dripped from his temple. "She didn't do this."
That single sentence made Victoria snap. She'd never liked Celeste, had barely tolerated Daemon's obsession with protecting her, but this—this was too much. She grabbed her designer handbag and began hitting her son with it, seemingly unable to see or care that he was already injured and bleeding.
"You fool!" Each word was punctuated by another blow. "You absolute fool!"
Through it all, my father stood silent, watching the Blackwoods' fury with an expression so cold and dark it frightened me. Finally, he moved past them all, coming to stand beside my bed. His large hand settled gently on my hair, smoothing it back from my tear-stained face.
"It's alright, Vi," he said softly, his voice the only gentle thing in the room.
Something inside me broke completely at those words—the simple promise of care, of safety, of unconditional love. I collapsed against my father's chest and began to sob, great heaving cries that shook my entire body.
---
After I lost the baby, I dreamed of her every night for days.
Every time I woke, my face was already wet with tears.
My parents came to sit with me every day. Evan also came without fail, though he seemed more withdrawn, his eyes shadowed with a guilt I recognized all too well.
"If I'd been here that day," he said quietly, "it wouldn't have happened. Would it?"
"Evan, this isn't your fault," I said, my voice steady despite the ache in my chest. "The ones at fault are Celeste and Daemon. You don't need to feel guilty."
My emotions had stabilized somewhat over these days, though the wound in my heart would never truly heal.
Tomorrow I'd be discharged. Then I'd resign from my position here and return to Wildfire Pack.