Chapter 240

Chapter 240
Emily's POV

I tucked the Polaroids back into the envelope, watching the sky fade from amber to deep violet through the car window. Three days of standing in heels, changing dresses every hour, smiling on command. My feet ached.

"Tomorrow," I said, turning from the window. "I think I need a break from shooting."

Stefan's eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. "Of course."

"Oh, we could go to that spa," Claire offered from beside me, her voice still carrying that tentative quality. Like she was testing whether she was allowed to suggest things. "The one with the mineral baths?"

"Actually, Lydia's been asking me to meet up." I shifted in my seat. "Maybe we could all go together?"

"That sounds lovely." Claire's smile reached her eyes this time.

"I'll have the driver take you in the morning," Stefan said. His gaze lingered on me for a second longer than necessary before returning to the road. Something warm and careful in that look.

The car slowed as we hit downtown traffic. Red brake lights stretched ahead like a river of fire.

"This one." Claire held up another Polaroid. "See how the light caught the lace here?"

I leaned closer. She was right—the late afternoon sun had turned the white fabric almost translucent, creating shadows I hadn't noticed during the actual shoot. "You have a real eye for this."

"I just press the button." But her cheeks flushed with pleasure.

"No, really. These are better than half of what the professional photographer got." I meant it. Something about Claire's angles felt more honest. Less posed. "Jonathan told me you won second place in a competition. The one in January?"

"Oh." She ducked her head. "That was just flowers. Not people."

"Still counts."

We sat in traffic for thirty minutes. Maybe longer. Time felt weird—like it was moving through honey. I kept talking, kept looking at photos, but my eyelids grew heavier with each passing minute.

What's wrong with me? I've been tired before, but this is different.

"Emily's falling asleep," I heard Claire whisper. Her voice sounded far away.

My eyes were already closed. When did that happen?

The car must have stopped. I felt arms slide under me—strong, familiar. Stefan's cologne. That particular combination of sandalwood and something sharper I could never name.

So warm.

He lifted me easily, and I should probably tell him I can walk, but my limbs felt like they were filled with sand. Someone draped something soft over me.

I sank deeper. Everything went dark.

---

Warmth. That was the first thing I registered. Heated surface beneath me, something soft and plush. The scent of cucumbers and lavender drifted through the air, familiar but disorienting.

Lydia's voice floated somewhere nearby, bright and animated. "...and then he wanted the veil to cover my face during the ceremony, but I said absolutely not, because how am I supposed to—"

I blinked, trying to orient myself. Soft lighting. Cream-colored walls. A towel wrapped around my hair.

The spa. Right. We'd driven here this morning.

"Emily? You okay?"

Lydia's face swam into focus above me. We were lying side by side on massage tables, our faces covered in something cool and soothing.

"Sorry, what?"

"I was telling you about the wedding planner drama." Lydia propped herself up on one elbow, the face mask cracking slightly. "But you look totally spaced out. Where'd you go?"

"Nowhere. I'm here." I tried to focus. "What were the shooting locations again?"

"I'm asking you. For the photos."

Oh. Right. "Switzerland. The snow fields. And then... Finland? Or maybe Norway..." I frowned at the ceiling. "There were northern lights in one set."

"You don't remember?"

"I do. It's just..." But I couldn't remember. Not clearly. Just impressions—white landscapes, Stefan's hand in mine, Claire behind her camera. The details were fuzzy. "We went to a lot of places."

Lydia sat up fully, not caring that pieces of her mask flaked onto the pristine white robe. "Em. You have a crazy good memory. You can quote entire conversations from years ago word for word."

My stomach tightened. "I'm just tired. The wedding prep is—"

"No." She swung her legs off the table. "When was the last time you had a checkup?"

"I'm fine."

"Your body's been through hell. The poisoning, the antidote, everything." She lowered her voice. "You can't just ignore symptoms."

"They're not symptoms. I'm just—"

"Tired. Yeah, I heard." Lydia stood, wrapping her robe tighter. "We're skipping the mineral bath. There's a hospital two blocks from here. My family's hospital—I can get you in right now."

"Lydia—"

"Don't." Her voice went hard. "You almost died. Multiple times. You don't get to brush this off."

I looked at her face—really looked. The fear tightening her jaw. Her hands clenched in her robe. She'd watched me nearly slip away more than once.

"Okay," I said quietly. "We'll go."

---

The doctor's office smelled like antiseptic and old coffee. I sat across from her desk while she reviewed my charts. Routine checkup. Blood work. Nothing major.

Probably just need more iron or something.

Lydia perched beside me, one leg bouncing.

The doctor—Dr. Chen, her name tag read—looked up from her screen. She pushed her glasses up her nose and smiled. "Well, Mrs. Ashford. Congratulations. You're pregnant."

The room tilted.

No.

That's impossible.

"What?" The word came out strangled.

Dr. Chen turned her monitor toward me, pointing at numbers that might as well have been ancient Greek. "Your hCG levels are elevated. Based on these results, I'd estimate you're about six to eight weeks along. I'd recommend scheduling an appointment with obstetrics—"

"No." I shook my head. "That's... there must be a mistake."

"The blood test is quite definitive." Her smile stayed professional. "Of course, we can do an ultrasound to confirm—"

"Emily." Lydia's hand found my arm. "Em, breathe."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The numbers blurred.

Pregnant.

But Harrison said Stefan was... he couldn't... the chances were almost zero.

"I'll give you two some privacy," Dr. Chen said, rising. "Take your time."

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

My fingers shook. I pressed them against my thighs, trying to stop the tremors.

"Em." Lydia's voice was very small. Very careful. "Emily, look at me."

I couldn't. If I looked at her, this would be real.

"Emily." She crouched in front of me, forcing herself into my line of sight. Her face was pale. "You need to tell me something. And I need you to be honest."

I knew what she was going to ask.

"Please don't tell me..." She swallowed hard. "That baby. It's Stefan's, right?"

My head snapped up. "What? Of course it's—how could you even—"

"Because you told me!" Her voice broke. "You told me what Harrison said. That Stefan's chances were practically nonexistent. That even with treatment, the odds were—" She cut herself off. "So either Harrison was wrong, or the treatment worked way better than expected, or..."

She didn't finish.

Or I cheated.

"I didn't." The words tumbled out. "I would never. There's no one else. There's only ever been—"

"Then how?" Lydia's eyes were too bright. "How are you pregnant?"

"I don't know."

God, I don't know.

My hands moved to my stomach—flat, unchanged, giving nothing away. Something was growing in there. Something impossible.

Stefan's baby.

It had to be.

But Harrison said...

"Maybe the diagnosis was wrong," I heard myself say. "Or maybe he didn't want to get our hopes up, so he downplayed—"

"Em." Lydia sat back on her heels. "Medical tests don't just 'downplay' results."

Unless Harrison lied.

The thought came sharp and cold.

Why would he lie?

"I believe you," Lydia said suddenly. "Okay? I believe that you didn't... that there's no one else. But we need to figure out what's going on because—" She glanced at the door. "Because Stefan is going to ask the same question I just did. And you need to have an answer."

My throat closed up.

Stefan.

Oh god, Stefan.

How do I tell him? How do I explain something I don't understand myself?