Chapter 19

“What?”

“You heard me. You're not pregnant.”

Slumping back on the chair, she gave Amanda a blank look. Amanda Lockwood had been the family doctor for as long as she could remember, and her very good friend too. Though she was almost twenty years older than her, the older woman never treated Lena like she was younger than her. She was one of the few people who really knew her, one of the few people that was close to her. Lena had a soft spot for her.

But not at the moment. Right now, she was irritated.

“I don't understand. I was so sure,” Lena continued tiredly. She'd been too sure in fact.

“What made you sure, then?”

Lena didn't respond.

Amanda had an amused look in her face. “Okay, let's see. Morning sickness?”

Lena shook her head. “None at all.”

Amanda nodded absentmindedly. “Increased appetite? How's your food intake?”

“Fine, I guess.” She swallowed. “I don't think I've been eating well actually.”

“Are your breasts sore?” Amanda held her gaze.

Lena lifted a hand to massage her breasts. “No, not at—wait.” She paused, wincing. “Kind of, but it's a kind of subtle pain.”

“So do you think you're pregnant?” Amanda asked, leaning back on her chair with her fingers enjoining.

Lena sighed, “I don't know. I'm not sure anymore.”

“Well, you are.”

Lena scowled. “Make up your mind, Amanda. Am I or am I not pregnant?”

Amanda burst out laughing. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” she apologized, chuckling. “It's just that I've had a really shit week, and this is the only way I can think to remedy that.”

The scowl left her face, but she rolled her eyes. “I'm glad I can be of help for your amusement, but I'm serious, Amanda. I need to know.”

“Fine. You're pregnant. You're six weeks gone.” Amanda smiled.

Lena's eyes widened. “Six weeks?” Six weeks since she'd slept with Damon. Recalling she'd told him that she was on the pill, she wanted to smack herself as she actually remembered she'd forgotten to tell him it'd been two months since she'd last taken the pill. Two months since then that she'd broken up with Matt.

Damn.

“Yeah,” she nodded, pushing herself back. “So, who's the father?”

“What?”

“Did I stutter?” Amanda rolled her eyes, getting up. She walked to the small kitchen in the far corner of the office. Lena didn't want to ask why she had a kitchen in her office so she gladly accepted the cup of coffee Amanda handed her. “And don't tell me it's that obnoxious as swipe you were dating.”

“It's not Matt, if that's what you're thinking.” Lean drank from her cup, relishing in the bitter familiar taste.

“Then whose is it?” Her tone was impatient.

There was no harm in telling her, Lena thought, “It's Damon.”

Amanda's hands banged on the table. “Shut up,” she said in wonder. “Hotshot, mouthwatering Damon Specter? The one you were talking about the other day with that dreamy look in your eyes?”.

Lena laughed. “Yup, that one. And I did not have a dreamy look in my eyes.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “You so did. When did you guys find the time to have sex anyways? It hasn't been that long you met, has it?”

“That's a long story,” Lena huffed. “It was actually the first day we met.”

“Damn, he works fast, doesn't he?” Amanda muttered behind her cup. “You gonna tell him?”

Lena hesitated. “I'm not sure. I don't know how he's going to take it. I don't know if he's ready to be a father.”

Amanda held her gaze, her expression softening. “He has to know. He has a right.”

“I know. I probably will. When the time comes.” she mumbled, averting her eyes.

Amanda let it drop, giving her one last stern look. “There's no right time, Lena. It's just a matter of doing it. Your parents would be proud of you.”

****

She was pregnant? Lena still couldn't believe it, but it was true. She had a life growing inside her. Her hand went to her stomach absentmindedly, grabbing at the skin.

The sound of car horns brought her back to earth. From the hospital, she'd decided to walk home, just to clear her head. Turned out the air was good for her. Sundays were happy days.

Adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, she walked down the busy street. Was she ready to have a child? To get stuck with the responsibility of raising a child? Did she want to tell Damon? But he was the father, though. He had every right to know.

She was going to tell him. Soon. When she found the time. The only thing she was scared off was his reaction to the news. A part of her told her that he wouldn't be as welcoming about it as she'd like him to be, but another part told her that Damon was not the sort of man who ran from his responsibilities.

Lena vaguely wondered what her parents would say about her having a child outside of wedlock. They'd probably frown at her for making a mistake, she thought. A small laugh escaped her mouth as she thought of how foolish she was being. She was so tired she didn't know what to think anymore. Of course, they'd be happy. Her mother had always wanted a grandchild.

She remembered all those silly sex talks she'd always tried to run away from. All those times her mother had nudged her towards men and marriage. It was disheartening to think that they wouldn't be there when she gave birth to this baby.

Thinking about Claire and Anne, she chuckled softly. Oh, Anne would be over the roof about names and baby showers. She tried to imagine the sort of pampering she would get when they eventually found out about it but her mind was not doing it any justice. They probably wouldn't let her walk on her own two feet.

She was excited, just thinking about it. Looking up, she saw that she'd changed route. Caught up in the thoughts of her parents, she'd barely noticed when she took a turn for their house. She hadn't been there since after the funeral. It'd been too long, she decided. Maybe she should visit after all.

A car sped to a stop in front of her. It was flashy, and shiny. Her brows rose as she examined the vehicle. The glasses were tinted so she couldn't see through.

Strange enough, she didn't feel any different. Just normal. It was probably someone she knew. Damon, probably. It couldn't have been Gabe, because that wasn't his car.

“Get in.”

It was a deep voice, one that wasn't familiar but still felt funny. She watched as the back door opened. A reasonable voice at the back of her head told her that getting in a car with a stranger was a terrible idea, but the curious one told her to go ahead.

You learn every day, right?

Taking a deep breath, she got in. The interior was posh, elegant. The seats were leather and Lena thought it screamed money.

She turned her head, then came face to face with Jackson Stone.

****

“Lena.”

Her name sounded funny coming from his lips and she found she didn't like it. Wait, how did he know where she was? Was he stalking her?

“I don't really know you, you know. Why don't you tell me more about you?” he said as the car started moving again. She wondered where they were going. Was he going to kidnap her? Christ.

“Why? I don't know you either.”

She knew his gaze was locked in on her even though she wasn't looking. A small chuckle left his lips. Lena noticed, even though it was subtle, maybe because he'd probably spent some quality time in America, he had an accent. It was Italian. She wondered how. His last name was Stone. Maybe he'd lived there for a while?

“I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

She turned her head to look at him. Giving him a blank look, she studied his face. He was actually pretty handsome, for someone his age. He must've quite the charmer when he was younger. Last night, his grey eyes had given off a cold look. Now, it was warm. Carefree, even.

“Let's start over. I'm Jackson. Jackson Stone. Owner of Stone enterprises worldwide. What about you?”

Stone enterprises. He was loaded, then. And he didn't in the least seem dangerous. Besides, if she really wanted to know more about his connection with Damon, this was her chance.

“Lena. Lena Donovan.”

His brows shot up. “That's it?”

“That's it.” The car took a sudden turn, but she was far too nervous to care.

Next to her, he chuckled. “Well, I knew you'd say that. Which is why I took the initiative to have you investigated.”.

He said it like it was the most normal thing on earth: Investigating people. Anger reared its ugly head, and she had to breathe deeply. That was a total invasion of privacy and she certainly wasn't Cardi B.

“You're the daughter of Stephen and Leah Donovan, who are dead by the way. Sorry about that. You're twenty-six, and are currently living with the Cage’s. You work at Cage Advertising as Head of Design, and you have two best friends. Now this is the interesting part.” He cleared his throat, amusement glittering in his grey eyes. “You're the heiress to a lot of money. Your father had a chain of hospitals around the world as well as hotels. In fact, his address when he was still alive is somewhere around here. Your mother, on the other hand, was probably the most successful surgeon in America. Loads of money. All of which went to you, their daughter, the minute they died. Am I right, or am I right?”

The smirk on his face infuriated her further. He'd really done his research. He knew almost everything. And he did everything in one day. As much as she hated to admit it, she was impressed. What she didn't get was the reason behind it.

“Why?”

“Let's just say I'm interested in you.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” The car took another turn and she had to look through the glass to be sure they weren't in an abandoned alley somewhere around the city.

“It means we're going to be good friends.”

The smile was cold. And it was directed at her. She had trouble keeping her eyes off his. “How do you know Damon?”

This time, his eyes were glaciers staring back at her. Those grey orbs were stormy, frightening. Who the hell was this man? “He didn't tell you?”

“You think I would be asking if he did?” She wanted to roll her eyes but had to remind herself who she was dealing with. That was the thing, she didn't know.

“Why don't you ask him yourself? It would be stupid to tell you anything at this point. It's no fun.” His smile was mocking.

“Well, just like you, he loves to keep secrets,” she huffed. “Fine. If you won't tell me how you know Damon, at least tell me how you know Gabe.”

He laughed. Like, he actually threw his head back and let out a deep laugh. “That's sort of the same thing, don't you think?”

She rolled her eyes this time, but after she turned her head so he couldn't see her.

“I have a surprise for you.”

She turned to face him again. “You do?”

He nodded. “But that's for me to know and you to find out. Give me a call when you do, eh? Vicktor, stop the car.”

They'd pulled up in front of her parents’ house, she saw. Fixing him one last look, she got out and was immediately hit with the afternoon sun. She decided Jackson wasn't all that bad. The car sped away the minute she alighted, and she ran her hand through her hair. She was nervous. What could his surprise possible be?

Most of all, did she want to find out?

****

Damn, it was just the way it was the last time she'd been here. Only dirtier. She noted with disgust that she needed to ring the housekeeper sometime soon. Her mother wasn't a huge fan of dirt.

Walking through the front door, she'd been hit with a wave of nostalgia. She couldn't comprehend how she'd been able to keep herself from coming here for two whole years.

So much for moving on.

She walked into the living room, smiling as she reminisced how happy they'd been together. Just the three of them.

****

“It's girls’ night, Stephen, so unless you wanna watch chick flicks all night long, I suggest you take a walk,” Leah said to her husband who was seated next to her on the couch with a pout on his face.

“But it was girls’ night yesterday,” he whined, scrunching his face up. In all honesty, he looked like a five-year-old who was mad because he didn't get a present from Santa for Christmas.

“Well, that was Lena's night. It's my night tonight.” Leah stuck her tongue out as she grabbed a bowl of popcorn from the table, earning a chuckle from Lena.

Stephen's eyes rolled. “I'm pretty sure it doesn't work like that.” He leaned forward to grab a bowl as well. “I can't believe it. I'm getting bullied in my own house. By women. What has the world come to?”

Lena laughed. “That's what you get for not giving me a brother. Now shut up, the movie's starting.”

“Bullies,” he mumbled, munching on his popcorn.

****

Flicking at a tear, she turned her direction to the kitchen. It was a big house. A really big house. Dust covered most of the surface, but it pretty much looked the same.

A small sound made her turn around. She thought she'd heard something. Shrugging, she started for the stairs. She coughed when she walked into her room. Damn, it was messy. She'd been in such a hurry to leave that she hadn't thought to arrange some things. She'd just shoved some clothes into a box, and she'd never looked back.

Jackson's face crossed her mind for the tenth time since he'd dropped her off. What could be the surprise he was talking about? She thought of his face when he'd laughed, how he'd looked younger, more handsome. Was that really the man everyone had been wary about? He seemed nice.

But what did she know?

Sitting on the edge of her bed, she grabbed a picture frame from the bedside table. It was a picture of her with her parents. They'd taken a vacation together when she was twenty, it'd been at a beach in Hawaii and the sun was shining. The smile of their faces was wide enough to light up the sun. Good times.

There was that sound again. It brought her out of her reverie, and she was sure she heard something. But she was the only one in the house.

She dropped the frame, walked out of her room, trying not to acknowledge the small feeling of dread flowing through her. Nobody else could've been in the house, the door was all locked and she was the only one with the keys.

It was only when she descended the stairs that she remembered the front door was opened. She'd walked through it and hadn't remembered to shut it.

Her breathing quickened. She dashed into the living room, looking for something, anything. Her eyes roamed the spacious room, then sighed in relief when nothing suspicious crossed her vision. Making her way to the kitchen, her breathing hitched when she perceived the stench of gasoline.

What the hell?

Then she saw him.

His smile was ice, it sent chills throughout her body. He had a scar right above his left brow which added to his frightening demeanor. She couldn't exactly pinpoint the color of his eyes; they were blurry through the glass that separated them. A mixture of grey and green, somewhat. All that didn't matter.

What mattered was that she didn't know who the hell he was. And why he was in her house.

Throwing caution to the wind, she lunged for the glass. But she was too late as he turned the key in the lock, trapping her in the house.

It was suddenly hot. She looked around, perspiration gathering at her forehead.

Fire.

He'd set the kitchen on fire, as just like the wind, it was moving fast, spreading.

And she was trapped inside.

Rattling the knob, she fixed her eyes on the man. Oh God, she was going to die. “Open it! For God's sake, open it!” she yelled through the growing furnace as it surrounded her.

The man smirked. “I'll be sure to pass on your thanks. Have fun!” With that, he fled.

A sob slipped past her lips. Thanks? What the hell had that meant? She drew at the knob, but it was locked. Dying in a fire had not been on her bucket list of things to do before the year ran out. Certainly not.

She turned back, running up the stairs to her room. The fire had spread to the living room and it was so thick she couldn't see through it. Coughing, she ran relentlessly to her window, pulling at the windowsill. It was sealed tight and the strength in her arms were failing her.

Helpless tears ran down her face. She was going to die. And nobody was going to know. No one. Her unborn child was going to die without knowing its father.

Damon.

She hadn't spoken to him in hours. He hadn't even known she was going to the hospital. He didn't know she was pregnant. With his child. Smoke filled her lungs. It was getting hard to breathe through her nose so she opened her mouth. But that wasn't such a good idea because she inhaled more smoke.

Her legs gave way, failing her. She sank to the ground, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. Keeping her eyes open was proving to be a harder task than when British broke enigma in World War II. The flames surrounded her.

There was no way out.

She was going to die.

Her hands went to her stomach.

Her baby.