Chapter 138 Chapter 138
I sat on the edge of the tub, unable to look down because fear pressed so heavily against my ribs; breathing felt difficult, but I already knew. My body remembered before my mind accepted it; when I finally forced myself to look, the world narrowed instantly.
Positive. The word didn’t feel real, and my vision blurred as panic rose fast and suffocating because joy never arrived, only fear, sharp and immediate. No, no, no, not again.
My hands covered my mouth as memories crashed back: hospital lights, pain, blood, doctors speaking softly while avoiding eye contact, and Zaiel holding my hand while promising none of it mattered because having me alive was enough. I remembered telling him I didn’t want children because I couldn’t survive losing another one.
He told me he understood, and I knew he meant it, which somehow made this worse. I slid to the floor slowly, the test still clenched in my hand, while thoughts spiraled uncontrollably because this wasn’t happiness; this was waiting for tragedy to repeat itself.
My body failed before; what if it failed again? What if..... That fear settled deepest because I had seen what loss did to Zaiel even when he tried hiding it behind control and calm decisions and ruthless efficiency. He destroyed threats easily; grief would be different.
Footsteps sounded faintly down the hall, and I shoved the test back into the box, quickly hiding it beneath towels before unlocking the door and splashing water onto my face. By the time I stepped out, my expression felt steady enough to pass inspection. He looked up immediately from his desk when I entered the bedroom, his attention shifting fully toward me like it always did.
“You disappeared," he said.
“I just needed a shower."
He studied me longer than comfortable and crossed the room, stopping close enough that warmth surrounded me. “You’re tired again," he said.
“I didn’t sleep well."
His hand brushed my cheek, concern deepening. ”We can call the doctor if you don’t feel good. "Just talk to me; don't shut me out," he said, and my chest tightened.
I forced a small smile. ”I'm fine, I promise." The lie tasted bitter, but fear pushed it out anyway because saying the truth meant watching his entire world change again, and I wasn’t ready for that. Not until I knew this pregnancy would survive and until I knew hope wouldn’t become loss.
He pulled me into his arms, resting his chin lightly against my head, and for a moment guilt nearly crushed me because hiding things from him never ended well, yet terror overpowered honesty. I needed time; I just needed some time.
The next few days became careful performance. I ate when he watched even when nausea twisted my stomach, and I excused myself quietly when sickness became unavoidable, locking bathroom doors and running water to hide sound.
Security followed routine movements. Carlo is driving, and Joe is checking systems. Jax rotated guards outside while life continued normally around me. Only I felt the ticking clock inside my own body. Every ache terrified me; every cramp sent panic racing through my chest.
At night I lay awake counting breaths while Zaiel slept beside me, one arm always draped across my waist possessively even in rest, and sometimes I watched him, wondering how someone capable of such violence could look peaceful only when close to me. He trusted the world was finally safe. He didn’t know danger lived inside uncertainty now.
One evening during dinner, Dad talked casually about expanding the garden, explaining soil changes with quiet excitement while Zaiel listened half distracted, answering work messages. I pushed food around my plate, hoping nobody noticed.
“You barely ate today," he said, his voice cut gently through the conversation.
“I’m not very hungry."
“You need strength while healing," he said. I nodded, forcing another bite despite nausea rising instantly. Dad watched silently, understanding flickering briefly in his eyes, though he said nothing, and gratitude filled me because questions right now would break everything.
Later that night Zaiel pulled me closer in bed, his fingers tracing absent circles against my arm. “You’ve been distant," he said, and I froze slightly.
“I’m just tired, babe."
“You pull away when something’s wrong," he said. His voice stayed calm but observant, and I knew him well enough to recognize suspicion forming.
“Nothing’s wrong, Zaiel."
He lifted my chin, forcing eye contact. “You know lying to me never works, right?" he said, and panic fluttered sharply, but I held his gaze anyway.
“I’m adjusting after everything; it's harder than I thought it would be.”
The explanation satisfied him enough for now, though uncertainty lingered behind his eyes, and when he finally relaxed, sleep claimed him; again, guilt pressed heavily against my chest. I turned carefully, resting my hand against my stomach without thinking. Please stay; the whisper barely existed, but hope slipped through fear anyway.
Morning sickness hit harder two days later, forcing me to grip the sink while waves of dizziness passed slowly and tears burned behind my eyes because symptoms meant growth, yet growth meant attachment, and attachment meant risk. I scheduled an appointment quietly using a private clinic number saved months earlier, arranging transportation during a time Zaiel would be occupied in meetings.
Security accompanied me as always, unaware of the real reason, because medical follow-ups after injury required no explanation. The doctor confirmed it quickly; it was in the early stages, with healthy signs. The words meant comfort, yet anxiety refused to loosen its grip because healthy now didn’t promise healthy later.
Driving home I stared out the window, realizing secrecy had already gone too far to reverse easily. I wasn’t hiding betrayal; I was hiding fear. Still, the distance growing between us became impossible to ignore. That night Zaiel watched me again longer than usual.
“You’re pale," he said.
“I’m fine."
“You said that yesterday," he said, and I smiled faintly, trying to ease concern.
“You worry too much," I said with a sigh.
“I'm only worrying about things that matter, and you are the only thing that matters right now," he said.
The statement landed heavy because I knew discovery wasn’t a matter of if but when. He reached for me, pulling me into his lap despite mild protest, his arms tightening possessively.
“Whatever it is, you’ll tell me eventually," he said softly.
My heart pounded painfully.
"Yeah," I said.
Eventually I will have to tell him. I rested my head against his shoulder, listening to his heartbeat steady and strong while fear whispered quietly beneath hope, if I lost this baby. I didn’t know how I was going to survive telling him, and if he found out before I was ready, I wasn’t sure which scared me more.
The first drop of blood felt unreal. I stared at it for a long second, like my brain refused to understand what my eyes were seeing because denial came easier than panic, and panic meant accepting history repeating itself. My hands gripped the bathroom counter while my pulse roared loudly in my ears and cold fear spread slowly through my chest. Not again, please not again.