Chapter 52 Suspicion
The estate's grand halls felt like a labyrinth of echoes after our abrupt return from the cabin yesterday, the polished marble floors reflecting the pale winter light that streamed through the tall windows. The air carried the faint, comforting scent of wood polish and fresh linens, but it couldn't mask the underlying chemical tang of paint from the recent repairs, a constant reminder of the attack that had shattered our illusion of safety. We'd left the cabin earlier than planned, the SUV loaded in haste under a sky heavy with unshed snow. Alexander had decided the night before, slipping into my room after Ben had gone to bed. The cabin's glass walls had reflected the lake's frozen glow, moonlight filtering through like silver threads, but the air inside had grown thick, suffocating with unspoken tensions. He'd sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, hand warm on my knee through the blankets.
"You're not comfortable here," he'd said quietly, voice low in the dark, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke from the fire downstairs. "I can feel it through the bond, the avoidance, the strain. We should go back to the estate tomorrow. Pack tonight. We'll leave in the morning."
I nodded, relief flooding me like a cool wave. The cabin had been intimate, too intimate with Ben's probing questions turning every shared look with Alexander into a risk. But leaving felt like running from the growing storm inside me. "Okay," I'd whispered, pulling him down for a kiss that tasted of mulled wine and worry.
Now, back in the estate, the pregnancy had amplified everything, twisting the awakening into something almost unbearable. Sounds that were once faint now boomed like thunder in my ears, the distant tick of the grandfather clock in the foyer, the soft rustle of Clara's apron as she moved in the kitchen two floors below, even the faint drip of a faucet in Ben's bathroom across the hall. Smells overwhelmed me too: the estate's usual warmth of wood polish and fresh linens now cloying, mixed with the underlying metallic hint of blood that no amount of scrubbing could erase. And the hunger, God, the hunger was relentless, a gnawing void that woke me at odd hours, demanding fuel like my body was rebuilding itself from the inside out.
I'd locked myself in my room again, avoiding them both. The four-poster bed with its crisp white sheets had become my sanctuary, the curtains drawn to mute the lake's glittering view. I only emerged for quick raids on the kitchen, slipping down when the house was quiet, grabbing cold cuts and bread, the salty crispness of bacon or the sweet burst of fruit on my tongue satisfying the cravings for a moment. Then back up, door locked, eating alone on the bed while thoughts spun like a storm.
Ben and Alexander had knocked, Ben's sharp, insistent; Alexander's softer, concerned, but I'd cracked the door just enough to see their faces, giving excuses about studying for finals in two months, about not feeling well. "Headache," I'd say, or "Just tired." Alexander's eyes searched mine through the gap, the bond tugging with his worry, but he didn't push. Ben's suspicion was palpable, his voice dripping with false concern, but he left too. For now.
I knew Alexander sensed I was hiding something,the bond betrayed it, a subtle tug of confusion and protectiveness. But I couldn't tell him yet. Not until I knew his thoughts, on marriage, on kids. Slip it in casually, wrap it in conversation. Gauge. Decide.
The test strip lay in the drawer, a secret talisman I checked obsessively, as if the lines might fade. They never did. Positive. Real.
That afternoon, the hunger struck hard. I slipped downstairs, the stairs creaking faintly under my socks, the banister smooth and cool under my palm. The kitchen was empty, sunlight slanting through the windows in golden beams. I grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter, crisp, tart, but a voice drifted in from the garden, carried on the wind through the cracked door.
Ben.
My senses sharpened, the awakening turning the sound crystal clear, even from afar. The scent of fresh snow and pine wafted in, mixed with Ben's cologne, spicy, overpowering, from the garden.
"...what do you mean you can't continue the investigation?" Ben's voice snapped, laced with fury. He was pacing, boots crunching on the gravel path, the sound sharp as cracking ice.
My heart stuttered. Investigation?
The voice on the other end was muffled, tinny through the phone, but Ben's response was loud, furious. "Even though I want to pay you more than necessary? This is bullshit!"
Shock rooted me to the spot, the apple halfway to my mouth, its sweet scent turning cloying. Ben was investigating... what? Us?
"No tangible evidence?" Ben's voice rose, echoing off the garden walls. "You've had days! It's not supposed to be difficult, I'm seventy percent sure Alexander has something going on with her. From everything I've noticed, the looks, the trips, the way he's always around. You can't just chicken out!"
The apple slipped from my hand, rolling across the floor with a soft thud. Ben was investigating us? Me and Alexander? The pieces clicked: his suspicions, the "coincidental" run-in at the restaurant, the probing questions. He knew. Or suspected enough to hire someone. Terror iced my veins, cold and spreading, making my fingers numb.
Ben's voice rose again, echoing as he paced. "Fuck off, then. I'll find someone more reliable, someone who'll do the job right, not bail for no reason. Cowards like you are why things fall apart!"
The call ended with a sharp beep. Ben cursed under his breath, the gravel crunching as he kicked at it, the sound like bones breaking. He was in the far end of the garden, near the frozen fountain, unaware I was on the other side, hidden by the hedge row. The wind carried his mutterings: "If it's true... oh, it'll be perfect. Leverage like that? The board will eat him alive."
I backed away slowly, heart pounding so loud it drowned out the distant creak of branches. The apple lay forgotten on the floor. Ben was plotting, hiring investigators, sniffing for proof of the affair. No tangible evidence yet, but he was close. Too close. And if he found out about the pregnancy? The thought made bile rise hot in my throat, the nausea from yesterday threatening to return.
I fled upstairs, the stairs blurring under my feet, the banister slick under my sweating palm. My room welcomed me with its quiet, curtains drawn, the lake a muted silver through the fabric, the air still carrying Alexander's lingering scent from his last visit to the door. I locked it behind me, sinking onto the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight.
Confused didn't cover it. The fake marriage, a chain I'd agreed to for Mom's sake, for Lily's, was now a trap baited with Ben's malice. My affair with Alexander, the one thing that felt real in this mess, was the fuse. And the pregnancy? A bomb ticking inside me, two weeks late and confirmed by those unforgiving lines. The hunger, the nausea, the heightened senses, it all made sense now. The awakening accelerated by the life growing within.
What to do? End the marriage? Alexander's words echoed: I can take care of you. Multiply it. He had the power, money, and protection. But the scandal... Ben would twist it, expose us, use it to dismantle Alexander's world. The board, the pack, the company, ruined. And me? Labeled the homewrecker, pregnant by her "stepfather-in-law." Mom would be devastated, her fragile health shattered by the shame.
Keep it? Raise a child in secrets? Or... not? The thought made my hand press to my stomach, instinctive, protective. No. I couldn't. But raising it alone? In secret? With Ben's threats hanging over us? Terror gripped me, cold and clammy, making my skin prickle. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, the distant tick of the clock in the hall a countdown I couldn't stop.
The test strip lay in the drawer; I pulled it out, fingers trembling on the plastic. Lines unchanged. Positive. Real.
I wasn’t ready.
But time was running out.