The silk sheets were cool against my skin, but as I shifted, a sharp pain rippled through my sides, pulling me from the remnants of last night.
His scent lingered in the bed—earthy, intoxicating, and uniquely Valentino. I inhaled deeply, letting the warmth of his pheromones wrap around me, offering a fleeting moment of comfort amidst the physical ache that gnawed at my body.
But the warmth was ephemeral, quickly dissipating as reality clawed its way back into focus. My heart stuttered with the knowledge that had settled in my bones like lead—I was carrying his child. An engaged man's child.
The weight of this revelation was overwhelming; a heavy shroud of anxiety wrapping itself around my chest. It was a reminder of the tangled mess my life had become, the consequences of choices made in moments of passion and vulnerability.
Guilt swept over me in a suffocating wave, mingling with the ache in my body and the swirling confusion in my mind. Valentino's child.
"Fuck... Papa is going to kill me," I muttered as I closed my eyes; my voice barely a whisper against the thick, pressing silence. My hand pressed against my stomach as if somehow, the weight of this life within me could be lessened by touch alone.
Anatoli V. Chandler.
Just the image of my mother alone—fierce, imposing, the force of nature that he was—made the knot in my stomach tighten. My mother was an omega, but as anyone who knew him could attest, he was the true force in our family.
He was the calm before the storm, the unyielding power behind every decision, every consequence. The one whose mere glance was enough to silence rooms, his voice carrying a gravitas that was nearly tangible. And now, I'd be facing his unflinching force because my own recklessness.
I forced my eyes open, the familiar sight of the room pulling me back into reality. It was a space I'd cleaned countless times, every corner etched into my memory.
A half-empty glass of water teetered on the edge of the nightstand, the condensation leaving faint rings on the polished wood. The glowing digits of the clock read 11:00 a.m.—a glaring reminder that it was Friday again.
