"Children.... What do u mean by that?"
Her question was a blade, sharp and precise, aimed at the heart of the matter.
"My, um, Family has a incredbily high fertility rate."
I watched as the color drained from her face, her knuckles white where she gripped the sheets.
Her gaze dropped to her stomach, a sudden, instinctive gesture that spoke volumes. A new kind of fear entered her eyes, one that was deeper and more primal than anything she had shown before. The fear of the unknown, of a change so profound it could shatter her entire existence.
"a incredbily high fertility rate...?"
She repeated the words, her voice barely a whisper.
I nodded my head, my expression unreadable.
This was her world now. A world where a single night could lead to a lifetime of consequences. A world where the perfect idol was now the mother to a monster's child.
A tear, a single, perfect pearl, escaped from the corner of her eye and traced a path down her cheek. I had the sudden, overwhelming urge to wipe it away, but I kept my hands at my sides. I didn't have the right.
"A baby," she breathed, the word a foreign object in her mouth.
"I'm going to have a... baby."
She looked at me, her eyes pleading, searching for something, anything, to hold onto.
"How can you be so sure?"
She asked, as her voice was trembling.
"It was only one night. It... it could be anything."
I didn't know how to explain the system, the glowing blue screens, the cold, hard reality of 'Father of Orcs.'
"My father, or from what i was told, on the first night he was with my mother, she had my siblings and me. and its been like that for hundreds of years in my family."
My words hung in the air, a sentence of life, a promise of a future I couldn't begin to comprehend.
Her breath hitched, a small, strangled sound.
She was an idol. Her body was her brand, her career her entire life. A child, especially one born under these circumstances, would be a scandal of epic proportions, a career-ending catastrophe.
And yet...
I saw something else flicker in her eyes. It was buried deep, beneath the layers of shock and fear, but it was there. A tiny, hesitant spark of... something. Not hope, not yet. But maybe... a glimmer of it?
Her whole life had been a performance. A carefully constructed lie. She'd craved something real, something genuine. And this... this was as real as it got. A brutal, terrifying, irreversible reality.
"I have to go," she said suddenly, her voice regaining a sliver of its former strength. She scrambled out of the bed, grabbing for the tattered remains of her dress. She moved with a desperate energy, a flight response kicking in.
She needed to get out of here. Away from me, away from this room, away from the truth I had just laid bare.
But where could she go?
"Wait"
She froze, her back to me, the tattered dress clutched to her chest.
"Where will you go?"
"I... I don't know," she admitted, her voice small, lost. "Home. I have to... think."
"You can't go back to your life like nothing happened," I said, stating the obvious. "You can't hide this. Not from everyone. Not forever."
"I know!" she whirled around, her eyes flashing with a sudden, fierce anger. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't understand what you've done to me? My career, my life... it's all over! Because of you!"
"I know." My response was a quiet echo of her earlier words.
Her anger deflated as quickly as it had flared, leaving behind a hollowed-out emptiness. She sank onto the edge of the bed, the dress forgotten in her lap.
"I need a shower," she said, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. She needed to wash away the night, the memories of me.
I watched as she walked into the bathroom, her steps unsteady. The door clicked shut, and the sound of the shower started a moment later, a steady, cascading rhythm that filled the silence of the room.
I got up, my movements stiff. My body was a map of aches and pains, a testament to our frenzied coupling. But beneath it all, I could feel the orcish vitality already working, knitting together torn muscles, soothing bruised flesh. The 340% regeneration wasn't just a number; it was a relentless, unstoppable force.
I found my clothes, a heap on the floor. I pulled on the grey hoodie, the black joggers. I was the boy in the grey hoodie again. The anonymous phantom. But nothing was anonymous anymore.
I was a teenager, years apart from her; she had already completed high school. But I still had one year. One year to complete. I could not marry until then. And even if I could i doubt she'd want to.
I walked to the window, looking out at the city. The sun was rising, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. A new day. But for us, it was the end of everything.
I made up my mind. I knew I had to return home at one point, not to the place that I was renting, the place my grandparents came now and then. My actual home.
I knew that I should soon return there, but this wasn't the time. first. I had too. get Her to Live with me. So I can properly protect her and my soon-to-be children.
And the other problem was I had to somehow convince her that I was a good choice, I knew that would be impossible.
I had a billion dollars to my name. but that was not a solution.
Money was a tool, not a solution. It couldn't erase the past. It couldn't undo what I had done. It couldn't make her love me. Or even trust me.
The shower stopped.
A few minutes later, she emerged, a cloud of steam billowing out behind her. She was wrapped in a hotel towel, her hair damp and clinging to her neck. Her face was scrubbed clean, the last traces of makeup gone, leaving her looking younger, more vulnerable.
She looked at me, her eyes guarded.
"I need to get out of here."
She said, her voice firm.
I nodded.
"I'll take you home."
"No,"
She said, shaking her head.
"Not your home. My apartment. I need to be there."
I didn't argue. I could see the desperate need for familiarity in her eyes, the desire to retreat to a space that was hers, a place where she could try and piece herself back together.
"Okay, but I'm coming with you."
She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. She knew she had no choice. She was alone in this, and I was the only other person who knew the truth.
"I need clothes," she said, as she looked down at the towel that was covering her.
I nodded again, pulling out my phone.
"I'll get some brought here."
I made a call. A discreet, high-end service I knew from my... other life. One that catered to the needs of the rich and powerful, no questions asked. I gave them her size and a rough description of her style. They promised a delivery within the hour.
We waited in silence. She sat on the edge of the bed, her back straight, her gaze fixed on the wall. I stood by the window, watching the city wake up. The space between us was a chasm, filled with unspoken words and shattered realities.
The clothes arrived, discreetly packaged in a plain black box. She took them into the bathroom without a word. When she came out, she was dressed in a simple but elegant pair of black trousers and a silk blouse.
She looked every inch the idol, the public persona firmly back in place. But her eyes told a different story. They were hollow, haunted.
"Let's go,"
The drive to her apartment was silent. I could feel the tension radiating from her, a palpable force that filled the small space of the car. She stared out the window, watching the city blur past, her reflection a ghost in the glass.
Her apartment was in a high-security building, a fortress of glass and steel that offered privacy and protection to its wealthy inhabitants. We rode the elevator in silence, the numbers climbing steadily towards the penthouse.
Her apartment was as I expected: spacious, minimalist, and sterile. It was a beautiful space, a museum piece, but it didn't feel like a home. There were no personal touches, no signs of a life lived. It was a cage, a gilded one, but a cage nonetheless.
She walked into the living room, her steps echoing on the polished marble floors. She stopped in the center of the room, her back to me, her shoulders slumping.
"I need to be alone,"
But I didn't move.
"I'm not leaving you."
She was now a person I had to take responsibility for, as she wouldn't be in her right state of mind. After what I had done.
And I had to know that, so I stayed and observed.
She turned around, her eyes flashing.
"You don't get to decide that. You're my bodyguard, not my... my warden."