A low chuckle slipped from his lips against hers, vibrating through the kiss, dark, amused, dangerous.
She was just about to snap at him again when something twisted sharply in her throat.
Not now.
Her breath hitched. Heat turned to nausea in an instant.
She tore away from his lips, palm flying to her mouth as her stomach lurched violently.
Fuck. Not today.
His gaze locked onto her, a question already forming, but the moment her palm clamped over her mouth, he stilled.
Understanding slid in, slow and certain, darkly intimate. Their child had interrupted them, cutting through the kiss and claiming her body before he could.
A faint, knowing look crossed his face as he watched her, tense, unsteady, fighting the sudden wave.
He didn't need to ask; he already knew.
"Should I esc...."
He didn't get the words out before she shook her head, already moving, slipping off the counter and bolting toward the stairs. Her steps were hurried, uneven, desperation driving her forward.
Halfway up, she caught the sound of his quiet laughter.
She stopped and turned just enough to shoot him a glare, sharp, warning, embarrassed, before continuing her escape.
Then his voice followed her, low and velvet, echoing through the space like a promise.
"Pack light, pretty. We're going on a vacation, something special I'm planning for you."
Another soft chuckle, then his footsteps faded, gone. Her stomach twisted again. Where are we going…? Shit. It surged up fast.
She stumbled into the bedroom, barely making it to the bathroom before she collapsed over the sink, emptying everything she had into it.
"Fuck… not the steak…"
Her voice came out hoarse between breaths as water rushed from the tap, washing everything away.
She rinsed her mouth, splashed her face, her hands trembling slightly as she staggered back into the room.
The bed called to her.
She sank onto it, reaching for her phone as she dialed her best friend Edna's number.
Her hand wandered blindly toward the side table, fingertips grazing a tin of candies, when a cool draft slipped between her thighs.
She froze.
Heat rushed to her face as her legs pressed together instinctively, a sharp pulse of embarrassment tightening through her.
Fuck. Her panties. She'd left them with him. Oh God.
A quiet, mortifying realization settled in, warm, humiliating and inescapable.
"Shit…!"
She groaned, rolling onto the bed and burying her face in the sheets, kicking her legs lightly and slamming her palm against the bed in frustration.
The sound sharp against the quiet room until a voice cut through, pulling her out of it.
This is So Fucking embarrassing.
"Hello?"
Right. The call. She'd forgotten she'd even dialed.
Dragging in a steady breath, she pushed herself upright, her fingers combing through her hair, messy, disheveled, still bearing the aftermath of her husband's earlier chaos, before finally lifting the phone.
"Hey, pumpkin…"
Silence answered.
Not empty, just waiting.
A faint, rhythmic tap echoed through the line, nails against a surface, slow and deliberate, stretching the moment thin.
Then it stopped.
A soft chuckle followed, low, featherlight, edged with knowing amusement.
"Took you a hell of a time to answer my calls, Iva."
Edna's voice curled through the phone, teasing, laced with quiet mischief as a small laugh trailed after her words.
Ivana swallowed, suddenly aware of everything, her state, her surroundings, herself.
"Uh…"
Her gaze dropped, and she froze. Shit. The gown.
She was still wearing it, creased, damp with her blood and sweat, completely out of place against the pristine sheets.
"Oh...My…God"
She rolled off the bed with a thud.
"Ouch…"
Edna's laughter echoed through the phone.
Ivana groaned, pushing herself up, slipping out of the ruined fabric and grabbing her phone, switching it to speaker as she headed toward the bathroom again.
The space greeted her like a sanctuary of quiet luxury.
Marble floors gleamed beneath soft ambient lighting, veined in silver and ash.
The bathtub sat like a sculpted centerpiece, wide, deep, surrounded by smooth stone ledges designed for ease and indulgence.A glass wall separated the rainfall shower, where chrome fixtures gleamed like polished steel.
Along one side, a long counter stretched beneath a mirror framed in subtle gold light, lined neatly with high-end skincare, perfumes, and neatly arranged essentials.
Everything was pristine, controlled, perfect—unlike her.
She set her phone down near the counter, the faint tapping of Edna's keyboard echoing through the call.
Busy, as always.
Ivana turned on the tap, letting warm water begin to fill the tub before pausing.
Her things.
She grabbed her body wash, scrub, and hair products, returning to the tub and easing herself in carefully, avoiding her injured back.
The water rose slowly, warmth wrapping around her.
She exhaled.
Then hissed sharply when it brushed too close to her injury.
"Fuck…"
She steadied herself, fingers tightening around the scrub as she poured a generous amount of rose-scented wash over it.
The fragrance bloomed instantly, soft, floral, deceptively soothing—filling the air like a fragile illusion of serenity.
She dropped the bottle onto the tub's edge and began to scrub.
At first, controlled, then harder—too hard.
Her movements turned sharp, almost punishing, dragging the sponge across her skin as if she could wipe it all away. The mess on her body. The warmth still clinging to her chest. The memory of how it got there.
A broken sound tore from her throat. God. It was humiliating, exciting, and that made it worse.
She pressed harder, breath unsteady, dragging the scrub down over her stomach and lower, where her cunt still throbbed with unwanted awareness. Pain erupted, white-hot and fierce.
"Fuck....!"
The sponge brushed against the injury on her leg, and she cried out again, sharper this time, tears springing to her eyes without warning.
Still, she didn't stop.
She couldn't.
She moved downward, scrubbing her toes, remembering the attic—the dust, the filth, everything she'd stepped through.
And she scrubbed harder, even more intensely.
Until her skin burned, turning raw beneath the pressure.
She barely noticed anymore, lost somewhere between pain and the desperate need to feel clean again, until a voice sliced through the haze.
"Yo, bitch, you still there?"
Edna spoke, sharp, grounding. Ivana stilled, her breathing uneven as reality rushed back in.
"Yeah…"
Ivana's reply came out thin, strained.
Her teeth sinking hard into her lower lip as she tried to lower her left leg back into the tub.
The second her skin brushed the water, a sharp, vicious pain shot through her, forcing her to jerk it back up onto the edge with a broken cry that tore from her throat.
She didn't care that Edna could hear. Didn't care how it sounded.
"Are you okay over there?"
Edna's voice burst through the phone, laced with mischief and suspicion.
"Because those sounds? Painful… and a little too erotic. Fuck, don't tell me you're masturbating right now."
A loud laugh followed, teasing, merciless.
Ivana's face flared crimson instantly.
"I'm fine um... and fuck off Eddy. I'm not… um... masturbating."
She snapped back, glaring at the phone like it was Edna herself, picturing that annoying, smug expression stretched across her best friend's face.
"Uh-huh…"
Edna dragged it out, unconvinced.
"So what's with the soundtrack, huh? Spill it. What did you and your Mr. Hottie get up to after everyone left?"
A sharp yell escaped Ivana before she scoffed loudly, the sound defensive, flustered. Edna only laughed harder, clearly enjoying every second of her unraveling.
"Nothing,"
Ivana muttered after a beat.
Her fingers drifted absently through the bathwater, playing with the bubbles that had formed after she'd unknowingly dropped the scrub.
Foam clung to her skin, soft and deceptive, while her mind burned with everything she refused to say.
"That 'nothing' sounds like something,"
Edna purred, voice turning coaxing, dangerous.
"Come on, Iva. I want every single detail. No secrets."
"Fuck you, Edna. Good night."
Ivana snapped, shifting like she was about to climb out of the tub and end the call altogether.
"Don't you dare hang up,"
Edna barked instantly, her typing turning aggressive on the other end.
"I swear I will show up in your dreams with a dagger straight to your heart."
Ivana dropped back into the tub with a laugh, the sound softer now, more genuine despite the chaos in her chest.
"You're insane, Eddy. And I'd stab you first before you even got close."
She clicked her tongue, amused, shaking her head.
A string of curses poured from Edna in response, half serious, half playful, her fingers still flying across the keyboard.
"Shut that mouth,"
Edna shot back, snorting.
"And don't you know pregnant women aren't supposed to scream like lunatics? It's not healthy for the baby."
That made Ivana paused, just for a second before a quiet laugh slipped out again.
"Relax, Eddy,"
She murmured, softer this time, one hand drifting instinctively to her stomach, rubbing slow, absent circles over the curve.
"My little snowdrop doesn't mind. She understands her mother."
"She?"
Edna echoed sharply, disbelief slicing through the word.
"Yes, she and I...."
Ivana didn't get to finish.
A scream tore through the phone so loudly she winced, hastily raising her hands to cover her ears from Edna's yells as her friend lost her mind on the other end.
The noise went on and on until it abruptly cut off, leaving a stunned silence behind.
Ivana slowly lowered her hands from her ears, knowing Edna had finally stopped yelling like a deranged woman.
"What the hell, Iva?"
Edna's voice came back, dramatic and offended.
"How could you hide something like that from me? You checked the baby's gender and didn't tell me? Not even a hint? Wow. Betrayal. Absolute betrayal."
Ivana rolled her eyes, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
"If you hadn't interrupted me like a maniac, you would've heard the rest,"
She said dryly.
"Instead of putting on this fake heartbreak performance."
A pause, then.
"Oh."
Edna said, aware now that she'd drawn the wrong conclusion.
"The 'little snowdrop' thing,"
Ivana continued, voice softer now, almost fond despite herself.
"That's what Kacy calls the baby. He's convinced it's a girl. Says his instincts don't lie."
Edna went quiet—too quiet.
"And I haven't checked,"
Ivana added, a teasing lilt creeping back in.
"Not planning to either. Why ruin the poor man's confidence?"
A laugh slipped out of her, light and careless.
This time Edna joined in, their laughter overlapping; familiar, messy, grounding.
But it didn't last.
"Oh really?"
Edna's voice came back, sharper now, mischief rebuilding.
"I hope it's twins. Two of them. My little pretty strawberries."
Ivana's eyes widened.
"Is that even a name?"
She shot back, half-laughing, half-horrified.
"And who exactly are you trying to kill wishing twins on me?"
"Whoa? Relax,"
Edna fired back dramatically.
"No one's dying, You're just having twins, Little snowdrop can be your husband's fantasy but I want my strawberries."
"Fuck off, Eddy."
Ivana scoffed, but the edge in her voice softened as her palm continued its slow, absent glide over her belly.
A small smile slipped free, fragile, unguarded.
Mummy loves you, little snowdrop… fuck—no, baby… shit—Kacy, fuck you—no, not you… I...mean... your daddy… whatever.
The words tangled into a quiet, chaotic whisper, her thoughts tripping over themselves until she groaned softly in frustration.
God.
She was losing it.
Shaking her head, she pulled her hand away and reached for the scrub, shifting carefully along the edge of the tub.
She moved slower now, deliberate, dragging the sponge across her back, biting down hard on her lip as pain flared sharp and merciless beneath the surface.
A broken sound slipped from her throat.
Then another.
Tears followed, silent and steady, slipping down her cheeks as she forced herself to keep going, scrubbing lower over bruised skin and tender flesh that still throbbed from everything her body had endured.
She didn't stop.
Didn't let herself stop.
On the other end of the line, Edna's voice erupted, loud, furious, completely unaware.
"Fuck....shit! These useless idiots can't even print a script properly without butchering half the damn lines! What the hell am I even paying them for? Bloody incompetent bastards!"
The furious tapping of keys echoed through the phone, sharp and relentless.
Ivana sniffed softly, dragging the scrub once more across her lower back before finally pausing, her breathing uneven.
Then, quieter now, recovering, she spoke.
"That paper didn't offend you personally, you know, no need to murder it like that."
A faint grin touched her lips when Edna hissed in irritation.
Ivana reached forward, pressing the control to drain the soapy water before turning the tap back on. Clean water rushed in, cool and steady, washing away the foam, the sweat, and the lingering traces of everything she didn't want to think about.
When it reached her liking, she turned it off again.
Carefully, always carefully, she rinsed herself, one hand instinctively shielding her belly, movements slower now, protective.
Afterward, she reached for her lavender hair cream, working it gently through her strands before finally stepping out of the tub.
She gathered her products, placing them neatly back on the stand, then reached for a large, soft pink towel, wrapping it around her body. Another smaller one followed, twisted securely around her damp hair.
Picking her phone from the counter, she moved without thinking, lifting it to her ear.
And instantly jerked it away.
"I swear I'll burn the entire office down...."
Edna's loud, unfiltered rant blasted through the speaker.
Ivana winced, muttering under her breath as she slipped her feet into her fluffy pink slippers by the door, then stepped out, closing the bathroom behind her.
She paused, her gaze lifting.
The room unfolded before her like a carefully crafted illusion—dark and soft, power and tenderness woven into one seamless design.
Black and pink, not clashing, not competing, but blending.
The walls were a muted charcoal, rich and matte, absorbing light instead of reflecting it, while soft pink accents bled through the space like warmth breaking through shadow.
The massive bed sat at the center like a throne, black velvet headboard towering, sheets a delicate blush silk that caught the dim lighting like liquid.
Gold trims glinted subtly on the edges of furniture, handles, and frames; luxury whispered, never shouted.
A sleek black dresser with a blend of pink loomed across from the bed, its surface a curated chaos of glittering perfumes, trays of diamonds, gold, and silver catching the dim light like whispered promises.
Draped over it, delicate yet daring gowns intertwined with edgy, latest-gen Gen Z pieces, while fragments of her own designs, half-finished, intimate, impossible to ignore, were pinned alongside. Her world bled into his, intoxicating, darkly precise, and utterly inescapable.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched along one side, draped in sheer pink curtains layered beneath heavier black ones, giving the room the option of softness or complete darkness. Control, power, choice.
A mirrored vanity crouched in the corner, deceptively elegant and minimal, yet strewn with the remnants of her artistry: fabrics draped like secrets, swatches splayed like whispered confessions, designs half-born and trembling with possibility.
Once a celebrated fashion visionary, she had carried her creations from the house she had left behind, each piece a fragment of her soul carefully transported into Kacy's world.
Beside it, his presence lingered like a shadow in contrast—suits sculpted with ruthless precision, watches aligned like silent sentinels, everything controlled, ordered, and impossibly exact. Their worlds collided in that corner, beauty and obsession entwined, delicate and dangerous.
Two worlds, one space, seamlessly intertwined and that was what unsettled her the most. This room, their room, had been designed before love ever touched them, before confessions, before desire turned into something deeper. Yet it fit her, perfectly, too perfectly.
Her brows furrowed slightly, her mind drifting, unraveling.
How? How had he known? How had he understood her taste, her style, her essence before she had ever given it to him?
Her thoughts spiraled, slow and consuming, until one memory surfaced, sharp and uninvited.
His voice was velvet, certain, insanely seductive.
"You don't know how long I've loved you, Longer than you've ever loved me, Longer than you'll ever believe....."
Her breath caught. That wasn't something a man said lightly, not something you guessed.
Her fingers tightened slightly against the towel wrapped around her chest. It had been two months, and that was when she had fallen in love with him.
Their honeymoon was where it all began for her. But him? No. No, it couldn't be that simple. Something deeper lingered beneath his words, something older, darker, something that had existed long before she ever realized she was his.
Her heart began to pound, slow and heavy. When had it started? Before the marriage? Before they had even met?
Or had he been watching her from the shadows of her life long before she had ever known his name?
A chill slid down her spine, sharp and intimate, because suddenly it didn't feel like a question anymore. It felt like the beginning of something she wasn't ready to understand.
And maybe, something she would never escape.