The silence in the room wasn't peaceful, it was the kind of silence that precedes a landslide.
Cyprian didn't move. He remained crouched there, his hand still hovering near the bed as if he could command my cells to stop failing by sheer force of will. I looked at him…really looked at him…and the image of him in that office, the rhythmic, clinical way he had been taking that woman against the mahogany desk, flashed behind my eyes like a brand.
I didn't know her name. I didn't know where she came from. All I knew was the way her blonde hair had spilled over his hands, hands that were now reaching for me.
"Get out," I whispered.
His eyes, those storm-grey depths that usually held nothing but calculation, flickered. "The doctor, my mother said…."
"I don't care what the woman who birthed a monster said," I snapped, though it came out as a broken wheeze. I clutched the silk sheets, my knuckles white. "You don't get to 'fix' the conditions of a house you set on fire, Cyprian."
He stood up slowly, drawing himself to his full, intimidating height. The man who ran this entire estate with an iron fist, the man I had been forced to marry while carrying a child he treated like a trophy….was now standing in a bedroom, looking at the wreckage he'd created.
"I am trying to keep you alive, Raven," he said, his voice dropping into that dangerous, low register.
"You're trying to keep your heir alive," I spat. "There's a difference."
The door creaked open.
I expected Claire. I expected his mother with more needles and cold truths.
Instead, a woman stood in the doorway.
She was beautiful in a way that felt like a threat, all sharp angles and quiet confidence. She didn't say a word. She just leaned against the frame, watching us with an expression that wasn't quite pity and wasn't quite malice. It was something worse: familiarity. She looked at Cyprian like she knew the shape of his soul, and she looked at me like I was a temporary inconvenience.
My heart lurched. It was her. The girl from the office. Up close, the reality of her presence was like a physical blow to my chest.
Cyprian's jaw tightened so hard I heard the bone click. He didn't look at her, but his entire posture shifted, becoming a shield between her eyes and my body.
"I told you to stay in the library," he said, his voice vibrating with a lethal edge.
"Your mother wanted the medical update," she replied softly. Her voice was like honey poured over glass. "She thought I should be the one to bring it. Considering."
Considering what? The question burned in my throat, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of asking.
"Leave," Cyprian commanded.
She didn't move immediately. Her gaze flickered to me, lingering on my stomach, then my face…..before she offered a small, haunting smile. "Don't strain yourself, Raven. It would be a shame to lose something so... precious."
She turned and vanished into the shadows of the hallway without another word.
The rage that hit me then was hotter than the pain in my stomach. It was a physical, violent surge. I tried to sit up, my breath hitching, the "unstable" reality of my body screaming in protest.
"Who is she?" I screamed, the sound tearing through the room. "Cyprian, who is she?!"
"Raven, don't move," he commanded, lunging toward the bed as I tried to scramble away.
"Don't touch me!" I reached for the glass of water on the nightstand and hurled it. It shattered against the doorframe where she had just been standing, but the effort sent me sliding toward the edge of the mattress.
Cyprian moved like lightning.
He caught me before I hit the floor, his large hands wrapping around my waist, hoisting me back. But I wasn't passive. I fought him. I clawed at his expensive shirt, my nails digging into the skin of his neck, wanting to leave a mark that wouldn't fade.
"Let go of me!"
"Stay still," he growled, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand.
The air in the room changed. It wasn't about medicine anymore. It was about the raw, jagged friction between us, the jealousy, the betrayal, and the terrifying heat that always bubbled beneath our hatred.
Cyprian's body was a wall of muscle against mine. His heart was thudding against my chest, a frantic, irregular beat that betrayed his composure.
"You bring her here?" I hissed, my eyes burning with tears of pure fury. "You let her walk into this room after what I saw?"
Cyprian didn't answer. He leaned down, his face so close I could feel the tremor in his breathing. His eyes weren't on the door anymore. They were locked on my mouth, dark with a terrifying, obsessive hunger.
"You're shaking," he whispered, his voice a low rasp.
"Because I hate you," I breathed.
"Then hate me," he said, his hand sliding from my wrists down to my throat, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "But don't you dare look at anyone else while you do it."
He didn't wait for me to scream again. He crashed his mouth onto mine.
It wasn't a kiss; it was a reclamation. It tasted of salt and bitterness. I wanted to bite him, and I did….tasting the copper of his blood….but he only groaned, his tongue forcing its way past my teeth, demanding every bit of air I had left.
One of his hands slid down my body, past the curve of my hip, his palm flat against my stomach. For a second, the touch was protective, but then his fingers dipped lower, hooking into the lace of my silk shorts.
"Cyprian, you... the doctor said..." I gasped against his lips, my body betraying me as a wave of unwanted heat flooded my core.
"The doctor said no stress," he muttered, his lips moving to the sensitive skin behind my ear, sending shivers racing down my spine. "This isn't stress, Raven. This is the only way you and I know how to exist."
He pulled the fabric aside, his fingers finding me…..slick, hot, and agonizingly ready. I let out a broken sound, my head falling back into the pillows as he began to move. It was a rhythmic, slow friction that made my vision blur.
"You're mine," he whispered, his voice possessive enough to bruise. "Everything you are belongs in this room. With me."
I arched into him, my fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer even as my mind screamed for me to push him away. The "instability" of the pregnancy felt like a distant roar, overshadowed by the immediate, crushing reality of his weight.
He moved his hand, replaced it with himself, and for a moment, the world narrowed down to the point where we met. It was a desperate, high-stakes collision. Every thrust felt like a question he wouldn't ask and a sin I couldn't stop committing.
I felt the tension building until it was a physical weight, a coil snapping inside me. I cried out his name….not in love, but in a sort of spiritual surrender. When the release hit, it was violent, shaking my entire frame, leaving me breathless and shattered beneath him.
Cyprian followed me a moment later, his body tensing, his face buried in the crook of my neck as he let out a low, guttural sound.
For a few minutes, we just lay there. Heavy. Tangled.
Then, the reality of the house flooded back in. The woman in the hallway. The mother waiting downstairs. The fact that I was still a prisoner in a house that felt like a tomb.
Cyprian pulled back, his expression returning to that impenetrable mask, though his eyes remained bloodshot. He reached down, adjusting my gown with hands that were still shaking.
"Rest," he said, his voice cold again, though he didn't move from the edge of the bed.
I turned my head away, the tears finally falling. "Who is she, Cyprian?"
He didn't answer. He just stood up, unhurried, and walked toward the door.
"She is a shadow," he said, without looking back. "And shadows only exist when there's a light. Don't go looking for the light, Raven. You won't like what you find."
The door clicked shut behind him.
I lay there in the dark, the dull ache in my stomach returning, realizing that the "protection" he promised was just another word for a cage.
And somewhere in this house, that woman was still smiling.