The nausea hits me the moment I open my eyes, rolling through my stomach like a tide I can't escape. I press my face into the pillow, breathing through my mouth until the worst of it passes, then force myself to sit up slowly.
Eight weeks. By my calculations, I'm about eight weeks pregnant, and my body is making sure I don't forget it for even a moment.
I need to see a doctor. The thought has been nagging at me for days, growing more urgent with each wave of morning sickness. I need prenatal vitamins, blood work, all the things responsible pregnant women do to take care of themselves and their babies.
But I'm not exactly free to make my own medical appointments right now.
The hallway is quiet as I make my way downstairs. It’s early. Really early. Most of the staff won't be awake yet. I’ve been here almost two weeks, and I’ve started to learn the rhythm of thehouse. Mila will sleep for another hour at least. It's my favorite time of day here. It’s the brief window when I can pretend this is a normal house where I'm a normal guest instead of a prisoner in designer clothes.
Which hello, I don’t know who’s been doing the shopping for me, but they have good taste. Expensive taste. And I’m not mad about it.
The kitchen smells like coffee and something else—bacon, maybe, or the lingering scent of whatever elaborate dinner the staff prepared last night. My stomach churns at the rich odors. I would kill for coffee, but I have to resist. This baby already has so much going against it. If skipping coffee gives the little peanut an advantage, I’ll sacrifice my caffeine addiction. I head straight for the tea collection, searching for the ginger tea that's become my salvation.
That's when I see him.
Dante stands at the kitchen island, fully dressed despite the early hour, scrolling through something on his phone. He looks up when I enter. I catch something dark in his expression before it disappears behind his usual mask of control.
"Morning," he says, his voice rougher than usual.
"Morning." I keep my response neutral, focusing on preparing my tea. The ginger scent is already helping settle my stomach.
"Coffee?" he offers, though he doesn't move toward the machine.
"No, thanks. Tea's fine."
He watches me for a moment, and I wonder if he notices that I haven't touched coffee since I've been here. Probably not. Men don't typically catalog women's beverage preferences,especially when those women are supposed to be temporary inconveniences.
"Sleep well?" he asks.
It's such a normal question, the kind of thing people ask at breakfast tables across the world. But nothing about this situation is normal, and the domesticity of it makes something twist in my chest.
"Fine," I lie.
The truth is I barely slept. I spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, thinking about the baby growing inside me and what it means for my future. Thinking about my father, wondering if he's safe, if he's figured out how to fix whatever mess he's supposedly created.
Thinking about the man standing across from me and how my body responds to him despite everything logical in my brain.
Dante's phone buzzes, and whatever he sees on the screen makes his expression darken further.
"Problem?" I ask before I can stop myself.
"Business."
He disappears into his study without another word, leaving me alone with my tea and my churning thoughts.
I spend the morning with Mila, helping her with a puzzle while trying not to think about how natural this feels. How easy it would be to fall into this routine and let myself believe this could be something more than captivity dressed up in luxury.
But when Mila leaves for a play date, the restlessness hits me full force.
I need answers. I need to know what's happening with my father. When will this nightmare end? What does my future look like?
Do I have a future?
I need to know if Dante has any intention of letting me go, or if I'm going to be trapped here forever while my pregnancy progresses and becomes impossible to hide.
I find him in the library. He's reading something on his laptop with that usual serious expression.
"We need to talk," I say.
