Chapter 7 No.7

Alina Phillips POV:

The doctor's words didn't just break the silence. They shattered it. They echoed in the dead space of my mind, a sonic boom that left nothing but ringing emptiness in its wake.

Pregnant.

After he left, giving me a moment "to process," I remained on the examination table, staring at the beige wall. Outside the small window, the city lights of New York glittered, a galaxy of indifferent stars. They couldn't reach me here, in this cold, sterile room.

My hand, trembling, drifted down to my stomach. It was flat, unchanged. But inside, a life had taken root. A secret.

The first emotion that broke through the shock was a wave of bitter, suffocating pain. A child. Jaxon's child. The child of the man who had just publicly branded me as insane and discarded me like trash.

The image of his cold eyes, of Krystal's victorious smirk, rose in my mind, and I had to swallow a surge of bile. This baby wasn't a blessing. It was a chain, a permanent, unbreakable link to the man who had destroyed me.

I closed my eyes, my thoughts a maelstrom of panic. I could end it. It was early. A simple procedure. I could erase this last, devastating piece of him from my life forever.

But as soon as the thought formed, another one rose to meet it, fierce and protective. This wasn't just his child. This was *my* child. A part of me. An innocent life caught in the crossfire of a war it didn't start.

My own mother's face swam into focus in my memory. I remembered her soft hands, the way she smelled of vanilla and paint thinner. *You are the only good, pure thing in my life, Alina,* she'd told me once, her eyes shining with a desperate love. She was the one foundation of unconditional love I'd ever known.

What kind of life would my child have in the Francis family? A life of cold calculation and conditional affection? Would they grow up walking on eggshells, desperately trying to earn the love of a father who was incapable of giving it freely? Would they be taught that trust was a liability and emotion a weakness?

No.

The word was a silent scream in my soul.

*No.*

That single thought was a spark in the tinder of my despair. It caught, and a wildfire of resolve roared through me, burning away the weakness, the fear, the heartbreak. A primal, powerful will to survive ignited in my veins. Not for me. I was already a ghost. But for this tiny, unborn person who depended on me for everything.

I had to get away.

I had to leave New York, leave Jaxon, leave the name Alina Phillips behind. I had to find a place where he could never find us, a place where I could give my child the one thing I never truly had: a life of freedom, a life filled with real, unconditional love.

The decision settled in my bones, hard and solid as granite. For the first time all night, I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. But these weren't tears of sorrow. They were a baptism. A cleansing.

I took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped them away. My gaze hardened.

I knew Jaxon. He was a predator, a man obsessed with control. He would never let me go. A direct escape was impossible. He would hunt me to the ends of the earth.

I had to be smarter. I had to play his game.

I had to become the woman he wanted me to be: broken, remorseful, pliant. I had to crawl back to him, beg for his forgiveness, and make him believe he had won. I had to lull the monster to sleep before I could slip out of its cage.

The thought of putting on that mask, of smiling at him, of letting him touch me, made my stomach roil. But I would do it. For my baby, I would do anything.

I reached for my purse and pulled out my phone. His name on the screen was a brand, seared into my life. My fingers hovered over the call button.

I took a moment, staring at my reflection in the dark screen. I practiced a broken expression. I cleared my throat, forcing all the hatred and ice out of my voice, leaving only a carefully constructed vulnerability.

Then, I pressed the button.

It rang only once.

"Alina?" Jaxon's voice was deep, laced with an authority that used to make me feel safe. Now, it just made me feel cold.

I closed my eyes, took one last breath, and stepped onto the stage.

"Jaxon," I said, my voice quiet, fragile, and full of a regret I did not feel. "You were right. I was wrong. We need to talk."