Chapter 5 Pregnancy scare

CHAPTER FIVE - Lina's POV

It's been one month since the wedding day.

One month since my freedom was stripped and replaced with designer chains and high heels I didn't ask for. Carter Steele kept me locked in his mansion like I was some rare artifact he didn't know how to use, only how to show off. I was allowed out only when he needed to parade me at high-society events like a pet. A well-groomed, well-dressed possession.

I was married. But I felt nothing close to a wife.

What haunted me most wasn't the wedding, or the vows I never meant... it was him.

The photographer.

The stranger.

The man who knew my body before my husband ever could.

Damien.

I hadn't seen or heard from him since the night of the scandal since that storm of a night when I gave him all of me and he left without a word. No note. No call. Nothing but the burn of his memory under my skin.

And still... I couldn't forget him.

Every night when I lay on the cold side of the bed, I remembered the way his hands had traced every inch of my body like I was something sacred. The way he whispered in my ear like he wasn't just touching me he was claiming me.

Carter tried to seal our marriage that night.

He came into the room, shirt unbuttoned, belt loose, thinking he could crawl into my bed and finish what tradition said he was entitled to.

But I screamed.

I screamed so hard the security guards thought someone had broken in. I cried, kicked, cursed at the sight of his nakedness not because he was ugly, but because he wasn't Damien.

Carter never tried that again.

Instead, he took his needs elsewhere to women who moaned without resistance, who called his name because they were paid to. I heard them at night sometimes, just down the hall. I buried my face in pillows and bit my lip to keep from breaking.

And still... I thought of Damien.

Even when Carter tried to touch my waist at galas or grip my hand in public for photos, I flinched. All I felt was Damien. His scent. His breath. His voice.

What we shared that night wasn't just sex.

It was mine.

Real.

Unforgettable.

Now, it was my torment.

Every day, I searched for his face in a crowd. Every time the elevator dinged, I hoped foolishly that he'd appear. That he'd explain. That he'd come back for me.

But he didn't.

Then The nausea came again.

Like a tide, slow but steady, until it curled around my throat and made me gag.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, leaning over the marble sink in the master bathroom. Nothing came out, just dry heaves. This had been happening for days now in the mornings mostly, sometimes after strong scents or sudden noise.

I hadn't eaten in nearly twenty-four hours, and even the smell of breakfast earlier made me dizzy. Something was wrong. Deep down, I knew what it was. Even though I'd never been pregnant before, the signs were screaming at me.

But I couldn't say it out loud.

I couldn't even confirm it.

I wasn't allowed to leave the house unless Carter said so and when he did, I was always flanked by two maids and a driver. I couldn't exactly stroll into a pharmacy and buy a pregnancy test with a smile. And asking one of the staff to do it for me would be suicide. Word would spread in minutes. Whispers would reach Carter by nightfall.

And Carter had never touched me. Not once. Not even close.

If I were pregnant... there would be no way to lie about it.

So I kept quiet.

And prayed it was stress.

Maybe a delayed period.

Maybe food poisoning.

Maybe... anything but what I knew in my gut.

I took a deep breath and opened my wardrobe, the silk of the red Louis Vuitton gown catching my eye. Carter had brought it three days ago custom-fitted, straight from the boutique. That meant only one thing: an event. Another party. Another evening of smiling through clenched teeth, standing beside a man I hated, while cameras flashed like lightning in my face.

I wanted to crawl into bed and hide.

But I was his wife. His trophy. And tonight, I had to be polished to perfection.

The maids came in to help me get ready brushing out my hair, layering on foundation, and lining my eyes with a soft gold shimmer. I stared at my reflection the entire time. The woman in the mirror looked like me but I wasn't in there.

By the time we arrived at the grand event hall downtown, the city was a blur of champagne lights and luxury cars. Photographers gathered outside like paparazzi vultures, waiting to capture Carter and his perfect wife.

The ballroom dripped elegance.

Gold-plated walls.

Crystal chandeliers.

A grand piano playing slow jazz near the marble staircase.

Wealth whispered from every corner. Men in tuxedos. Women in diamonds.

I smiled. Not for joy. But survival.

Carter's hand wrapped around my waist, and we began to make our rounds, stopping for handshakes, pictures, shallow laughs. The flashbulbs started fast, rapid, overwhelming.

Then it hit me.

The spinning.

The sudden, choking heat.

My temples throbbed. My vision blurred.

A wave of nausea crashed over me like a brick wall.

The lights. The perfume. The noise.

I clutched Carter's arm. "I... I don't feel-"

And then everything tilted.

The floor disappeared beneath my heels.

Voices blurred into echoes.

Flashes turned to sparks.

The last thing I heard was someone shouting my name as I fell.

Then, silence.