Chapter 2

Gemma Bruce POV:

For a split second, I thought he knew. I thought the quiet phone call was the final piece of evidence he needed to confirm my betrayal. But his eyes, dark and intense, were fixed on the pregnancy test in his hand, not on my face. He thought my secret was the baby.

A wave of dizzying, temporary relief washed over me.

"A baby, Gemma," he breathed, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around me. He buried his face in my hair, his voice thick with what sounded like genuine emotion. "Our baby. Why didn't you tell me?"

I stood rigid in his embrace, the warmth of his body feeling like a violation. I had to play along. For Dad. "I just found out," I managed to say, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "I wanted to find the perfect way to tell you."

He pulled back, his hands framing my face. His thumbs gently stroked my cheeks. It was a gesture he' d made a thousand times, one that had always made me feel cherished and safe. Now it just felt like the practiced motion of a master manipulator.

"We don't need perfect ways," he said softly. "This is all that matters. You, me, and this baby." He leaned in and kissed me, a slow, deep kiss that I forced myself not to recoil from. "We need to get you the best care. Immediately. Your pregnancy will be considered high-risk, given your history."

"No," I said, a little too quickly. "I'm fine, Elias. I'll just see my regular doctor." The last thing I needed was to be under his control, monitored by doctors on his payroll.

His smile tightened. "Don't be silly, darling. I won't have you or our child getting anything less than the absolute best. I've already made some calls."

My blood ran cold. "Already?"

He held my gaze, his own unwavering. "I've had a team monitoring your health markers for months. I knew you might be pregnant before you did." The confession was delivered with the casual air of a man discussing the weather, but it was a chilling declaration of his control. He had been watching me, tracking me, like a specimen in a lab.

I remembered the time I' d fainted in the garden a few months back. He had insisted on a full workup by a private medical team he flew in from Switzerland. At the time, I' d been touched by his concern. Now I saw it for what it was: surveillance. He wasn't protecting me; he was monitoring his asset.

"Elias, that's... that's too much," I stammered.

"Nothing is too much for my family," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I've asked a specialist to come and stay with us, to oversee your care personally. She's the best in her field."

I felt a knot of dread tighten in my stomach. I didn't want a stranger in my house, in my life. I needed space to think, to plan my next move. But arguing would only raise his suspicions. "Okay," I whispered, the surrender bitter on my tongue. "Okay, Elias."

He beamed, his victory absolute. "She'll be here this evening."

Of course she would. Elias Odonnell never wasted a second.

The rest of the day passed in a surreal haze. Elias was a doting father-to-be, ordering a full nursery to be designed and installed, having our chef consult with a nutritionist, and canceling his trip to Tokyo. He was playing his part to perfection, and I was forced to play mine, smiling and nodding while a silent scream echoed in my soul.

That evening, the doorbell rang.

Elias answered it himself, his face lit with an eager anticipation I hadn't seen in years. I stood in the archway of the living room, my arms wrapped around my waist, watching.

A woman stood on our doorstep. She was tall and slender, with a cascade of raven-black hair and a face that was both beautiful and haunted. She looked frail, but her eyes held a sharp, unnerving intelligence. I assumed she was the doctor.

Then Elias moved toward her, and the way he looked at her made the air freeze in my lungs. He reached out and gently took her hand, his thumb stroking the back of it in a gesture of intimate familiarity. It was a gesture I recognized. It was his. It was mine.

"Juli," he said, his voice softer and more vulnerable than I had ever heard it. "You made it."

Juli.

The world tilted on its axis. This wasn't a doctor. This was her. The woman from the video call. The brilliant scientist. His childhood sweetheart. The reason my entire life was a lie.

He was bringing her into our home.

My mind flashed back to a thousand stolen moments-Elias stroking my hand just like that after I' d accepted his proposal, after we' d made love, after my father's first successful surgery. The gesture had been a silent promise, a symbol of his devotion. And it had never been mine to begin with. It was a second-hand affection, a ghost of a love he held for another. The pain was so sharp, so specific, it felt like a physical blow, knocking the wind out of me.

He led her inside, his arm possessively around her waist. "Gemma, darling," he said, his voice bright and false. "I'd like you to meet Dr. Juli Duran. She's a leading specialist in high-risk pregnancies and regenerative biology. She'll be taking care of you."

He introduced her as a doctor. He looked me straight in the eye and lied.

Juli offered me a small, saccharine smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Gemma. Elias has told me so much about you."

Before I could respond, Juli suddenly gasped, her hand flying to her throat. She stumbled, her eyes widening in theatrical panic. "The paint," she rasped, pointing a trembling finger toward my studio, where I' d left some canvases drying. "The fumes... turpentine... I'm... I'm allergic."

Elias spun around, his face a mask of alarm. "What? Gemma, what did you do?" he snarled, his doting facade vanishing in an instant.

"I-I just finished a painting," I stammered, confused. "The windows are open. The ventilation is on. The fumes are minimal."

"Minimal is not zero!" he snapped. He rushed to Juli's side as she began to cough dramatically. "Get her to the panic room! Now! The air filtration system is independent. It' s the only safe place." He barked the order at the household staff, who scrambled to help a now-wheezing Juli.

"Elias, wait," I pleaded, grabbing his arm. "She's faking. There's barely any smell."

He ripped his arm from my grasp, his eyes blazing with a fury that terrified me. "Are you a doctor? Are you an expert in anaphylactic shock? She could die! Is that what you want?" he hissed, his voice low and venomous. He turned and followed his staff, leaving me standing alone in the cavernous foyer.

His words hung in the air, a cruel, unjust accusation. I felt a cold dread creep up my spine. The panic room. The fire at my studio had left me with a severe case of claustrophobia. Small, enclosed spaces made my chest tighten, my vision tunnel. Elias knew this. He was the one who held me through the panic attacks. He was the one who had installed the panic room with its state-of-the-art systems, promising I'd never have to fear being trapped again.

And now he was using my deepest trauma against me.

A member of the staff, a young woman named Clara, approached me timidly. "Mr. Odonnell's orders, Mrs. Odonnell. He said... he said you are to go to the panic room as well. To ensure you're not affected by the... the fumes."

"What?" I stared at her in disbelief. "That's insane. The baby-"

"He said it was especially important for the baby," Clara whispered, her eyes full of pity.

It was a punishment. A cruel, calculated punishment for daring to question his precious Juli.

I had no choice. To refuse would be to escalate the situation, to reveal my hand. I walked on numb legs toward the hidden door behind the library bookshelf, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm of fear. As I stepped over the threshold into the small, windowless room, I saw Elias through the open door, kneeling by Juli's side in the hallway. He was murmuring to her, stroking her hair, his entire being focused on her comfort and safety.

He didn't even look back as the heavy steel door began to hiss shut, sealing me in the dark.