The missed period. The nausea. The way my breasts had been more sensitive lately, the exhaustion that went bone-deep no matter how much sleep I got.
My hand moved unconsciously to my stomach, pressing against the flat plane of my abdomen as if I could somehow confirm or deny what my body was telling me.
"Oh shit," I breathed, the words barely audible.
Fortunately, Roman hadn’t heard them. Those blue eyes regarded me with concern and worry, cataloging every detail—my pale face, my shaking hands, the way I was hugging the toilet.
Then Roman was moving, crossing the bathroom in two strides to kneel beside me on the cold marble. His hands were gentle as they framed my face, tilting my head up to meet his eyes.
"How do you feel?" he asked quietly.
The simple question shattered what was left of my composure. I hadn’t expected him to be so gentle.
"I think..." I swallowed hard, my throat tight with emotions I couldn’t name. "I ate something bad."
Roman’s jaw clenched, but his touch remained gentle. "I’ll have a word with the chef."
"I’m sure it’s nothing..." I trailed off, heat flooding my cheeks despite everything. "Just a coincidence."
He nodded once, sharp and decisive, like he was filing away evidence. "I’ll let it slide this time."
"Roman, I?—"
"I can’t be seen going soft," he told me, but his voice wasn’t sharp anymore. "It’s the only way to make sure my people respect me."
"Okay," I whispered, leaning into his touch.
Roman pressed a soft kiss to my forehead before standing. "I’ll get help. Get someone here to help you."
"I’m fine?—"
"You’re not." His voice carried a note of command that made my pulse spike. "You need help. And you need to rest. That’s an order, Cassie."
I nodded, not trusting my voice. But as Roman disappeared back into the bedroom, already reaching for his clothes, one thought echoed in my mind with crystal clarity.
If I really were pregnant—if Roman’s child was growing inside me—everything would change, not just for us, but for everyone in his world. A baby would make me more than just his convenient wife. It would make me family in a way that couldn’t be undone or negotiated away.
It would make me a target.
And Roman Creed’s unborn child would be the most valuable, and most vulnerable, asset in a war I was only beginning to understand.
Oh shit,indeed.
12
CASSIE
Two weeks. Two weeks since I’d woken up retching into Roman’s toilet, two weeks since that terrible moment of clarity when I’d pressed my hand to my stomach and realized my life had just become infinitely more complicated.
I stared at the confirmation email on my phone for the third time in an hour, my thumb hovering over the delete button.Dr. Lucille Delilo, Women’s Health Clinic. Tuesday, 2:30 PM. Confidential consultation.
It’s probably stress,I told myself for the hundredth time.The adrenaline. A virus. Hell, maybe it really is food poisoning.
But deep down, I knew. The missed periods, the exhaustion, the way my breasts had been tender enough to make me wince when Roman’s hands found them in the dark. My body was trying to tell me something I wasn’t ready to hear.
The problem was…I couldn’t walk into a clinic with men like Roman watching my every move. His security detail had tripled since the warehouse attack, and I couldn’t even go to the bathroom without someone knowing about it. A mysteriousdoctor’s appointment would raise questions I wasn’t prepared to answer.
So, I’d gotten creative. Told Roman I needed to handle some personal banking, something about setting up accounts now that we were getting married. He’d nodded absently, already distracted by whatever crisis Declan was briefing him on that morning. It was the perfect cover—boring enough that no one would want details.
