I nodded, not trusting my voice, and tried to force my body to relax. But sleep felt impossible. How could I sleep when the danger and the stakes had gotten infinitely higher?
The thought of Roman learning about the possible pregnancy, of seeing the way his face would change when he realized what this meant for both of us, made my chest tight with panic. He’d become even more protective, more controlling. He’d wrap me in bubble wrap and lock me in a tower if he thought it would keep me safe.
Or worse—he’d see it as another problem to be solved, another liability to be managed.
I needed to reschedule the appointment with my doctor, to confirm what I already knew in my bones, to finally make a plan, and to find a way to sneak past security.
I lay there for what felt like hours, listening to Roman’s steady breathing, trying to figure out my next move. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed two, then three, then four. But sleep remained elusive, chased away by the growing certainty that my life had just become infinitely more complicated.
And somewhere in the darkness, I made a decision.
I couldn’t tell Roman. Not yet. Not until I understood what I wanted, what kind of future I could offer a child born into this world.
But I needed answers. And I needed them soon.
Whether I wanted to admit it or not, there was no going back from this. If I really was carrying Roman Creed’s child, then I wasn’t just surviving his world anymore.
I was bringing new life into it.
16
CASSIE
Iwoke up feeling like death warmed over.
Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. I woke up feeling like I needed to convince Roman I was dying so I could get a doctor in here without him asking too many questions. The irony wasn’t lost on me—faking illness to confirm I was growing a human being inside me.
The exhaustion was real enough. My body felt heavy, like I was moving through molasses, and there was a persistent ache in my lower back that made every movement feel deliberate. But the real kicker was the nausea that hit me in waves, making my stomach roll with each breath.
Perfect. I could work with this.
I stumbled to the bathroom and caught sight of myself in the mirror. Pale, hollow-eyed, hair a disaster—I was already halfway to looking genuinely sick. But Roman was too observant to be fooled by natural exhaustion alone. I needed to sell this performance.
Twenty minutes later, I’d transformed myself into a walking advertisement for the flu. A little concealer under my eyes to make the dark circles more pronounced, some pale foundation to wash out my complexion, and strategic smudging to make my lips look bloodless. I messed up my hair even more and put on Roman’s oversized t-shirt, the one that made me look small and fragile.
When I finally made my way downstairs, moving slowly and gripping the banister for effect, Roman was already in the kitchen with his morning coffee and what looked like surveillance reports spread across the marble counter.
He looked up as I entered, and I watched his expression shift from distraction to sharp concern in the space of a heartbeat.
"Jesus, Cassie." He was on his feet immediately. "You look terrible."
"Thanks," I mumbled, letting a genuine tremor creep into my voice. "Feel worse."
His hands found my face, tilting my chin up so he could study me with those piercing blue eyes. I forced myself to stay still under his scrutiny, to let him see the pallor I’d created, the exhaustion that was only half-feigned.
"How long have you been feeling like this?" His voice carried that note of command that made grown men obey without question, but there was something softer underneath. Worry.
"Since yesterday," I lied, leaning into his touch despite myself. "Thought it would pass, but..."
I swayed slightly, just enough to make him catch my elbow. His jaw clenched.
"Sit down." He guided me to one of the bar stools, his movements careful, protective. "Have you eaten anything?"
"Can’t." I pressed a hand to my stomach, grateful that the gesture felt natural. "Everything makes me nauseous."
Roman’s expression darkened. In his world, weakness was vulnerability, and vulnerability was death. The fact that I was sick in his house, under his protection, clearly didn’t sit well with him.
"I’m calling a doctor," he said, already reaching for his phone.
