The timer beeps, drawing my attention back to the present. Dr. Fielding checks the test result, his expression professionally neutral.
"Mrs. Blackwood," he says, looking up to meet my gaze directly. "The test is positive. You're pregnant."
The words land like physical blows, rearranging reality around me even as I sit perfectly still.
"How... how far along?" My voice sounds distant to my own ears.
"Based on your reported last menstrual period, approximately six weeks," he answers, making notes in my file. "Likely conceived during your honeymoon in Paris. I'll want to schedule an ultrasound to confirm dating, but the timing aligns with your wedding."
Paris. The memories flood back—Gage claiming me repeatedly in every room of the villa, his possession total and uncompromising. His deliberate refusal to use protection, his explicit statements about wanting to see me carrying his child.
"Does Mr. Blackwood know?" Dr. Fielding asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I shake my head. "No. I didn't suspect myself until just now."
"I'll prepare a complete report for him as usual," he says, returning instruments to his bag. "But perhaps you'd prefer to deliver this particular news personally."
The suggestion surprises me—a small kindness, allowing me to share this life-altering information myself rather than having it delivered through clinical channels.
"Yes," I agree quietly. "I would."
Dr. Fielding completes his examination, providing prenatal vitamins and basic instructions for early pregnancy care. Throughout his clinical explanation, my mind remains fixed on a single, transformative reality:
I'm carrying Gage Blackwood's child.
When the doctor leaves, I remain seated at the dining table, hands resting on my still-flat abdomen. Everything has changed in the space of a single sentence. The body I've begun to accept as no longer entirely my own now shelters another life—a life created from both of us, innocent of the arrangement that brought us together.
Gage finds me there an hour later, still sitting in contemplative silence.
"The security protocols have been updated," he says, loosening his tie as he enters. "Your father will never get that close again." He pauses, noticing my expression. "What did the doctor say?"
I look up, meeting his gaze directly. "I'm pregnant."
For once, I witness Gage Blackwood genuinely surprised. He goes completely still, his usually controlled expression revealing naked shock.
"Pregnant," he repeats, the word emerging with unusual softness.
"Six weeks," I confirm. "Paris."
He moves toward me slowly, as if approaching a wild animal that might flee. When he reaches me, he kneels beside my chair, one hand covering mine where it rests against my abdomen.
"You're carrying my child," he says, voice filled with wonder I've never heard from him before.
"Yes."
His free hand rises to cup my face, thumb gently stroking the bruise left by my father's attack. "No one will ever hurt you again," he promises, the words carrying weight beyond physical protection. "Either of you."
The abstract concept of escape that has lingered in the back of my mind these past weeks suddenly seems not just impractical but undesirable.
Where would I go? What kind of life could I provide for this child alone, constantly looking over my shoulder, depriving them of stability and resources? Would I really want to separate this child from their father, regardless of how our relationship began?
"I need to process this," I tell him honestly. "It changes everything."
He nods, still kneeling beside me. "Take whatever time you need. Whatever you require—doctors, specialists, accommodations—you only need to ask."
The offer is genuine, I realize. For the first time, I hold something Gage truly values beyond mere possession.
In the days that follow, I find myself transformed by knowledge that grows inside me. My mornings begin with quiet nausea that passes by mid-day. My body, always sensitive to Gage's touch, now responds with even greater intensity—a biological reaction to the hormones surging through my system.
