Isolde's slap to his hand snapped Severin out of his thoughts, dragging his focus back to her—the woman now glaring at him with nothing but pure hate.
"You saw this coming, didn't you? You fucking planned it. Don't tell me you were the one who told Ivan not to inject me while Malric was busy with Mrs Aldren?"
Severin stayed silent, one brow lifting. He hadn't told Ivan to skip the injection. He hadn't planned any of this. The idea of having a child—especially with Isolde—had never even crossed his mind.
But he didn't deny it. Maybe this was Ivan's fuck-up. Ivan had never been used to handling Malric's duties.
"Why did you do this, Severin? Why the fuck would you knock me up? I'm your prisoner. What kind of sick fuck wants a kid from someone they locked up?"
Severin tilted his head, soaking in the fire in her eyes. This was why he chose to train her himself. He loved seeing her burn, loved the way she fought him, even knowing she'd lose every damn time.
