He didn't say a word.
No gasp. No protest. No curse. Nothing.
Darius just stared at me like I was a stranger—someone beneath his concern. His jaw tightened, his lips pressed into that same flat line he wore when something bothered him but he'd rather die than show it.
And then he turned.
He walked out.
Cold.
Sharp.
Silent.
Like my words meant absolutely nothing.
The door clicked shut behind him, soft and cruel.
I stood there for a heartbeat… two… maybe three… then everything inside me collapsed. My knees buckled, and I fell to the floor. The cold tile met me without mercy, and a cracked whisper escaped my lips.
"What the fuck…"
Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and furious, blurring my vision. My hands trembled as I gripped my stomach, not because it was hurting, but because that was where my child was. Our child. His child.
And he just walked away.
No questions. No reaction. Not even a glance back.
"What the hell am I even doing here?" I choked out, staring blankly at the ceiling.
I wasn't always like this. I wasn't weak. I wasn't someone who broke down over a man. I was a princess. Born and raised in grace, power, and elegance. In my father's palace, no one dared speak to me without bowing their head. No one dared hurt me.
But look at me now.
Here.
In a cold mansion that never felt like home.
Pregnant by a man who couldn't even pretend to care.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand, sniffing as I tried to pull myself together. But every time I tried to breathe, it came out jagged and sharp, like my lungs were splintered glass. My chest rose and fell in harsh gasps.
I missed my room back home. The way the curtains fluttered softly with the breeze. The way my mother would braid my hair while humming some old lullaby. The long walks in the royal garden, the way the guards would bow when I passed, the way I felt safe and seen.
Not like this.
Not like I was some pawn thrown into a game I didn't agree to play.
This marriage… was meant to be for peace. An alliance. A unity of power.
But no one told me I'd lose myself in the process.
No one told me I'd cry in the middle of a goddamn hallway, begging for someone who didn't even blink when I told him he was going to be a father.
I slammed my fist against the floor, angry with myself for letting this place consume me. For letting him chip away at everything I once was.
"I hate this place," I whispered. "I hate him. I hate this whole damn empire."
But even as I said it, my hand dropped protectively to my stomach.
Because I didn't hate you.
Whoever you are, whatever you'll become… I don't hate you.
You're the only good thing I have left right now.
Does I really need a baby right now?
I couldn't help but ask myself that over and over again, the question echoing in my mind like a broken record. A baby.
A child.
In the midst of all this chaos.
In the midst of a marriage that felt more like a battlefield than a partnership. In the midst of a man who couldn't care less about me or what I was going through. In the midst of this cold mansion, where nothing felt like home, and no one cared if I lived or died.
No.
I didn't need a baby.
The answer was simple—No.
I didn't need this. Not now. Not with everything falling apart around me.
I didn't ask for this child. I didn't plan it. Hell, I never even wanted it.
But then... I looked down at my stomach, where my child was growing. My heart twisted painfully as I thought about how much I hated the situation. How much I hated him.
But then, another thought struck me.
This child… this innocent little soul… it had no part in this war between me and Darius. It had no hand in the coldness I felt every time I looked at my husband's stone-cold face. It didn't deserve to be caught in the crossfire of my pain.
I took a shaky breath and pressed my hand against my stomach, almost instinctively. The warmth that radiated from the small life inside me was a comfort, even though I didn't fully understand what it meant to be a mother.
The love I had for this child was already beginning to bloom inside me, even though I didn't want to admit it. I was scared. So scared.
But there was no turning back.
For the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to feel the tender pull of a love that was pure and untouched by the hatred around me. This child was my reason to keep going, to find the strength I thought I had lost.
I wiped the tears from my face and let out a slow, trembling breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. My body was exhausted, my mind scattered with so many emotions that I didn't know how to handle.
I rested my head back against the cold floor, letting the aching pain subside for a moment. It was like the entire world was pressing down on me, suffocating me, but for a brief moment, I was able to breathe.
Maybe I didn't want this child right now. Maybe I didn't want to deal with the heartache that came with it. But no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, the love for this baby was already growing deep inside me.
I closed my eyes and let the tears fall freely, silently praying for the strength to face whatever was coming next. The pain, the confusion, the loneliness—everything that seemed impossible to overcome.
But for now, I had to let myself grieve. I had to let the pain wash over me because the truth was, I wasn't sure how I was going to make it through this.
But there was one thing I knew for sure.
I w
ouldn't give up on this child.
Not when it was the only thing in this world that truly mattered to me right now.