I wake with a jolt, my heart hammering so hard I'm not sure I'm alive. The bed is soft, satin sheets cool against my skin, but this isn't my room. I'm in Damien Marcello's penthouse, the memory of last night crashing over me, Ethan's betrayal, Valentina's smirk, the faceless figure chasing me at the estate, and Damien pulling me from that bar. I sit up, my breath shaky, my head throbbing from too much whiskey. The room is quiet, dawn light creeping through the blinds. I'm still in the plain dress from last night, wrinkled and stained. I feel like a stranger in my own skin.
I swing my legs off the bed, my bare feet hitting the hardwood. My phone's on the nightstand, dead. I need to call Clara, figure out what happened at the estate, but my hands are trembling too much to plug it in. I'm halfway to the bathroom when a knock at the door stops me cold.
"Miss Alverez?" a woman's voice calls, calm but firm. "I'm Dr. Ellis. Mr. Marcello asked me to check on you."
I frown, my stomach twisting. A doctor? I open the door, and a woman in a white coat stands there, her gray hair tied back, a medical bag in hand. "I'm fine," I say, my voice hoarse. "I don't need a doctor."
She smiles, but it's professional, not warm. "You were in rough shape last night. Let's just make sure everything's okay." She steps inside, setting her bag on the desk. "Sit, please."
I hesitate but sink onto the bed, my legs weak. She checks my pulse, shines a light in my eyes, asks about the alcohol. I answer numbly, my mind on the estate, on whoever wanted me gone. Then she pulls out a small device, her tone shifting. "I need a blood sample. Routine, given your condition last night."
"Condition?" I snap, my voice sharper than I mean. "I got drunk. That's it."
She doesn't flinch. "Humor me." I let her prick my finger, too tired to argue. She runs the sample through a portable machine, her face unreadable. Minutes pass, and my chest tightens. Finally, she looks up, her eyes softening. "Miss Alverez, you're pregnant."
The word hits like a fist. I double over, my breath gone. "No," I whisper, shaking my head. "That's impossible. I can't be."
"The test is clear," she says, handing me a printout. "About six weeks along. I'd like to do an ultrasound to confirm." She pauses, watching me. "Do you want Mr. Marcello here for this?"
"No," I say, too fast. My mind reels. Six weeks. The night with Damien, that reckless blur after the wedding. My hands clutch the sheet, my world tilting. A baby, his baby, while my life's in pieces. "Just… do it," I say, my voice breaking.
She nods, setting up a portable ultrasound. I lie back, my dress hiked up, cold gel on my stomach. The screen flickers, and a tiny shape appears, a faint heartbeat pulsing. I stare, tears burning my eyes. It's real. I'm carrying a child, and it's caught in this war, Ethan, Valentina, Father, whoever chased me. I want to scream, but I just nod as Dr. Ellis hands me the ultrasound image, her voice gentle. "I'll leave you to process. I'll be in touch."
She packs up and leaves, the door clicking shut. I clutch the image, my hands shaking. I'm grateful Damien saved me last night, but now he's tied to me, to this. And I hate how much power that gives him.
I'm still staring at the ultrasound when I hear voices outside. I force myself to stand, smoothing my dress, and step into the living room. Damien's there, arms crossed, his gray suit sharp against the city skyline behind him. His face is a mask, unreadable, but his eyes flick to the image in my hand.
"You okay?" he asks, his voice low, like he's testing the air.
I laugh, sharp and bitter. "No, I'm not okay." I hold up the ultrasound, my hand trembling. "I'm pregnant, Damien. From that night. Your night."
His jaw tightens, but he doesn't flinch. He steps closer, his eyes locked on mine. "You're sure?"
I shove the image at him. "See for yourself." He takes it, his fingers brushing mine, and studies it, his expression still blank. I want to shake him, make him react. "Say something," I snap.
He sets the image on the coffee table, his voice calm. "We'll figure this out. You're safe here, Sienna. That's what matters."
"Safe?" I scoff, pacing. "Someone tried to kill me last night! My sister slept with my fiancé, my father called me a disgrace, and now this?" I gesture to the ultrasound, tears spilling. "This baby's a target, Damien. Because of me. Because of you."
He grabs my shoulders, his grip firm but not harsh. "Nobody's touching you or that kid," he says, his voice hard. "I don't care who's after you, Ricardo, Valentina, anyone. They go through me first."
I pull away, my chest heaving. "Why do you care? You don't know me. You're just… what? Using me to get to my father?"
His eyes darken, but he doesn't deny it. "I'm protecting you," he says. "That's enough for now."
I shake my head, wiping my tears. "It's not enough. I need answers. Who was at the estate? Why are you involved?"
He hesitates, then pulls out his phone. "I'm working on it. My guy's checking the estate now." He dials, his voice sharp. "Julian, what's the status?"
I catch Julian's voice, tense. "Cameras were sabotaged. No clear footage, but Ricardo's men were in the east wing last night. Someone's covering tracks."
Damien's jaw clenches. "Keep digging. I want names." He hangs up, turning to me. "We'll find them, Sienna. But you need to stay here."
I cross my arms, my voice cold. "I'm not your prisoner."
"You're not," he says, stepping closer. "But you're carrying my kid. That changes things."
I'm in the kitchen, forcing down a glass of water, when Clara calls. I put it on speaker, my hands too shaky to hold. "Clara, where are you?" I ask, my voice raw.
"At the estate," she says, her tone urgent. "Sienna, I saw you on a security feed last night, running from someone. Then it cut out. Are you okay?"
"I'm with Damien," I say, glancing at him. He's leaning against the counter, listening. "I'm… pregnant, Clara. From that night."
She's quiet for a moment, then, "Oh, Sienna. Okay, we'll deal with this. But listen, Ricardo's hiding something. I found a file in his study, photos of you, plans to 'neutralize' you. I think he knows about the will."
My breath catches. "What will?"
"Your mother's," she says. "It makes you the majority shareholder of Alverez Corp. He's been burying it."
I grip the counter, my legs weak. Damien's eyes narrow, but he stays silent. "Clara, get out of there," I say. "If Father's involved, it's not safe."
"I'm leaving now," she says. "Stay with Damien until I figure this out." The call ends, and I sink into a chair, my head spinning. A baby, a will, a father who wants me gone. It's too much.
Damien's phone buzzes, and he answers, his voice low. "What, Marcus?" My head snaps up, Marcus Vellani, the rival Father's always cursing. Damien's face hardens as he listens. "You're out of your depth," he says. "Stay away from her." He hangs up, his knuckles white.
"What did he want?" I ask, my voice sharp.
"He's fishing," Damien says, pocketing the phone. "Knows you're here. He's trouble, Sienna. Stay clear of him."
I nod, but my mind's on Marcus, on Father, on the faceless figure from last night. I'm a pawn in their game, and now my baby is too. I clutch the ultrasound image, my resolve hardening. I won't let them win.
We're in the living room, the city skyline glowing outside. Damien's pacing, his phone buzzing with updates from Julian. I'm on the couch, the ultrasound in my lap, trying to process. "What now?" I ask, my voice steady despite the fear.
He stops, his eyes meeting mine. "We keep you safe. We find out who's after you. And we deal with Ricardo." He slides the ultrasound across the coffee table, his voice quiet. "That changes everything."
I stare at the image, my heart pounding. He's right. This baby, our baby, shifts the board. But as I look at Damien, his face unreadable, I wonder if I've traded one danger for another.