Without a word, I stood and started upstairs. My foot caught on the second step and I stumbled into the bedroom, collapsing onto the floor. I curled inward, hands pressed against my abdomen as nausea surged.
I gagged, violently.
Footsteps rushed in. Julian filled the doorway. “Elara, what’s wrong?” He touched my shoulder and the sickness doubled.
Then Seraphine’s voice sliced in, sharp with interest. “Wait… are you pregnant? I thought she had the implant.”
Julian froze. “Elara,” he said slowly, “did you get your period this month?”
I shook my head.
“It’s always on time,” I whispered. “I’m probably just stressed.”
He stepped away from me as though I were dangerous. “That shouldn’t be possible. I was careful. The doctor said—” He cut himself off, then straightened. “We’re going for tests tonight. If you are pregnant, we’ll deal with it before it becomes an issue.”
Seraphine let out a soft, delighted laugh.
So he could ruin me for her child — but mine wasn’t allowed to exist.
“Why would it be an issue?” I asked quietly.
He hesitated. “Because I promised someone I wouldn’t have children of my own until her daughter grows up.”
That was his excuse.