Page 80 of Imperfect Desires

“Oh,” I say softly. “Oops.”

I don’t look away.

His lips thin. Mendes’s eyes narrow because I know exactly what I just did. And so do they.

Henaro looks down at the spreading stain on his pristine white coat. Disgust flashes across his face, but it’s controlled—this man is used to messes, though clearly not ones he can’t punish.

Mendes’s reaction is slower and colder. His expression doesn’t change at first. He simply tilts his head, like he’s observing a child misbehaving. But there’s something behind his eyes. A flicker of something mean and gleaming and unstable.

Delusion cracking at the edges.

“You think that’s funny?” Mendes asks, his voice calm—too calm.

I don’t answer.

My cheek is still stinging from the last time he touched me, but I stand straighter anyway. My fingers tremble, but I hold my ground. Maybe I want him to see it. Maybe I want him to know that no matter how he dresses me up or pins me down, I’m not his.

He takes one step forward and then another. I brace myself before I feel the sting that turns to a white-hot explosion across my face. My head snaps to the side, and my knees buckle slightly.

“You disrespect the doctor again,” Mendes says tightly, “and I’ll forget that I ever wanted to make you my wife.”

You never wanted a wife. You want ownership.I scream internally.

I wipe at my mouth and say nothing, though the sting burns all the way down my spine.

Henaro clicks his tongue and takes the container from my hand with a sharp jerk. He doesn’t even look at me as he walks over to the table and begins prepping the test strip.

“You think this little rebellion of yours changes anything?” Mendes murmurs. He’s closer now, his breath hitting my skin. “You’ll learn, Alina. You’ll learn to obey. And in time, you’ll thank me for putting you back in your place.”

His words crawl over my skin like rot.

He’s sick and mistaken if he thinks that I’ll ever be his.

He actually believes this fantasy he’s built—me, him, married, like some twisted fairytale with a crown made of chains.

I glance at the door, which is still locked and guarded. Hope feels too fragile in my chest, but I cling to it anyway. Because what else do I have?

Doctor Henaro holds the strip up to the light. The tension thickens like molasses. Two lines appear—bold and undeniable.

Positive.

“Well?” Mendes asks.

Henaro nods without even looking at me. “She’s pregnant. I’ll need to see her in the clinic to determine how far along. Preferably tomorrow.”

Mendes’s smile returns, but it’s devoid of joy. It’s all teeth and venom.

“Fine. Tomorrow it is.”

He turns to me, his gaze flicking over my stomach like I’m carrying something he already owns.

“You’ll be ready to go,” he says, his voice like ice. “Because once we confirm how far along you are, I’ll do what needs to be done.”

I swallow hard. “What does that mean?”

He leans in, his words soft but laced with malice. “It means we end this farce. The baby, the so-called husband, the stupid little elopement you thought would save you. I’ll find your marriage record, and I’ll have it destroyed. In the blink of an eye.”

His fingers trail along my jaw where he struck me, and I flinch.

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