Page 14 of The Chains that Bind
I walk away then, leaving her with her thoughts and the knowledge growing inside her. My child. My woman. My future.
Mine.
Plain and simple.
Chapter Nine
Seraphina
My fingers trembleas I stare at the plastic stick in my hand, a small pink plus sign mocking me from its tiny window. Positive. Just like the first test. And the second. My knees give out, and I sink to the marble floor of the obscenely luxurious bathroom, still clutching the evidence of how thoroughly my life has imploded in the span of twelve hours. This morning I was preparing to marry a man who would never track my menstrual cycle or steal my urine for testing. Now I'm locked in a Caribbean mansion, confirmed pregnant with the child of a man who treats boundaries like optional suggestions and possessiveness like a virtue. A hysterical laugh bubbles up from my chest, echoing off the glass shower walls. Of course this would happen. Of course Knox Vance would find a way to ensure I could never truly escape him.
I press my hand to my still-flat stomach, trying to connect with the reality that a life is growing inside me. A tiny collection of cells that will become a person. Half me, half Knox. Theconcept is too enormous to fully grasp, like trying to hold the ocean in my hands.
"This wasn't the plan," I whisper to my abdomen, to the baby who can't possibly hear me yet. "None of this was the plan."
The plan had been simple, rational: marry Richard, have a stable partnership based on mutual respect and shared interests, maybe have children in a few years when my career was more established. Children conceived deliberately, not in a desperate, wine-fueled night of weakness with a man I'd spent fifteen months trying to forget.
That night. God, that night. Seeing Knox at the gallery opening with that woman—tall, elegant, looking at him like he'd hung the moon—had cracked something open inside me. Jealousy, yes, but something deeper too. The knowledge that despite fifteen months apart, despite dating other men, despite telling myself Knox Vance was an addiction I'd overcome, I still wanted him with an intensity that frightened me.
I'd gone to his penthouse with no clear intention beyond seeing him, maybe yelling at him for showing up at my gallery. But one look at his face when he opened the door—surprised, then darkly satisfied, like a predator spotting prey that had wandered willingly into its den—and words became unnecessary. Our bodies had done the talking, the shouting, the reconciling without ever resolving a single issue between us.
And now this. A baby. A permanent connection to the most overwhelming man I've ever known.
Pushing myself off the floor, I move to the sink and splash cold water on my face. In the mirror, my reflection looks haunted—eyes too large in my pale face, hair a disaster of half-collapsed wedding curls. I'm still wearing nothing but my slip, the torn wedding dress abandoned in the bedroom like the wreckage of the future I almost had.
What kind of father would Knox be? The thought arrives unbidden, terrifying in its implications. Would he be controlling, overbearing, shaping our child's life with the same iron determination he applies to everything? Would he be loving? Protective, certainly—Knox's protective instincts border on pathological. But kind? Patient? Would he leave room for a child to grow into their own person, or would he map out their entire existence the way he seems to have mapped out mine?
And what about us? Knox seems to think this pregnancy automatically means we're back together, that all the issues that drove me away are magically resolved. But nothing has changed. He's still possessive to the point of obsession. Still believes he knows what's best for me better than I do myself. Still sees my independence as a challenge to be overcome rather than a fundamental part of who I am.
A baby doesn't fix that. If anything, it makes it worse.
By the time I emerge from the bathroom, a cold, clear rage has replaced the initial shock. Knox is waiting in the bedroom, seated in the armchair by the window, his posture deceptively relaxed. But I know him too well—the tension in his shoulders, the alertness in his eyes as they track my movements. He's waiting for my reaction, planning his strategy accordingly.
"Three for three," I say flatly, dropping the pregnancy tests onto the bedside table. "Congratulations on your superior surveillance skills. You knew before I did."
He doesn't rise to the bait, simply nods once, those dark eyes never leaving my face. "How are you feeling?"
"How am I feeling?" I repeat incredulously. "Let's see. I was kidnapped from my wedding, imprisoned on a private island, and just discovered I'm pregnant with my ex's baby. How do you think I'm feeling, Knox?"
"Overwhelmed," he answers calmly. "Scared. Angry. But underneath all that..." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Relieved."
"Relieved?" I nearly choke on the word. "Are you out of your mind?"
"Relieved that you didn't marry him," Knox clarifies. "Relieved that you don't have to keep pretending you want a life that would have slowly suffocated everything fascinating about you."
"Don't tell me what I feel," I snap, pacing the room to keep distance between us. "You don't get to decide that for me. Just like you don't get to decide that this pregnancy means we're suddenly a couple again."
"We never stopped being a couple," he counters. "We just took a break."
"eighteen months is not a 'break,' Knox! It's a breakup. A very definitive one."
"And yet here you are, carrying my child." His voice drops an octave, the possessive inflection sending an unwanted shiver down my spine. "That's not something that happens in a definitive breakup."
"One night of weakness doesn't erase all the reasons we can't be together." I stop pacing, forcing myself to face him directly. "This baby doesn't change anything. It doesn't fix what's broken between us."
Knox rises from the chair with the fluid grace of a predator, his heighteen and presence immediately dominating the room. "Nothing's broken, Seraphina. You're just afraid."
"Stop saying that!" My voice rises despite my attempts to stay calm. "Stop dismissing my legitimate concerns as fear. It's not fear to want autonomy. It's not fear to refuse to be controlled. It's not fear to demand a relationship where I'm an equal partner, not a possession!"
