AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"It's my job to assist, Ms. Isabella. Please don't hesitate to call if you need anything else."
The call ends, leaving me with a sense of apprehension and gratitude. I'm not only indebted to Evan for his protection; his entire team is committed to my well-being.
I pace the living room of the penthouse, waiting. The large clock on the wall mocks me; its tick-tock feels louder and more pronounced with every passing second.
Finally, a soft knock on the door grabs my attention. Walking over to answer it, I feel a strange mixture of relief and anxiety.
Opening the door, I'm met by a tall, broad-shouldered bodyguard. His sharp eyes contrast with the soft, understanding expression he wears. He holds a small bag, which he discreetly hands to me.
"Ms. Isabella," he nods respectfully.
"Thank you," I murmured, holding the bag close as if it were a lifeline.
He understands the gravity of the situation, pausing before saying, "Is there anything else you might need?"
I shake my head, my fingers nervously playing with the edge of the bag. "No, this was... It's a big favor. I appreciate your being inconspicuous."
He offers a gentle smile, the professional demeanor momentarily cracking. "It's our job to ensure your safety in every sense."
Taking a deep breath, I muster a weak smile. "Thanks again. I truly appreciate it."
He nods, glancing down the hallway as if checking for any potential intrusions. "Take care, Ms. Isabella. And remember, if you need anything, we're here."
As he walks away, I shut the door slowly, clutching the bag against my chest. Grateful for the kindness, I retreat to the bathroom, preparing myself for whatever outcome awaits.
The pregnancy test sits on the bedside table on a paper towel. It has the results. It takes over half an hour to peek from my sheets. I can't look at it. What would Evan say? What would happen if the public found out? Ifhefound out? A hand crawls over my stomach. Which night is this a result of? The passionate one-nighter with Evan? Or the delusional 'love?' What would I do with it? I don't want anything from the monster. It could resemble him orbelike him, and I can't stand to raise a monster. I won't. How will I know?
Then again, I suppose if I were a good mother, which I was sure I wouldn't be, it wouldn't turn out like that, would it? I couldn't fight genetics.
The pregnancy test. Its presence burns, though it's simply a piece of hard, cold plastic. The cocoon is getting too hot, so I use the dry temperature to convince myself to throw off the sheet. It's an
improvement. Still, I have yet to turn around. I gulp.
"Do it," I whisper for encouragement, but it comes out like a scoff. I could've been done with this before noon, but my cowardice prolongs everything past six in the afternoon.
Do it now.
I have to know before anyone else finds out for me. I spin around. The plastic is still exactly where I put it on the bedside table. Slowly, I lift myself until the little window with my fate etched into its discardable body comes into view.
Two pink lines.
I collapse back onto the bed. Of course. What else would it have been? Luck and miracles aren't for people like me. I swear I am the beacon for lousy luck so the general population can live normal lives. I thought I'd be crying, but I was thinking, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what to do next. I know who the father probably is. That's my luck. It doesn't matter; it's not about him. It will never be about him again. That's the easy part.
But Evan.
Only a couple of hours until he walks through that door.
"I don't have to tell him," I express to myself. It sounds as stupid to me as it would to anyone else. Of course, he has to know. I can't hide a pregnancy living in his home, and what will happen when I have to give birth? I sigh.
"I do have to tell him." There were almost no words between us for weeks after he let me live in his home, and now I'd be springing a child on him.
Last resort.
Right. I am ready to move. I've been through worse, and there is no way I'll rely on a stranger to care for me. I don't want him to either way. There is a twist in my heart like a cramp. I stand up from my bed and pick up the plastic stick, feeling secure in myself.
"I'm not scared of you," I verbalize. The stick says nothing back, still displaying the positive result. I place it back down. It's almost seven. The funniest joke time pulls on me as its sands flow like a waterfall once I am waiting for something I dread.
The living room appears smaller than I make it out to be in my head when I walk out of the room. I feel catatonic waiting for Evan to walk in through that front door, feeling like a hypocrite approaching him with such heavy news after giving him the cold shoulder.
