Page 133 of His Darkest Obsession

"I—" The word dies in my throat as my stomach squeezes.

I practically push myself away from the table and rush for the bathroom, bursting through the door as desperation claws at my throat.

The stall is occupied. And although the bathroom is clean, the scent of the cleaner triggers another intense bout of nausea in me.

I can't hold it back.

With no other choice, I head over to the sink and retch, but nothing comes up. My body shakes with each wave of sickness.

Behind me, I hear the bathroom door being pushed open. When I look up, Svetlana and Amara are both staring at me in the mirror.

"Are you alright?" Amara's voice is high with concern. "Was something wrong with the tea?"

Am I alright?

No. No, I'm not alright at all.

If I try to speak, I know I'll just dry heave again. My body feels like it's betraying me, spinning and twisting in ways I can't control.

That's when Svetlana puts a reassuring palm on my back and asks. "When was the last time you had your period?"

The question cuts me to my core. I try to think, to count back the weeks. And that's when it hits me. My period was supposed to come two weeks ago.

A familiar dread settles into my stomach like a cold stone.

My hands start to shake. This can't be happening. This absolutely cannot be happening.

My chest constricts like someone's squeezing a fist around my ribs. Each shallow breath comes faster than the last but none of them quite fills my lungs.

Cold sweat beading along my hairline, and my fingers go numb and tingly as I gasp desperately for air that won't come.

No. Please. Please. Please. No. This can't be happening.

There's a familiar look on Amara's face. And when I see it in the mirror, I'm suddenly falling back in time.

Back to that awful summer two years ago, and I swear I can smell the antiseptic in the hospital.

The nausea intensifies.

I close my eyes and feel tears welling up. A small, broken whimper escapes my throat. I want to shake my head, but I can't. Even the slightest movement now is making my nausea worse.

And the entire time, Valentina's words keep echoing in my mind.

"If there's a bastard growing inside of you that might one day lay claim to the bratva, then I won't hesitate to do what's necessary."

"Stay here with her," Svetlana tells Amara. "I'll be right back."

"But—" Amara starts, but Svetlana is already walking out the door.

The toilet flushes, and a woman walks out from the stall a few moments later. She glances at us with curiosity as she washesher hands. For a moment, I wonder if she might ask us what's wrong. If she did, will I even be able to answer?

But she doesn't. All she does is offer a look that speaks of wordless sympathy at best, and judgmental disdain at worst. Then, she walks out and leaves me alone with my sister.

Amara guides me into the bathroom stall and locks the door behind us, creating a small, enclosed space that suddenly feels suffocating.

"Miels," she starts, her voice trembling slightly. "Do you think that?—"

"Don't," I choke out, my voice barely a whisper. "Please don't finish that sentence."