Page 21

I lie in bed, the remnants of stomach cramps still twisting inside me.

Mark sits by my side, his presence comforting.

He gently adjusts the covers, tucking them around my shoulders with a tenderness that surprises me.

“Do you need anything else?” he asks, his deep voice laced with concern.

He then tucks the hot water bottle under the covers against my stomach.

I force a smile, trying to mask the pain.

“Thanks, Mark. I'll be fine, really. You don't need to fuss over me.”

He takes my hand in his, his calloused fingers intertwining with mine.

He sits there in silence as moments pass by.

I have a gut feeling there’s something on his mind that he needs to share, but he isn’t because he’s worried that I’m not feeling very well.

“How was your day?” I ask, at last.

“It was good. I believe you’ll be relieved to hear about it, actually.”

“Oh?”

“My brothers found out that Charlie was behind the attack against us, just as I had suspected all along. We confronted him, and it’s safe to say that Charlie Letvin is no longer a threat. You're safe now.”

“I…I am?” I ask, not knowing what that means. Mark had made it clear in the past that I was to stay here until Letvin wasn’t a problem. “What does that mean?”

“Well,” Mark said in a teasing tone, breaking out into a smile. “I guess we should enjoy our last few days together, given how you’re soon going to be a free bird!”

I nod, my lips curving into a reassuring smile even as my heart shatters inside. This can only mean one thing. Mark Zolotov no longer needs to be with me. Soon, I’ll be out of here, and we’ll go back to being strangers, just like it was when we started.

How can I tell him? How can I possibly explain that what I wanted once is now my worst nightmare? The thought of this ending alone sends a wave of nausea through me, and I swallow hard, fighting back the bile rising in my throat.

But fight it, I do. Because I knew this day would come. I knew this whole situation was casual from the onset. Even if Mark keeps me around longer, it’ll be because he’s entertaining himself until someone more exciting comes along. Once a playboy, always a playboy, right? He said so himself. We should enjoy our last few days together. I’m a free bird—free to be out and about, free to be with someone else, free to forget all about him.

It’s better if I keep my emotions at bay, heal myself before I break. “Thank you for being here, for taking care of me,” I say at last.

Mark's blue-gray eyes soften, and he brings my hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against my knuckles. “Always, Quinn.

”

But as I gaze into his eyes, I wonder if that will still be true when our contract officially ends soon.

Will he still look at me with such tenderness, or will distance darken his handsome features?

The uncertainty eats away at me like cancer spreading through my veins.

For now, I embrace this moment of comfort, a brief respite from the storm gathering on the horizon.

I lean into Mark's touch, savoring the warmth of his skin against mine.

But the cramps return with a vengeance, and I furrow my brows as I reach for the hot water bottle to press it tighter against my belly.

Mark's brow furrows as he studies my face, concern etched into the lines of his chiseled jaw.

“Quinn, what could be causing your stomach pain?”

“Maybe I ate something,” I say, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. “Just some cramping, that's all.”

“I'll be right back,” he says, rising from the bed with determination in his stance. “I had the maid place a first-aid kit in the bathroom just for you, and it might have something to help.”

As he disappears into the adjoining room, I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I clutch the bedsheets. His words replay in my mind in a loop: Charlie Letvin will no longer be a problem. That means I will no longer be Mark’s problem.

But before I can dwell on the possibility of what that means, he's back, the first-aid box tucked under his arm as he settles onto the bed beside me once more.

“Here,” he says, handing me the box with a soft smile. “I thought you might need this, given the timing. Your period might be coming up soon, too, right? That could be the cause of your cramps.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, the air rushing out of my lungs in a sudden whoosh. I can feel the color draining from my face, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure Mark must be able to hear it.

“Y-yeah,” I stammer, my voice barely above a whisper. “Thanks.”

I take the box with trembling hands, my mind racing as I try to grasp the implications of his words. How long has it been since my last period? Two months? I simply didn’t think much of it since I’ve always struggled with irregular periods, yet at the same time, I’ve never had cramps unless I’m bleeding. My period might be coming… yes. But I shouldn’t be having cramps, should I? My impulsive decisions come rushing back, the first one being that we didn’t use protection. How foolish of us.

The realization strikes me like a freight train, and the possibility of pregnancy hanging over me like a dark cloud.

But as I meet Mark's gaze, I force myself to smile, to push down the rising tide of fear and uncertainty that threatens to consume me.

“I appreciate it,” I say, my voice steadier now, even though the lump in my throat becomes so wretchedly painful.

You're always so thoughtful.”

The words feel hollow, a cheap imitation of the gratitude I know I should feel. Now, with Charlie Letvin handled and the possibility of pregnancy looming over me, I know my time with Mark is running out.

Mark nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s nothing, Quinn.”

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead before standing up. “I'll let you rest. If you need anything, just call for me, okay?”

I watch him go, my heart aching with a mixture of longing and dread. As soon as the door closes behind him, I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I set the first-aid box on the bed beside me.

For a long moment, I simply stare at it, my mind whirling with the possibilities of what lies inside. Part of me wants to ignore it, to pretend that everything is fine and that my missed periods are simply nothing, as they’ve always been. Yet the logical side of me knows better, understands that I can't run from this forever, given how we haven’t been safe during our sexual escapades.

With a deep breath, I reach for the box, my fingers fumbling with the latch. As I lift the lid, my eyes immediately land on the pregnancy kit nestled among the tampons, period pain relievers, pads, bandages, and antiseptic wipes. My breath catches in my throat, my heart stutters in my chest as I pick it up with trembling hands. Smart of the maid to have put it there. Lucky that Mark didn’t see it.

I can feel its weight in my palm, the plastic casing cool against my skin. It's just a simple test, I tell myself, trying to calm the rising panic in my chest. It’s just to prove I might not be pregnant and my missed period is nothing but the occasional irregularity in my cycle, as has happened in the past during times of stress. But deep down, I know that it's so much more than that. It's a turning point, a moment that could change the course of my life forever.

As I sit there, the pregnancy kit clutched in my trembling hands, I can't help but wonder what the future holds. Will Mark still want me if I'm carrying his child? Or will he see me as nothing more than a burden, a mistake he wishes he could erase?

The latter, probably.

The thought is almost too much to bear, and I can feel the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. But I know I can't let them fall, not until I know for certain.

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders as I rise from the bed. I tuck the pregnancy kit into the pocket of my robe, my heart hammering in my chest as I head toward the bathroom.

It's time to face the truth, to confront the reality of what my missed periods and these stomach cramps might mean.

With trembling hands, I lock the bathroom door behind me. The small room feels stifling as I reach into my pocket and pull out the pregnancy kit.

The plastic casing feels foreign in my grasp. I take a shaky breath, trying to steel myself for whatever comes next. With fumbling fingers, I tear open the packaging and follow the instructions, feeling every heartbeat thud in my ears like a war drum.

As moments pass, anxiety coils in my stomach like a serpent ready to strike. My mind races with a multitude of thoughts. What if it's positive? What if it's negative? Each possibility sends a distinct wave of fear crashing over me.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I glance down at the small window of the pregnancy test, my heart pounding in my chest. The seconds stretch into forever as I watch a faint line slowly appear, a ghostly whisper that transforms into a clear shout.

Positive.

My breath catches in my throat, and tears prick at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment.

I press a hand to my mouth, trying to muffle the sob that threatens to escape. How did this happen? How did I let myself get into this situation, where everything is spiraling out of control?

Yet, at the back of my mind, one feeling rings true the loudest: I’m about to have my own small family, which is something I’ve always wanted. This baby will be loved, and I will do everything in my power to keep it out of harm’s way. He or she will be loved beyond belief, and I’d never let them lack for anything.

Mark's charming smile flashes before my eyes, now a silent promise of abandonment. Mark signed up to save me from Charlie, and he had me enter a contractual agreement where my safety came at a price: a chance for Mark to show Charlie his place in the world.

He did that today. He doesn’t need me anymore, and in his eyes, I don’t need him.

It’s only a matter of time. He might keep me around a bit longer, enjoying me as a convenient plaything, but eventually, the dust will settle. As for me? I carry his child and feelings I can’t admit. The longer I stay, the more it’ll hurt.

I can't stay here, I can't let him use me until he inevitably discards me like a broken toy. It’s better to leave before he breaks my heart and inevitably, our child’s heart. It’s best he never finds out.

***

The next morning, I stayed in bed longer than usual. When I went down to inquire with the guards about where Mark might be, just so I could stay out of his mind, I learned, much to my surprise, that he had to go away to Atlanta for a last-minute overnight trip. They told me he left me a note.

I nod and run back to the room. I slept fitfully last night, considering ways to leave without causing a fuss. This morning feels like a gift from fate itself.

The note lies on the bedside table, beckoning to me like a siren's call. With a fluttering heart, I reach for it, my fingers trembling as I unfold the paper. Mark's elegant handwriting stares back at me, each stroke of the pen feeling like a chisel chipping away at the crumbling facade of everything being okay, that I've been desperately holding together.

Quinn,

Hope you’re feeling better. Had to leave for an urgent business meeting in Atlanta. Won't be back until tomorrow.

My heart sinks as I read those words, knowing that my window of opportunity is closing rapidly. If I want to leave without a trace, without giving Mark a chance to stop me or convince me to stay, I have to act fast.

Grabbing my bag and hurriedly stuffing in a few essentials, I pick up my phone and book a cab, waiting for immediate confirmation. I take one last look around the room that transformed from a prison to a sanctuary. The bed where Mark kissed me goodnight, the windows that framed a world I no longer belonged to, and the door that led to a life I had to leave behind.

I swallow the lump in my throat, steeling myself for what comes next. With one final glance at the note lying on the bedside table, I fold it carefully and tuck it into my pocket, a small memento of a chapter in my life that was as fleeting as it was intense.

As quietly as I can manage, I slip out of the room, my heart pounding in my chest like a drumbeat of urgency. The mansion is eerily quiet, as if holding its breath in anticipation of my departure.

The guards are stationed at their posts, their gazes sharp and unwavering. I offer them a small nod as I pass by, praying that they won’t stop me or, worse, alert Mark to my escape.

“Miss,” one of them intervenes. “Your bodyguard?”

“He’s waiting right outside with the car. I’m running late for a meeting,” I lie through my teeth. The guard nods, having no reason to believe I’m lying.

I rush out of the compound without looking back, right into the waiting cab I had booked moments earlier.