Page 74 of Silent Schemes

Three different tests, three different brands, same result.

I'm carrying Varrick Bane's child.

The game just became infinitely more complicated.

I lean against the grimy wall, slide down until I'm sitting on the floor that I definitely shouldn't be touching, and let the reality wash over me.

A baby.

Hisbaby.

Growing inside me while I'm supposed to be planning his death.

An innocent life that will be born into a world of violence and betrayal, assuming any of us survive the next month.

My father will use this against me if he finds out.

A pregnant woman is vulnerable, emotional, weak in his eyes.

He'll either force me to terminate or use the baby as leverage forever.

And Varrick... God, Varrick would burn the world down to protect his child.

He'd start a war with my family that would leave the rest of Vancouver in ashes.

I destroy the evidence, wrapping everything in paper towels and shoving it deep in the trash, then taking the bag out to the dumpster behind the building.

No one can know.

Not my father, not Bastian, not even Varrick.

Not yet. Maybe not ever.

I sit in my car for another hour, watching the sun rise over Vancouver, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that feel too beautiful for the darkness I'm carrying.

Not just the child—though that's a complication I never imagined—but the knowledge that in less than a month, everything will implode.

Will Romano will be captured because of me.

Varrick will know I betrayed him.

Theodore will demand his death.

And now there's an innocent life caught in the crossfire of our war.

When I finally drive back to the penthouse, the city is waking up—normal people going to normal jobs, living normal liveswhere love doesn't come with a body count and babies are cause for celebration instead of terror.

I slip back into bed just as the sun fully rises, and Varrick pulls me against him without waking, his hand splaying possessively over my stomach.

The gesture is probably unconscious, but it makes me want to scream, to cry, to confess everything.

Instead, I close my eyes and pretend that we're different people in a different life.

A life where love doesn't come with a body count.

Where babies are blessings instead of weapons.

Where I could tell him about our child without signing all our death warrants.