Page 12 of Twisted Addiction

My world tilted. I gripped the edge of the table to steady myself.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head fiercely. “I won’t. I can’t. This baby... it’s all I have. I’ll fight for it. I swear I will.”

He swallowed, his expression carefully neutral. “I must be honest—your uterus isn’t designed to carry a child safely, not this one, not future pregnancies. The structure itself poses persistent risks: miscarriage, preterm labor, and hemorrhage. This isn’t about willpower—it’s a physical limitation.”

Fear slammed into me like icy waves, leaving me trembling and hollow.

“Are you saying... I’ll never have a child? That this... this is it for me?” My voice cracked.

Dr. Rossi’s tone softened, blending compassion with professionalism. “Yes. Unfortunately, a bicornuate uterus makes full-term pregnancies extremely rare and high-risk. But it’s not the end. Surrogacy, adoption—there are ways to have a child. You can still build a family, with careful planning and support.”

I sank to the floor, knees trembling.

My hands clutched my stomach as the weight of reality pressed down. Everything I had imagined, everything I had hoped for... was hanging by the thinnest thread.

Dr. Rossi leaned forward, persuasive. “Please reconsider the termination. Continuing could lead to life-threatening issues for you both. We can schedule it today—it’s the safest path.”

His words blurred.

My pulse roared in my ears, like a storm pounding against thin glass.

“No.” My voice cracked, but it was iron beneath the break. I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, as if holding my baby closer. “No. I won’t. I’ll take the risks—bed rest, hospitals, whatever it takes. But I won’t end this pregnancy.”

Dmitri remained eerily quiet through it all, a dark monolith in the corner of the room. His face was carved from stone—no flicker of anger, no sign of grief, no hand reaching for mine. Just stillness. Just silence.

I forced myself to look up at him, but it felt like staring at a stranger.

He sat there like a statue of judgment.

My heart cracked at the emptiness between us.

“So... what now?” My voice came out small, fragile, almost unrecognizable to my own ears. “How do you see me now?”The words trembled as they escaped. “Useless? Unremarkable? Unable to give you the heir you craved—the heir you need in less than a year?”

The room felt colder after the question, as though the air itself had withdrawn, waiting for his verdict.

He stood slowly, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s go.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight, and followed him out into the crisp air. The cold bit at my skin, but it couldn’t touch the heaviness settling in my chest. Every step felt like walking through molasses.

“So... do we divorce, then?” My voice trembled, small and fragile against the wind. “Because I... I can’t give you a child.”

He paused mid-stride, turning to me with those cold, piercing eyes that seemed to bore straight through my chest.

“Divorce?” His voice was low, dripping with contempt.

His lips curled into something close to a sneer. “You think you can walk away from me, Penelope? You belong to me. Body, blood, and breath. Divorce isn’t just impossible—it’s inconceivable. Not in this life. Not in mine. You’ll stay by my side until the last breath leaves your body—and even then, I’ll find you.”

A shiver ran down my spine, the weight of his obsession pressing on my ribs, heavy and suffocating.

“You’re wrong, Dmitri.” The voice came from behind us, deep and steady, slicing through the tension like a blade. “Divorce... is very much possible.”

I turned, my breath catching at the sight of a tall man approaching—handsome and gorgeous in a rugged way, his skin etched with intricate tattoos that snaked up his arms and peeked from the collar of his fitted shirt, telling stories of rebellion and ink.

His dark hair was tousled, eyes a warm hazel that contrasted sharply with Dmitri’s ice.

“Penelope,” he said, his focus solely on me, as if Dmitri were invisible. “Lake Como has a court that oversees all judicial matters and enforces the law. Any wife in this territory can file for divorce if the marriage becomes untenable. In fact... I’m one of the privileged lawyers here. I could guide you through every step, make sure your rights are protected.”

Silence stretched between the three of us, thick and charged. Then he forced a cruel smirk, extending his hand. “Alexei.” When I hesitated, he added smoothly, “Alexei Volkov—Dmitri’s brother.”