I Am Your Empire

Rosy's POV “Rosy, slow the hell down!” The voice behind me is frantic, desperate, but it barely registers over the howl of the wind slicing past my ears. Why should I slow down? Why would anyone in their right mind want to stop a girl from riding a pink scooter like she owns the damn road? The thrill, the sheer recklessness of it all, is the only thing keeping me sane. But then—I don’t have a choice. Screeching tires. Black limos. A whole damn fleet, swallowing up the street, blocking every possible escape. My heart slams against my ribs, but I don’t let the fear show. Instead, I stop so abruptly that I nearly catapult myself over the handlebars. My sunglasses shield my eyes, concealing the flicker of emotions dancing in them. Not fear. Never fear. I won’t give him that satisfaction. A man steps forward, black umbrella tilted just enough to cast a shadow over my face. Like I don’t already know the sky is spitting ice. Another two rush to the limos, moving with synchronized precision, and then—there he is. Leo. The weight of his presence alone is suffocating. He doesn’t speak immediately, just strides towards me with measured steps, his coat billowing slightly in the winter wind. He’s mad. No, beyond mad. But I’m mad too, and I refuse to be the first to blink. “Don’t you see it’s snowing?” His voice is a low hiss, laced with irritation, but there’s something else there. Concern. Not that I care. “Leo, cut the crap.” My arms cross, my lips pouting just enough to be infuriating. “Whatever this is, get to the damn point. I have a life to live. Don’t ruin it for me.” He exhales sharply, jaw tightening. “Dad finally approved of Liam.” His words are clipped, controlled. “Bring him home.” The breath leaves my lungs in a rush. “Are you serious?” The sunglasses come off, my eyes wide with disbelief. “I’ll bring him after Grandpa’s birthday.” Then, as if the idea just struck me, I grab his sleeve. “You should prepare gifts for us when we arrive.” A smirk tugs at his lips. “Of course.” I glance at my watch—a delicate pink one, a gift from my husband on our anniversary. Time to go. Adjusting my fur-lined coat and wedding ring, I swing a leg over my scooter. “Later, Leo.” “Be careful,” he calls after me as I speed away. I don’t look back, but I hear him mutter something under his breath. A curse? A warning? Who cares. The City Central Hospital looms ahead. My stomach churns, nerves tangling inside me. I need those test results. Something inside me feels off—more clumsy, more restless, more... alive. The hospital room is a joke. The walls peeling, the air stale, and the bed beneath me groans like it might collapse under my weight. A light knock echoes through the room. Hesitant. Almost scared. “Come in,” I say, half amused, half impatient. The doctor enters, gray folder in hand, a stupidly cheerful smile plastered across his face. That look alone sets me on edge. “One last test,” he says, too damn peppy for my liking. “Just need to check your heartbeat.” “Fine.” My fingers drum against my thigh, masking the thundering in my chest. He pulls up a rusted chair, plops down like he doesn’t notice it’s a death trap waiting to happen. A shame, really. I would’ve paid good money to see him eat the floor. The stethoscope is cold as hell, trailing over my stomach. My breath hitches. A chill runs through me, not just from the metal, but from the way he’s lingering—searching. Then, he looks up. And smiles. “Congratulations.” His voice is thick with barely contained excitement. “You’re pregnant.” The words hit like a freight train. I don’t move. Don’t breathe. Just stare at him, the air in my lungs vanishing. “Really?” The word is barely a whisper. “Seven to eight weeks.” His tone shifts, a thread of caution laced in. “It’s still early. You need rest. No stress.” I nod absently, hands drifting to my stomach. Pregnant. I’m pregnant. The thought echoes like a siren in my skull. The doctor leaves, but I stay frozen. Then, suddenly, a rush of emotion explodes inside me. My hands fumble for my phone, fingers trembling as I dial Liam’s number. He has to know. Now.