I Am Your Empire

CHAPTER 2- Feeling the heat

Rosy's POV

I grip my phone with trembling fingers, my breath shallow as I dial Liam’s number.

"Please hold on! The number you have dialed is busy."

Of course. I should have gotten used to this by now. My chest tightens, a frown settling deep on my face. He needs to know. He has to know. So, I text him.

Liam, I'm pregnant.

The reply is instant. Too fast. Almost like he had been waiting to crush me.

Abort it.

I only want Sasha.

A photo follows. Liam—my Liam—lying in bed with Sasha, his arms curled around her bare shoulders. My vision blurs as I notice the necklace around her neck. The ancient red diamond. Three days ago, Liam bought it in China, clutching it in his palm like it was the most sacred thing in the world. He had spent hours just staring at it, obsessed. And now, it rests against her collarbone. Not mine. Never mine.

The betrayal crushes me like a tidal wave, my stomach churning so violently I nearly retch. My body trembles as I clutch my phone, my fingers tightening until my knuckles turn white.

Abort it.

The words carve into my brain like a jagged knife, their echoes shredding every last bit of sanity I have left. The room begins to spin. My breath shortens. My nostrils clog, forcing me to gasp through my mouth like a fish out of water.

A sharp pain rips through my abdomen. Something’s wrong.

I glance down, my vision wavering. The sheets beneath me are soaked—a deep, horrific red. My feet are covered in it. I’m bleeding.

I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. My body tilts, falling backward onto the bed as everything becomes hazy. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, deafening. The edges of my vision darken. Am I dying? Wouldn’t that be better?

The door crashes open. A woman rushes to my side, her voice shrill with panic.

"Ma’am, you’re bleeding!"

She shouts for the doctor, but I barely hear her. I should be terrified. I should be fighting to stay conscious. But I don’t want to be saved.

I squeeze my eyes shut, retreating into the only place where the pain can’t reach me—the past.

It was Christmas. Liam and I had gone on vacation. My idea, of course. He was always working, always too busy. I dragged him down the mountain to snowboard, laughing at his fear—until he saw a four-year-old zoom past us doing tricks. His ego couldn’t handle that. He had to prove himself.

That evening, we were intimate for the first time.

Liam had pressed me against the kitchen counter, his hands wandering over my stomach, his fingers skillfully opening my jeans. His lips collided with mine, heated, insatiable.

I recall how he lifted me to the bed as if I were featherlight. As he approached me, he tore off his shirt, his muscles flexed, his physique shaped like a deity. I had never spotted the tattoo on his waist before—a deep design etched into his flesh. I intended to ask about it, but I felt too confused.

His eyes devoured me.

And when he kissed me, when he trailed his lips down my neck, marking me, worshiping me, I was his.

My body burned for him as I tore off my clothes, watching him struggle to remove his own. He growled in frustration, yanking his boxers down before pulling me flush against him. My breath hitched as I felt him—hard, massive.

I was nervous. But excited. This was Liam. My Liam.

And then he thrust.

Pain and pleasure merged into one, my body stretching, accommodating, breaking. He moved fast, each stroke deeper, harder, unraveling me until I was nothing but a quivering mess beneath him. My nails dug into the sheets. My cries filled the air.

He demanded I moan his name. And I did. Again. And again. Until the moment he spilled into me, his warmth flooding me, his grip tightening like he never wanted to let go.

Lies.

I snap back to the present as the door swings open again. Not the doctor.

I hear murmuring, the nurse greeting someone. But my attention sharpens at her words.

I try to move, to climb out of bed, but my body feels impossibly heavy. Like my own flesh is betraying me. I fall—hard—to the cold, sterile floor, my arms too weak to catch me. A sharp cry rips from my throat, but I clamp my hands over my mouth.

And then, I hear his voice.

My blood runs cold. My breath hitches. My stomach twists in agonizing knots.

No. It can’t be.

Tears spill freely down my face as I force my lips apart, barely managing to whisper the words clawing up my throat.

"I need my husband!"