Steele’s Redemption

Chapter 7

Emma

I woke up disoriented, and for one terrible second I didn't know where I was.

No water stains on the ceiling. No sound of Derek's boots in the hallway. Just gray morning light through floor-to-ceiling windows, and sheets that smelled like nothing—clean, unfamiliar, expensive.

The penthouse.

I lay there a moment, letting my heartbeat settle, cataloguing the difference between this and every place I'd slept in the last three weeks. A real mattress. A door that locked from my side. Silence that didn't feel like it was waiting for something bad to happen.

I didn't trust it. Not yet.

My duffel bag sat where I'd left it, half-unpacked, my life reduced to a stack of secondhand clothes and a paperback with a cracked spine. I made myself get up and finish unzipping it, folding shirts into drawers that already smelled faintly of cedar, like nothing had ever been kept in them before me.

That was when the nausea hit.

It came out of nowhere—a sudden roll in my stomach that had me gripping the dresser, breathing through my nose until it passed. Stress, I told myself. I hadn't eaten a real meal in days, and my body was catching up on the fear I'd been outrunning.

I splashed water on my face in the guest bathroom and went looking for the kitchen instead.

---

Jake was already up, a mug of coffee in front of him, laptop open like he'd been working for a while. He glanced up when I came in, and I braced for questions, but he just nodded toward the counter.

"There's coffee. Eggs if you want them—I can make more."

"I'm fine." My stomach disagreed almost immediately, another wave rising just at the smell of the coffee. I sat down anyway, determined to eat something.

Two bites into toast and I had to set it down, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth.

Jake didn't hover. He didn't ask if I was okay in that overly careful voice people used when they thought you might break. He just slid a glass of water toward me and said, "There's a clinic nearby if you want to get checked out. No pressure. Or I can grab you something from the pharmacy, whatever you need."

"It's probably just—" I stopped, because I didn't actually know what it was just. Stress. Exhaustion. The bruises still healing under my ribs.

Then it hit me, sitting there with dry toast going stale in front of me.

I couldn't remember my last period.

I sat very still, running back through the last month in my head—the night I fled, the shop, the couch, the room I'd rented—and realized I hadn't been keeping track of anything except how many days had passed since I'd last seen Derek's face. Three weeks. Maybe more. And before that, things had stopped feeling normal long before I ran.

"Emma?" Jake's voice was low. "You went somewhere."

"I need to buy something," I said. "At the pharmacy. Can I go? Myself?"

He studied me for a second, and I watched him decide not to ask why. "I'll drive you. You go in alone."

---

The test sat on the bathroom counter for three full minutes while I stared at my own reflection, refusing to look down.

When I finally did, two pink lines stared back at me, steady and undeniable.

I don't know how long I sat on the edge of that unfamiliar tub. Long enough that my legs went numb. Long enough that the sunlight moved across the tile.

Derek's child.

The thought made my stomach turn again, sharper this time, laced with something closer to grief than nausea. I had run from him with nothing but a duffel bag and $73, certain that whatever came next would at least be *mine*—my choices, my mistakes, my life to rebuild. And now some part of him was going to be inside me for the next seven months whether I wanted it there or not.

Except it wasn't Derek in there. It was just—someone. Something new, blameless, that had nothing to do with the man who put it there.

I hated how much that thought softened the panic instead of sharpening it.

I found Jake in the living room. He looked up, read something on my face before I said a word, and set his laptop aside.

"I'm pregnant," I said. My voice came out flatter than I expected.

He didn't say anything for a second. Just nodded slowly, like he was giving the words room to land. "Okay. We'll figure it out. Whatever you need."

"There's more." My hands were shaking. I pressed them flat against my thighs. "You should know why I finally left. Why that night, and not before."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to." I made myself keep going before the words could slip back down my throat. "The night I ran—that last night—he came home drunk. Worse than usual. He said I'd embarrassed him at some dinner, and he wanted to—" My throat closed. I forced it open again. "He said he was going to remind me who I belonged to."

Jake went very still, but he didn't move toward me. He just waited.

"I tried to stop him," I whispered. "I told him no. I fought him, Jake, I did, but he's twice my size and he just—" My voice cracked apart. "He kept saying I was his wife. Like that meant I didn't get to say no. Like marrying him meant he already owned that part of me too."

The room was silent except for my own ragged breathing.

"He r***d me." Saying the word out loud felt like breaking something open. "That's what I ran from. That night. Not just the bruises. That."

Jake's jaw tightened, but his voice, when it came, was steady. "Being married to him never gave him the right to do that to you. Not once. Not ever."

"I know that." My voice broke completely. "I know that, but some part of me still thought—"

"You don't have to finish that sentence." He said it gently, no anger bleeding into it, just quiet certainty. "Emma, look at me. None of this was something you failed to prevent. He did this. Not you."

I couldn't hold myself together anymore. The sob tore out of me before I could stop it, ugly and loud in the too-clean apartment.

"I know it's been weeks," I said, when I could form words again. "I know there's nothing left to prove on my body. I'm not looking for that. I just—I needed you to know why."

"I know." His voice was careful, unhurried. "When you're ready, a doctor can confirm the pregnancy, check your health, go over your options. If you want to put what happened on record—your account, in your own words—she can document that too. Not evidence. Just your voice on file, in case you ever want it. That part is entirely your call."

"Okay." I wiped my face with the back of my hand. "Okay. Maybe."

"Can I sit with you?" Jake asked. "Just sit. Nothing else."

I nodded because I couldn't speak, and he crossed the room slowly, lowering himself onto the couch beside me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him without him ever reaching for me first.

I leaned into his shoulder and let myself fall apart, and for once, no one told me to stop.