Pregnant With My Father-In-Law’s Baby

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Amara’s POV

The stairs leading up to the servant attic were narrow, steep, and coated in a thick layer of dust.

Every step felt like dragging a serrated blade through my unhealed stomach. My breath came in ragged, wheezing gasps, my hands scraping against the rough brick walls just to keep my body upright. By the time I pushed open the creaky wooden door, the faint heat from the lower floors had completely vanished, replaced by a freezing, drafty bite that cut straight to my bones.

The attic was tiny, lit only by a cracked dormer window that let in the pale, icy moonlight. A single rusted cot sat in the corner, stripped of sheets, its bare mattress stained and smelling of damp straw.

I collapsed onto the thin mattress, pulling my knees up toward my chest as violent shivers wracked my frame. Tears slipped down my cheeks, hot against my freezing skin.

Look at you, a bitter, dark voice whispered inside my mind. Discarded. Starving. Bleeding.

Naya, my inner wolf, suddenly lifted her head from the dark corners of my subconscious. Her golden eyes weren't whimpery anymore; they flashed with a low, dangerous ember of cold fury. She bared her blood-stained teeth, letting out a low, vibrating growl that shook through my chest.

She was right. The time for weeping was over.

I sat up slowly, wiping the wet streaks from my face with the sleeve of my ruined dress. My chest heaved, but the heavy, suffocating cloud of despair began to burn away, replaced by an icy, crystal-clear resolve.

They thought they had broken me. Michael thought he had crushed my spirit, and Sienna thought she had won the crown she had lusted after for years. They wanted me to starve on wild oranges and freeze in the dark, believing I would fade away like a quiet ghost.

They had no idea.

My fingers reached into my leather bag, pulling out the small, plain notepad and pen Raymond had left for me alongside the cash. Sitting cross-legged on the filthy cot, wrapped in the thin plush robe, I clicked the pen.

The ink bled into the paper as I wrote three heavy, underlined words at the top of the page:

THE SILVER MOON DESTRUCTION

My eyes narrowed into slits as I began to draft the blueprint of their ruin, line by line, calculating every move with cold, unyielding precision.

1. Financial Ruin: Michael’s power in the Northern Council relied entirely on the Silver Moon’s wealth. His expansive territories were overleveraged, funded by high-risk diplomatic loans and trade treaties. If those treaties were severed, if his trade routes were quietly bought out or blockaded by a syndicate force... his pack would go bankrupt within months.

2. Total Public Humiliation: Sienna lived for status. She wanted the title of Luna, the grand galas, the designer silk, and the envy of the noble houses. I would ensure every high-ranking Alpha in the Syndicate learned the truth about her—that she was nothing more than an opportunistic mistress who stole her sister’s husband, completely unfit to sit on a throne.

3. Utter Regret: I would make Michael watch everything he built crumble to ash. I would make him realize that the "barren, useless shell" he discarded was the very foundation that kept his kingdom standing.

For now, I had to survive. I had to swallow my pride, take the hits, play the pathetic, defeated stray, and let them believe they had won. Let them drop their guard. Let them think I was powerless.

I hid the notepad deep inside the torn lining of the mattress, laid my head back down on the hard pillow, and let the darkness take me.

The next morning, the torment started early.

I was jolted awake by the violent, echoing bang of the attic door slamming open against the stone wall.

"Get up, you lazy b***h!"

Sienna stood in the doorway, framed by the bright morning light streaming from the stairwell. She wore an expensive, ivory silk robe, her hair perfectly styled, her face practically glowing with smug arrogance. She held a heavy, overflowing wicker basket stuffed to the brim with dirty laundry—mostly Michael’s heavy tactical uniforms and her own stained dresses.

I blinked against the harsh light, pulling myself up on the cot, my whole body aching from the cold.

"What do you want, Sienna?" I rasped, my throat raw.

"What do I want?" Sienna sneered, walking into the small room and dumping the heavy basket directly onto my lap, the weight pressing brutally against my sore stomach. "I want you to make yourself useful. Michael said you don't get a single meal unless you earn your keep. You are going to take this down to the washroom, scrub every piece by hand in the cold water basin, and then you are going to the kitchen to cook breakfast for Michael and me."

I stared at the basket, then looked up at her, keeping my face entirely blank, masking the deadly fire burning behind my eyes.

"The washroom water is freezing," I said quietly. "I am sick, Sienna."

"I don't give a damn if you're dying!" Sienna spat, stepping right up to the edge of the cot. Her face twisted into a grotesque mask of rage. "You are a servant here now! You bow to me! You do what I tell you to do, or I’ll have Michael throw you into the forest!"

Before I could even process her movement, Sienna raised her hand and brought her palm cracking hard across my cheek.

SNAP.

The blow was loud and brutal, snapping my head to the side. A sharp, burning sting flared across my face, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth where my inner cheek hit my teeth.

Sienna smirked, looking down at her hand. "That's to remind you of your place, Amara—"

She never finished her sentence.

Six years of repressed fury, of physical abuse, of watching her steal my life, exploded through my veins like liquid fire. Naya roared inside my head, shattering the weak, helpless persona I had been forcing myself to wear.

I didn't think. I reacted.

I lunged off the cot, throwing my full weight into my arm, and swung my hand back.

CRACK!

The slap echoed through the small attic like a thunderbolt. The sheer force of my strike hit Sienna so hard her head whipped around, her loud gasp cutting off instantly. Her pale cheek immediately flared into a dark, angry red outline of my hand.

Sienna stumbled backward, her eyes going wide with absolute, stunning shock. She touched her face, staring at me as if she couldn't believe the broken shell in front of her had dared to strike back.

"You... you hit me?" she whispered, her voice trembling with sudden, hysterical rage. "You hit me?!"

Before I could answer, Sienna’s face contorted into something wild and unhinged.

She threw herself backward onto the hard stone floor, deliberately smashing her elbow against the ground, and began to scream at the top of her lungs.

"AHHHH! MICHAEL! HELP ME! SHE'S KILLING ME! MICHAEL!"

She began frantically rolling around on the dusty floorboards, tearing at her own silk robe, pulling her hair into a messy frenzy, weeping hysterically as if she were being mauled alive.

"HELP! MICHAEL, SHE DISLOCATED MY SHOULDER! AHHH!"

Heavy, thunderous footsteps immediately slammed up the wooden stairs, moving at lightning speed.

Within seconds, Michael burst through the doorway, his chest heaving, his dark hair messy, his golden wolf eyes flashing with immediate, lethal panic.

"Sienna!" he roared, scanning the room.

He saw Sienna thrashing wildly on the floor, weeping hysterically, clutching her arm and holding her red, swollen cheek, while I stood near the cot, breathing heavily with my hand still raised.

"Michael!" Sienna shrieked, scrambling toward him on her knees, wrapping her arms around his legs like a terrified child. "She attacked me! I came up to offer her some bread, and she slammed me into the floor! She tried to break my arm! My stomach hurts so bad... I can't breathe, Mikey... the baby!"

Michael’s face transformed into a terrifying mask of absolute, murderous fury. His Alpha aura flared so violently that the tiny window in the attic rattled in its frame.

"You insane, psychotic b***h!" Michael roared, his voice shaking the stone walls as he glared at me. "She came up here out of the kindness of her heart, and you lay your filthy hands on her?!"

"She hit me first!" I shouted, holding my ground despite the crushing weight of his aura pressing on my ribs. "Look at my face, Michael! She slapped me!"

"Shut up!" Michael snarled, stepping closer as Sienna whimpered frantically against his legs. "I don't care what excuse you have! She is carrying my child! She is my future Luna, and you are a venomous, jealous parasite who can't stand seeing her happy!"

He leaned down and picked Sienna up gently, cradling her against his broad chest as if she were made of delicate glass. Sienna buried her face into his neck, letting out soft, dramatic moans of agony, clinging to his shirt.

Michael turned his lethal, glowing golden eyes back onto me, his jaw clenched so hard his facial muscles turned to iron.

"I am taking her to the hospital in the city right now," Michael growled, his voice dipping into an absolute, dark promise that chilled me to the bone. "And if anything happens to my heir, my precious baby... I will chop you off and feed you to the vultures of the sky."

He whipped around, barking orders down the stairwell to his guards to lock down the floor, turning to carry Sienna down the narrow steps.

As Michael turned his back, carrying her gently in his arms, Sienna leaned her head over his broad shoulder.

Her weeping instantly stopped.

She turned her face toward me, her tear-streaked cheeks twisting into a sharp, venomous, evil smile. With Michael completely oblivious, Sienna lifted her hand from his neck, raised her middle finger straight at me, and silently mouthed the words:

Go to hell, Mrs. Good Perfect Girl.