I'm Carrying Your Heir, Daddy Abraham [R18+]

Chapter 1 Solyane ‘Sunny’ Storme Check What? I drove deeper into the night along River Road, the darkness pressing close like it had weight, the river beside me nothing more than a shifting shadow, and the headlights carving a narrow path through the silence that felt too vast to bear, my hands tightening on the wheel as the ache inside me grew sharper, more relentless, until the tears finally slipped free, blurring the road into streaks of light while everything I had been holding in threatened to spill over all at once. I wish I could run away so far from all of this pain that is shattering me right now, because I just found out my fiancé was involved in an immoral scandal with my stepmother’s sister! And now that dirty, immoral video is being circulated, everyone will soon know that I have been cheated on. I was cheated on, my world torn apart in ways I can no longer even name. My father lies in a hospital coma, hanging between life and nothing, and I do not even know if I will still have a future in college. Everything I once called safe collapsed in an instant. My wealthy father’s power is gone with his silence, and my stepmother has taken control of everything I depend on, leaving me trapped in a home that no longer feels like mine, surviving on scraps that feel more like punishment than care. I don’t like being like this, but I pity myself so much, like I am drowning in a life I never chose and cannot escape. After driving forty miles through the dark, I finally saw the homestead where my mother was raised, the only place I had left to run to and hide. My tears broke loose and streamed down my face as I hurriedly climbed out of my car, my sobs breaking free with every step I took. I stood on the sagging porch of the weathered homestead my grandparents once owned, now abandoned and silent, as if even time had given up on it. I want to pour all my ache and anger into this place, because I can no longer keep it inside me. I pushed the door open, careful not to break the old wood, and when I locked it behind me, I was finally alone inside. “Ahhhh….” I let out a scream, pouring all my pain into this empty house, not caring anymore if the memories of my grandparents or my mother’s spirit would be disturbed. But my scream broke off midair, and my crying died in my throat as I froze, startled by a low, painful grumbling sound. Painful grumbling sound of a man! I suddenly forgot all my heartache and heavy problems, my focus shifting into sharp caution, thinking someone was in the house, maybe a trespasser. My first instinct was to grab something to defend myself and smash whoever had broken in. Beside the door where I stood, my hand brushed against something on the floor. Even in the dark, I grabbed it silently, ready to use it as a weapon. I was sure the man was hiding somewhere behind the old, huge couch. “Who’s there?” I called out, turning on the flashlight from my phone. No one answered, only another low grunting voice, as if someone was in serious pain. I should be more cautious and alert. The moment I was about to step forward and look behind the couch, a gun fired, shocking my whole being. I dropped what I had picked up as a weapon, and my phone slipped from my hand. In my overwhelming fear, everything went dark again. “Oh God, oh God, why is there a gunshot?” I panicked. I crouched down and frantically groped the floor to find my phone. When I finally got my phone and stood again, I froze in place, completely stunned, my whole body turning cold. The flashlight revealed a tall, broad-shouldered shadow of a man standing behind the couch, a gun already aimed straight at me. “You are not one of them? Confirm!” the stranger growled, his deep voice rumbling through the old homestead, making it feel like the entire place and my whole system were shaking. I couldn’t answer. My mouth wouldn’t open, and my whole body froze in place, locked in fear. “Answer me, or do you want to find your voice again only to realize you’re already in purification in purgatory?” he warned, his tone colder now, each word sharp and heavy with threat. Purification in what? Another gunshot rang out, making me jump violently as I shook and trembled uncontrollably. My phone slipped from my hand again. No one will hear the gunshots, no one will come to save me, because the nearest farmland is several kilometers away. “Say something, unless you’re mute,” he ordered, his voice low and unyielding in the dark. I managed to speak, even though I was scared to the core. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about—that I am one of them? But this is our house… m—my house,” I stammered, my voice shaking with fear. I tried so hard to speak more, even sounding foolish, just to save my life. “But no one lives here anymore. My mom left this to me, but I swear I can hand it over to you, no questions asked—take the creepy old wood, the dusty couch, the probably-haunted cabinets and chests, the rust, the cobwebs, and even the cockroach kingdom. It’s all yours. Just please don’t turn me into a horror story,” I blurted out, my voice cracking in panic. “Shut up with your idiocy!” the man snarled, his voice sharp and brutal as it cut through the dark. “I don’t need to own this trash, rat-infested house.” “Rat-infested house?” That insult cut deep, and anger flared through my fear. “How dare you insult this home where my mother was raised? Rat-infested, yet you chose to trespass here? Then what is your motive? To steal the rats? Fine, take them too, along with the cockroaches and spiders, so your effort won’t go to waste.” He didn’t snarl in response. Instead, a gunshot rang out for the third time, and it struck just beside me. I swear I could feel the bullet’s rush of air and the heat of the gunpowder brush past the side of my left ear. “Please, spare my life,” I begged, my voice breaking as fear took over completely. “My father needs me. He’s in a coma in the hospital. I am the only one who truly cares for him. Don’t kill me. It’s so unfair to my dad if I die before him. Please, have mercy on me.” “I won’t kill you,” he rasped, his voice rough with pain, a low growl cutting through the silence. I heard the sound as he slumped onto the couch, his gun still aimed steadily at me. I could feel it even in the thick darkness pressing around us. “There is still something I can get from you. That’s why I’m not killing you,” he sighed. “I have injuries…” “Injuries?” I repeated under my breath, my mind racing. Is he a convict? Did he escape from prison? Is that why he’s wounded—shot while being chased by the authorities? “From a motorcycle accident. And I am not a fugitive from prison,” the man said with deep annoyance, as though he could read my mind. I cleared my throat and forced myself to ask, gathering what little courage I had left. “So what exactly am I useful for to you? Are you going to make me treat your wounds?” “Not just that,” he responded. “I want you to check something in me too, if it’s still functioning,” he added, his voice low and controlled, carrying a dangerous calm. “Check what?” I asked, my voice barely steady, still trembling with fear. “My f**k!ng pen!s… I need you to check if I’m still fully functional after the f**k!ng accident! If you refuse to help me, this situation will not end well for you, zayche.” (Translation) Зайче / Zayche – “little bunny”