LILITH AND THE BIKER

CHAPTER EIGHT

LILITH POV

Three months.

Ninety-one days.

I had counted every single one of them.

Some people believed time had a way of softening mistakes, smoothing over reckless choices until they bled into background noise. They were wrong. Time didn't heal mistakes—it simply gave them room to take root, expand, and blossom into devastating consequences.

My fingers tightened around the manila folder resting heavy on my lap.

Patient:Lilith Hart

Gestational Age:12 Weeks

The stark black typography blurred for a moment, and I forced myself to look away. If I kept staring at those numbers, they would become real. And if they became real, the carefully constructed wall of denial keeping my mind intact would crumble into dust.

The private obstetrics waiting room at St. Rowan Medical Center was suffocatingly serene. Soft pastel walls, low-frequency ambient music, and a muted television mounted in the corner displaying a morning talk show no one was watching.

Across from me, a heavily pregnant woman gently rested both hands on her swollen abdomen. Beside her, her partner leaned in, whispering something into her ear that drew a quiet, radiant laugh from her lips.

I looked away instantly, my chest tightening. I wasn't envious. Envy required wanting their life, and I didn't want their life.

I just felt completely, horribly out of place.

Lilith Hart?

I snapped my head up. A nurse in crisp navy scrubs stood in the doorway, holding a digital tablet and offering a warm, practiced smile.

"Yes," I said, my voice barely carrying across

If you'll follow me?"

My legs felt like lead as I stood, my heels making a sharp, hollow sound against the polished floorboards of the corridor. Everything smelled of medical-grade disinfectant and cold lavender. Clean. Sterile. Completely detached from human messiness.

I wondered if the people walking these halls ever stopped to consider that hospitals housed just as much silent devastation as they did joy.

The nurse pushed open a heavy frosted-glass door, revealing a private consultation room equipped with state of the art diagnostic machinery.

"You can take a seat right there, Miss Hart," she instructed gently, pointing toward a soft leather chair positioned beside an examination table. She handed me a thin metal clipboard. "I just need you to complete these final consent forms and initial the medical history section. The doctor will be with you in just a moment."

Consent.

Such a simple, clinical word. It didn't feel simple in my hands.

I stared down at the crisp white paper, the ballpoint pen hovering over the signature line. My hand froze, utterly refusing to make the stroke.

Instead, my left palm drifted downward, resting instinctively over my lower abdomen.

Twelve weeks.

Sean.

His name was a ghost that haunted my thoughts when my defenses slipped. Three months since the velvet shadows of Black Halo. Three months since I had quietly gathered my dress and slipped out of his penthouse before the sun even touched the horizon, leaving him sleeping peacefully in those silk sheets.

One night. One stranger. One catastrophic, life-altering mistake.

I closed my eyes, drawing in a shaky breath.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to the empty room.

The words slipped out before I could stop them. I wasn't even sure who the apology belonged to. Myself, for letting my guard down? The tiny, fragile life beginning to form inside me?

A sudden, sharp knock on the wooden door shattered the quiet room.

I straightened instantly, pulling my hand away from my stomach and setting the clipboard on the side table. My pulse remained steady. It didn't matter who walked through that door.

To me, this was just another medical professional routine consultation with another signature to process.

The brass handle turned smoothly.

A pair of immaculate, hand crafted black leather shoes stepped across the threshold.

Followed by long, tailored trousers.

A stark white lab coat draped over broad shoulders.

Strong, familiar hands holding a digital chart.

And then... his face.

The air was violently sucked from my lungs.

No.

F*ck!!!No, no, no.

Sean!!

For one suspended second, the universe ceased to turn. Neither of us moved.

His broad hand was still resting on the chrome door handle, his sharp jaw locked tight. Mine remained hovering inches above my lap, fingers trembling slightly against the fabric of my skirt.

His grey eyes stormy, perceptive, and entirely unforgettable lifted from the chart and locked onto mine.

The color drained from his face with terrifying speed, leaving his sharp cheekbones hollow. His chest heaved once, a subtle, involuntary hitch of breath breaking his composure.

"Lilith.

He spoke my name in a quiet, wrecked whisper that barely cut through the hum of the air conditioner.

Every survival instinct in my body screamed at me to bolt from the chair, push past him, and disappear into the streets. But my limbs were paralyzed, frozen beneath the crushing weight of his gaze.

Why does It had to be him.

The man I had spent ninety one days trying to erase from my memory.

And judging by the way his gaze slowly dropped from my face down to my lap, tracking the path to where my hand had been resting protective over my stomach...