Pregnant for her pretend husband.

Chapter three

“I’m a virgin.”

The words hung in the air between them, and Haley watched his eyes widen with shock. For a moment, she thought he would push her away, would tell her to leave, would cal for someone else.

Impossible, his expression said. Not here. Not you.

But his face was getting paler by the second, his breathing more labored. Whatever was happening to him, it was real. The poison was real.

And somehow, despite everything, she believed him.

“Are you sure?” His voice was strained. “Because if we do this, ”

“You said you’re dying.” Haley’s hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold onto him as she helped him stand. “I can’t let you die because I was scared.”

I’m saving a life, she told herself as they stumbled toward the bed. That’s what matters. That’s what makes this bearable.

He collapsed onto the mattress, pulling her down with him. Up close, she could see the fine tremors running through his body, the sweat on his temples, the way his pupils were dilated with pain.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised, and there was something almost tender in his voice. “I swear I’ll be gentle.”

“Should we use, ” She couldn’t finish the sentence, embarrassment flooding her cheeks.

“I can’t have children.” His laugh was bitter. “Medical condition. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Can’t have children. The words registered through her haze of fear and strange arousal, that drink, whatever it was, was making her skin feel like it was on fire, making her hyper aware of every place their bodies touched.

He kissed her then, and it wasn’t what she expected. Not brutal or demanding, but searching, almost questioning. Like he was asking permission with every touch.

What happened next was a blur of sensations. His hands, surprisingly gentle despite his desperation. The feeling of fabric sliding away. The strange heat from the drink making everything more intense, more overwhelming. Pain, yes, but also something else, something that built and built until she thought she might shatter from it.

She watched his face as the poison’s grip loosened, as color returned to his cheeks, as his breathing steadied. His eyes met hers in those final moments, and she saw wonder there. Confusion. Something that might have been gratitude or might have been guilt.

When it was over, he pulled her close, his heartbeat steady and strong against her ear. Within minutes, he was asleep, the sleep of someone who’d truly believed he was dying and found himself unexpectedly alive.

Haley lay there in the darkness, his arms around her, and tried to process what had just happened.

She’d given away her virginity to a stranger. In an escort establishment. For no money.

But he was breathing. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath her cheek. She’d saved him.

Surely that counts for something, she thought desperately. Even if the method was…

she couldn’t finish that thought.

As the first hints of dawn crept through the windows, Haley carefully extracted herself from his arms. He didn’t wake, just made a small sound and rolled over. In sleep, he looked younger, less dangerous. Almost peaceful.

She found her clothes scattered across the floor and dressed quickly, quietly. Her body ached in unfamiliar ways, evidence of what they’d done. What she’d done.

At the door, she paused and looked back. She didn’t even know his name.

Better that way, she told herself. Better if this just becomes a memory. A strange, impossible night that never happened.

She slipped out into the hallway and didn’t look back.

The walk home took an hour. Richard was passed out drunk on the couch, so at least she was spared another beating. Haley crept to her room, stripped off her clothes, and stood under a cold shower until her skin went numb.

She should feel dirty. Ashamed. Ruined.

Instead, she felt… strange. Confused. And underneath everything else, a tiny kernel of something that might have been wonder. He’d held her like she was precious. Like she mattered. No one had ever touched her like that, with care instead of violence.

Stop it, she ordered herself. He thought you were a prostitute. He paid for that room. This wasn’t some romantic fairy tale.

The days that followed blurred together. Richard’s beatings. Failed job applications. The slow march toward June fifteenth and Ferdinand Russo’s ownership.

Two months passed.

Then came the morning she couldn’t keep her breakfast down.

And the next morning.

And the next.

Haley stared at herself in the mirror, at the slight swell of her belly that hadn’t been there before, and felt the world shift beneath her feet.

No. No, no, no. He said he couldn’t have children.

The pregnancy test cost 12 dollars, nearly all she had left. She took it in the gas station bathroom, hands shaking so badly she almost dropped it.

Two pink lines.

Two tiny pink lines that destroyed her entire world.

She tried to hide it. Wore baggy clothes. Avoided Richard when possible. But he had a nose for weakness like sharks have a nose for blood.

She came home one day to find her mattress torn apart, her savings gone, and the pregnancy test box in Richard’s fist.

“Pregnant?” His voice was terrifyingly quiet. “You stupid little w***e. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

The first punch split her lip. The second cracked something in her jaw. Haley curled into a ball, arms wrapped around her stomach, trying to protect the tiny life growing inside her.

“Ferdinand wanted virgin goods! Unspoiled! How am I supposed to sell spoiled goods?” Another kick, this one to her stomach, and Haley screamed.

“I’ll beat those bastards out of you myself, ”

Survival instinct kicked in. Haley rolled, scrambled, ran. She heard Richard bellowing behind her, but terror gave her speed she didn’t know she possessed.

She ran until her lungs burned. Until her legs gave out. Until she collapsed on a street corner three miles away, heaving and sobbing.

My baby, she thought, hands pressed to her still flat stomach. I have to save my baby.

The establishment. She had to find him. The father. He’d been kind that night, underneath the desperation. Surely if he knew, he would help. He had to help.

The receptionist remembered her. “You’re the girl from Room 203. Martin’s referral.”

“Please.” Haley was begging, pride long since abandoned. “I need to contact the man from that night. The client. I’m pregnant, and I need, ”

“Honey, I don’t have client information. Privacy policies.” But the woman’s expression softened at whatever she saw in Haley’s face. “I can give you the contact for the person who booked the room. But that’s all I can do. And you didn’t get it from me.”

She scribbled a number on a napkin and slid it across the desk.

Haley’s hands shook as she dialed. The phone rang once. Twice.

“Gregory Blackwell speaking.”

“Mr. Blackwell, I, my name is Haley Michelson. I need to contact someone who was at your establishment two months ago. Room 203. It’s urgent. I’m pregnant, and he’s the father, ”

Silence on the other end. Then a laugh that made her skin crawl.

“Well, well. This is unexpected. Let me make some calls. I’ll have him phone you within the hour.”

Hope surged through her chest. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The callback came forty three minutes later.

“This is Damon.” The voice was cold, clipped, unmistakably the man from that night. “I understand you have something to tell me.”

Relief made her knees weak. “Yes! I’m pregnant. I know you said you couldn’t have children, but maybe the doctors were wrong, ”

“Let me stop you right there.” The words were ice. “I remember you. The prostitute. And now you’re trying to trap me with some bastard you probably don’t even know the father of?”

The words hit like physical blows. “What? No! I’ve never, you were my first, ”

“I. Don’t. Care.” Each word was precisely enunciated, designed to wound. “Those children, if they even exist, are nothing to me. You’re nothing to me. You were a transaction, and the transaction is complete.”

“Please, ” Tears streamed down her face. “Please, I’m not lying. I have nowhere to go. My uncle, ”

“Not my problem. If you contact me again, I’ll have you arrested for harassment. Lose this number and any fantasy you had about me playing daddy to your w***e’s spawn.”

The line went dead.

Haley stood frozen on the sidewalk, phone pressed to her ear, listening to the dial tone. Around her, the city moved on, people laughing, talking, living their lives while hers fell apart.

He’d called her a w***e. He’d rejected his own child without a moment’s hesitation. The man who’d held her so tenderly, who’d looked at her with wonder, who’d promised to be gentle, that man had just destroyed her.

No, something hard and cold crystallized in her chest. Fine. I’ll do this alone.

She would work three jobs. Sleep in shelters. Beg if she had to. Her baby would have love. Would have her. And would never, ever know their father’s name.

That night, exhausted and broken and walking without paying attention, Haley stepped off the curb.

She didn’t see the car until it was too late.

The impact sent her flying. Pain exploded through her body. The last thing she thought before darkness took her was a prayer: Please let my baby survive.