Claimed by my twins father

Chapter4

DANIELLA.'S POV

As I woke up the next day, it took a while before I realized I wasn't at home. The air was too pristine, too clean. The mattress beneath me was soft but strange, the linens not my own. I slowly stood up, pain throughout my body reminding me of something and nothing all at the same time. The bed was empty; he was nowhere to be seen.

I looked over at the side table and saw a crumpled piece of paper resting demurely beside a bottle of water and two painkillers. I picked it up, hands trembling a little more than that.

Last night was out of this world and so are you, tiger. You're beautiful, believe it. – D.

I stared at it for what felt like an eternity. My throat closed up. I had no clue what his name was. I remembered his voice. The smell of pine and citrus. The feel of his touch and the feeling of not being shattered. But his face? That was a haze. I was so drunk. Too drunk. I couldn't even remember which room we had checked into, or how we had gotten there. Only the waves of euphoria and the reassuring press of security as I had fallen asleep. And now he was gone. Poof.

I clutched the note to my chest, tears threatening to spring to my eyes. Remorse churned inside me, but not for what had happened. Only that I couldn't remember it correctly. Only that I didn't manage to get his name.

I got dressed in silence, folded the note, and left the hotel with nothing to prove but the agony of what I could not hold.

—

Things with the Kellingstons only got worse from there. The rejection scandal spread fast through our social circles, and Dad had been working overtime to regain what little dignity we had left. I kept quiet the whole time, skipping family dinners and social gatherings, not wanting to be drawn into any conversation about Davon. But when they planned a dinner with the Kellingstons at one of the city's higher-end restaurants, I didn't object.

Because for once, I had something to say.

I wore a tight black dress and heels that made me feel like the confident type. I didn't flinch when we arrived, even when I saw Davon and Vaela already seated at the table with Carl and Helena. Her catty expression was toned down today, though, probably scared straight by her mother's warning glare.

Dinner was classy. Our parents were having a light conversation, discussing stocks, real estate, the economy, anything but the elephant in the room. They barely looked at me, and I did the same. I was exhausted from being invisible and silent.

Once the plates were taken away and dessert menus handed out, I slowly stood up from my chair. My napkin fell to the floor, but I didn't pause to retrieve it. I could feel everyone's eyes turning toward me.

"I have something to say," I announced, my voice sharp but not loud. Just firm.

Dad stiffened. "Sit down," he muttered under his breath.

"No," I said, my voice louder now. "I won't. Not this time."

Davon finally raised an eyebrow to face me at least.

"I think it's time we all came to terms with the fact that this engagement is not happening," I continued on, voice steady despite having somewhat shaky hands," Davon made this plenty clear in the first place."

Carl heaved a tired breath, already rubbing his temples. "Listen, there is still time to salvage this mess. This union can be saved still…"

"No," I cut in, my gaze flicking to him. "You could have cared to save it earlier before your son went and f****d Vaela."

Stunned silence. Helena gasped. My dad's face went bright red, jaw clenched so tight he'd snap teeth. Vaela halted mid-sip of water, eyes huge with something almost like horror, like I'd finally cracked away from the persona she’d forced me into.

Davon's lips curled slightly, but he didn't say no.

I reached for my bag, threw my coat around my shoulders, and looked at the table one final time. "I deserve better than this. And I'm going to get it.”

And then I got up and left the restaurant, my heels echoing off the shiny floors, never once looking back.

——

Thus ended the Kellingston-George dream in smithereens. With my proclamation hanging in mid-air like ash from a flame that had smoldered far too long, there was nothing to salvage. Our parents were scrambling, trying to glue back together a proposal that had already reduced to ashes. But I'd made my statement. And I wasn't apologizing.

What came next wasn't so good and more stifling. I'd let down Dad yet again. His silence was louder than any yelling. Then the words, cold as ice and a knife.

"You're failing me. In everything," he snapped one morning when he walked by me at the breakfast table. “Not us, not the family. Me.”

I said nothing. I just stared down at my munched toast, shutting him out. Shutting everyone out.

I was so tired of being judged. Of being compared, measured, weighed, and always found lacking. I didn't care anymore. About anything. Not the sneering looks. Not the constant gossip. Not the silence in my own home that hung over me like a wet blanket full of ice.

Then… I got sick.

At first, there was fatigue. I blamed that on stress. Then came the headaches, the nausea, the insomnia. Food was Enemy Number One. Everything smelled too strong, too greasy. At least twice a day, I vomited. But still, no one was paying attention. No one ever asked. I had become invisible, and everyone was content with keeping me invisible.

There were days I'd simply lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling, contemplating what it would be like to simply. stop. Let the disease take me. Let loneliness get the better of me. But then my mind would stray back to him. Stranger D, as I'd taken to refer to him. That one night that I couldn't remember properly, but couldn't help thinking about. His letter, still secreted in the drawer of my bedside table, was smudged slightly by the tears that'd fallen over rereading it.

It made me feel something. Warmth? Hope? I didn't know. But it kept me alive.

The next morning, after barely being able to keep down a glass of water and shaking my way through a hot shower, I knew I'd had enough. I wasn't ready to die. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

I walked to the hospital, a white face, arms wrapped tightly around me. The waiting room was half-filled, but I was alone within it. Everything went in and out of sight as I sat, fingers entwined, head hung down.

A nurse finally called out, "Ms. George?

I took her to a small examination room and sat stiffly on the edge of the bed. A young doctor woman with a kind smile walked in a minute later, her ID tag swaying as she moved.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Lim. I'll be checking you in today. Why are you here?"

I ran through my symptoms, voice low, counting them off one by one: the nausea, the exhaustion, the vomiting, the food aversions, the dizziness. She listened intently, nodding and taking notes.

"Okay," she said after a moment. "Let's take a closer look. Please lie back for me."

I obeyed, my heart racing. She wheeled a small cart to my bedside and pulled up my top, squirting some gel onto my lower belly. My hands trembled as she rolled the ultrasound wand across my skin, eyes scanning the screen beside her.

I looked up at the ceiling, not wanting to lose it. Was it cancer? An ulcer? Something life-threatening illness? But then she made a short sound. A soft laugh. When I turned to her, she was smiling.

Doctors did not smile when life was on the line.

"Ms. George," she said, turning the monitor to show me, "Take a look."

My gaze dropped to the screen and I blinked. There, on the black and white fuzz, was a tiny bean. A tiny flutter at the center, a steady beat.

"What… what is that?" I exclaimed.

She placed a hand on mine, a light touch, and grinned widely, saying, "That's your baby. Congratulations, Ms. George. You're pregnant."

I stared, the word spinning around me, shattering me. Pregnant.