Pregnant With My Child

"Excuse me?" Maeve spat, jerking her arm backward. Her desperate attempt to pull away proved useless. The tall stranger’s fingers clamped around her wrist like a steel band, unyielding and hot against her skin.

"Why do you have my scent on you?" he repeated. His voice dropped into a demanding, rough timbre that vibrated in the sweltering air of the parking lot.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Let go of me," she demanded, her breathing growing ragged. She planted her feet on the asphalt, trying to use her body weight to break his hold, but he felt like a statue carved from solid rock.

Nora stepped into the fray, her face pale but her posture rigid. She positioned herself near Maeve’s shoulder. "Look, buddy, she just had a medical procedure done inside the clinic. Whatever this weird obsession is, drop it. Take the cash we offered and back off right now."

The stranger ignored Nora. He did not even spare her a side glance. His unnaturally vivid golden eyes remained locked onto Maeve’s pale face, tracking every flicker of her expression.

"I said, let go," Maeve snapped, her voice cracking with mounting stress. She twisted her wrist hard, meaning to rip her arm from his grasp, but a sudden wave of physical exhaustion hit her. The sheer emotional toll of the day finally crashed down. Her knees simply gave out, buckling beneath her weight.

She expected to hit the hard pavement. Instead, the man moved with blinding speed. He caught her falling weight before she could even register the drop. But rather than just steadying her on her feet and stepping back, he used his grip to haul her small frame flush against his broad chest. Hard muscle met her soft curves. Before Maeve could process the extreme physical boundary violation, he leaned his head down and buried his face in the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply against her bare skin and hair, drawing in a long, deliberate breath as if memorizing her essence.

Deep revulsion flared in her chest at the invasive contact. Gathering the last dregs of her strength, Maeve brought both hands up and shoved hard against his chest. "Get off me!"

He let her step back, though his imposing presence still loomed over her. "I am not mistaken," he stated, his gaze tracking her every move. "You carry my scent."

"You are out of your mind," Maeve gasped, clutching her bruised wrist against her stomach. "I have never seen you before today. We do not know each other."

"You were inside that clinic." He pointedly looked at her abdomen, then dragged his intense stare back up to her eyes. "What specific medical procedure did you have?"

Maeve pressed her lips into a tight line, refusing to humor his invasive interrogation.

Nora grabbed Maeve's shoulder, pulling her another step away. "We are leaving," Nora warned fiercely, stepping between them. "If you take one step toward us, I will call the police and have you arrested for assault."

The stranger stood unfazed. "What procedure did you just undergo?" he demanded again, his golden eyes narrowing, testing their resolve.

Refusing to give him a single word, Maeve and Nora spun around and fast-walked to Nora’s sedan. They climbed inside and immediately slammed the locks down. Maeve peered out the passenger window, her chest heaving. The massive man stood alone in the sweltering clinic parking lot, a dark, infuriated silhouette against the bright afternoon sun, staring holes into their retreating vehicle.

Nora slammed her foot on the gas, tires screeching slightly as they fled the scene. Maeve slumped against the leather seat, her hands shaking as she pulled out her mobile phone. She swiped past three new missed calls from Preston and navigated straight to her settings menu. She meticulously disabled her location-sharing features, turning off the GPS tracking on all her social and map applications. She opened her notes app and typed a quick reminder to do the same on her laptop the moment she settled down. She was determined to stay hidden from Preston’s relentless digital stalking.

The drive toward Nora’s apartment in Florida passed in heavy silence. They pulled up to the gated entrance, a high-security residential complex tucked in an upscale neighborhood where the rent alone cost a small fortune. The guards recognized Nora’s car and waved them through the iron gates.

As Maeve stepped out of the vehicle and walked toward the sleek glass entrance of the building, a deep, unsettling sensation prickled the base of her spine. The tiny hairs on her arms stood up. She stopped and scanned the empty parking garage, searching the shadows behind the concrete pillars. The feeling of being intensely watched clung to her skin like a physical weight.

"You coming?" Nora called out from the lobby doors.

Maeve shook her head, dismissing the paranoia. It was just the residual stress from the clinic playing tricks on her mind. Her physical need for rest overshadowed everything else. She followed Nora into the building, riding the quiet, mirror-walled elevator up to the top floors.

Inside the apartment, the atmosphere felt safe and muted. The polished floors and subtle lighting offered a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Nora tossed her keys on the kitchen counter.

"I need to run out temporarily to gather some supplies and grab a few clean clothes for you," Nora announced, grabbing her purse again. "Stay put."

Maeve dug into her bag and pulled out her credit card. "Here. Let me pay for it."

Nora waved the card away with a firm shake of her head. "Put that away. I don't want your money, Maeve. We've been friends too long for you to start treating me like an employee."

"Fine," Maeve sighed, sliding the plastic back into her wallet.

Once the front door clicked shut and locked behind Nora, the apartment fell dead silent. Maeve’s phone buzzed on the counter. Another call. She checked the screen—an unknown number. Preston was using new burner phones now. She ignored the relentless barrage of calls, flipping her device face down on the marble countertop.

She trudged into the guest bedroom and stripped off her ruined clothes. Digging through a small dresser, she found a pair of Nora’s old, oversized pajamas she had left behind months ago. The worn fabric felt soft against her sensitive skin. She walked into the adjoining bathroom, washed the grime and sweat from her face, and dried her hair with a fresh towel.

She walked back to the bed and crawled under the heavy duvet. The moment her head hit the pillow, the exhaustion dragged her under. She surrendered to the darkness, succumbing to a heavy, dreamless sleep.

Three hours later, a sharp, aggressive knock shattered the quiet apartment.

Maeve jerked awake. Her heart hammered against her ribs, echoing in her ears. She sat up in the dim room, rubbing the sleep from her groggy eyes. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up with a text from Nora: *Running late with the errands. Food in the fridge. Be back soon.*

Another loud knock rattled the heavy wooden front door, vibrating through the floorboards.

Assuming Nora had simply forgotten her apartment keys in her rush and needed to get in, Maeve tossed her phone onto the mattress. She padded out of the bedroom and walked straight to the entryway. Without bothering to lean forward and check the peephole, she grasped the handle and swung the door open.

Her heart skipped a violent beat.

Standing right there in the narrow, carpeted hallway was the massive, broad-shouldered stranger from the clinic. The dark leather jacket, the imposing stature, the striking golden eyes—he took up the entire doorframe, radiating an oppressive, suffocating heat.

A deep groan of pure disbelief escaped Maeve’s lips. "You."

She immediately threw her entire body weight against the heavy wooden door, intent on slamming it shut in his face. The door moved a few inches before stopping dead. The man had raised a single, flat hand, pressing his palm against the thick wood. He blocked the closing door effortlessly, his muscles barely straining against her frantic pushing.

"We need to talk," he stated. His tone was low, authoritative, and brokered no arguments.

Maeve leaned her forehead heavily against the edge of the door in defeat, her chest heaving with rapid breaths. She gripped the interior doorknob until her knuckles turned a stark white. "I swear, my streak of bad luck lately is unbelievable," she lamented to the floorboards.

She lifted her head and glared directly at him, delivering a firm ultimatum. "If you do not remove your hand and leave this hallway right now, I am calling the police. I mean it."

The man did not blink. The muscles along his square jaw visibly tensed as he studied her tired face. He seemed to be deliberately weighing his next words, calculating the exact impact they would have on her. He stepped a fraction of an inch closer, the sheer size of his frame casting a long shadow over her small figure.

He locked his unnatural golden eyes onto hers and spoke with chilling, unwavering certainty.

"I believe you are currently pregnant with my child."

Maeve’s head snapped up. Her eyes went wide, locking intensely onto his piercing gaze. For a prolonged, agonizing second, her lungs simply stopped working. She forgot how to breathe. The narrow hallway felt as though it were shrinking around her, the oxygen sucked straight out of the air.

Then, the sheer absurdity of the statement washed over her mind. It was so outlandishly impossible, so far removed from any logical reality, that the crushing tension inside her chest snapped. A dry, breathless laugh tumbled past her lips. She stared at this towering stranger, shaking her head as a hysterical edge crept into her chuckle.

"That is it," Maeve declared flatly, her laughter dying out into a cold, hard glare. "This is the final straw. I am officially calling the cops."