Chapter 175

Chapter 175: Chapter 175

Lysander’s pov

The grey morning light filtered through the reinforced glass, casting the cold grid of the iron bars across the hardwood floor.

I was curled on my side in the corner of the low leather sofa, the heavy wool blanket pulled tight around my shoulders. My teeth were chattering, but my skin felt slick and feverish.

Every breath I pulled into my lungs tasted stale, heavy with the sterile scent of the suppressant wards humming silently from the ceiling corners.

Without warning, my throat clamped shut.

A violent wave of nausea surged straight up from my gut, sour and burning. I scrambled off the sofa, my legs tangling in the blanket, and barely made it to the small adjoining bathroom before throwing myself down onto my knees in front of the porcelain toilet.

I dry-heaved until my ribs cracked with pain, my hands gripping the cold rim of the bowl so hard my knuckles turned white. Nothing came up. My stomach was completely empty, I hadn’t touched the tray of food the guards had slid through the lower door slot the night before.

I lay my forehead against the cool porcelain, gasping for air, cold sweat dripping off the tip of my nose.

The violent retching passed, but the deep, hollow ache in my abdomen remained. It wasn’t just nausea anymore. My entire body felt heavy, bruised from the inside out, my marrow straining against the sudden, massive surge of high-tier hormones flooding my bloodstream.

Slowly, agonizingly, I dragged myself upright and sat back against the cold tile wall.

I pulled up the hem of my oversized sweater.

My waist was still thin, my hipbones sharp, but right below my navel, the smooth line of my lower belly was slightly firm, a subtle, undeniable swell that hadn’t been there two weeks ago.

I pressed my trembling palm flat against the skin.

Beneath my fingers, a steady, rhythmic pulse thrummed deep within my core. It wasn’t my own heartbeat. It was a dense, quiet heat, the unmistakable signature of a developing essence, anchoring itself deep into my body, feeding on my hybrid strength.

Tears, hot and bitter, spilled over my lashes, cutting clean tracks through the dried sweat on my cheeks.

"Who are you?" I whispered to the empty, tiled room, my voice a broken, pathetic thread.

The silence of the bathroom offered no answer.

I closed my eyes, but the dark, terrifying labyrinth of my mind immediately trapped me. The math hit my chest like a physical blow, choking the breath right out of my lungs.

My mind spun backward to the honeymoon, to the quiet villa in the highlands, the warm mountain breeze through the open balcony, and Drake’s burning, possessive hands framing my waist in the dark.

I remembered the fierce, absolute warmth of his voice promising to protect me, his royal essence pouring into me night after night, wrapping around my soul like a golden shield.

Drake’s heir.

If the child belonged to him, it was a miracle born from the last moments of pure love we had shared. It was the living proof of the bond he had shattered when he locked me in this wing, the child he had sworn to protect before he decided I was an unfaithful monster.

Then, the memory twisted.

The sunlit villa dissolved into the cold, oppressive shadows of Darius’s study. I remembered the heavy iron collar biting into the skin of my neck, the suffocating weight of his dark blood magic pinning me flat against the oak desk, and the nauseating, sweet smell of cherry tobacco filling my nose while I lay disoriented and paralyzed.

Darius’s curse.

If the child belonged to Darius, it was a biological weapon—a dark, corrupted parasite forged in tainted blood rites to destroy me from the inside out. A living, breathing brand of ownership that would ensure Drake would never look at me with anything other than absolute disgust for the rest of my life.

I buried my face in my hands, a low, ragged sob tearing from my chest.

The uncertainty was a slow, agonizing poison. It clawed at my mind hour after hour, turning every flutter in my stomach into a moment of pure, unadulterated terror. I was trapped in a room with no escape, carrying a secret that was growing larger, stronger, and more undeniable with every passing sun rise.

A heavy, metallic click echoed from the bedroom.

I froze, wiping my face frantically with the sleeve of my sweater, my heart leaping into my throat.

The heavy iron door of my cell swung open. Two tall house guards stepped into the room, their black uniforms immaculate, their faces completely emotionless. Behind them stood a third man carrying a fresh tray of food and a pitcher of water.

I pushed myself up from the bathroom floor, standing in the doorway, using the frame to steady my trembling legs. I shoved my hands deep into the front pocket of my hoodie, hunching my shoulders forward to hide the shape of my stomach beneath the thick, folded fabric.

The guards didn’t look at my face. They didn’t offer a word of comfort.

The servant set the tray down on the small wooden table, picked up yesterday’s untouched food, and backed out of the room instantly.

"Lord Drake has ordered that you finish your meals," the lead guard said, his voice flat and robotic. "Refusal to eat will result in direct medical intervention."

"Where is he?" I rasped out, my voice raw from dry-heaving. "Where is Drake?"

The guard didn’t answer. He stepped backward through the threshold, his red eyes completely devoid of warmth.

"Tell him I need to speak to him!" I yelled, taking a desperate step forward, my hands clutching my sweater tight over my abdomen. "Tell him he can’t just leave me in here! Tell him—"

The heavy iron door slammed shut in my face.

Beep-beep-click.

The deadbolt locked into place, leaving me standing alone in the sterile silence once more.

I turned back toward the window, looking out through the iron bars at the grey, rain-soaked mountains. I sank down onto the edge of the low sofa, curling into a tight ball, holding my stomach as fresh tears soaked into the leather cushion.

I was completely alone, locked in the dark, waiting for the day my body betrayed my secret to the

One person who had my life in his hands.