Chapter 185: Is The Devil’s Woman Pregnant?
Downstairs in the kitchen, Valerie stood clutching the edge of the marble island, her heart still hammering in her chest.
Footsteps clicked sharply against the floor behind her. She turned to find Victoria standing under the recessed ceiling lights, arms folded, an unrelenting firmness carved into her aristocratic face.
"Stop running, Valerie," Victoria commanded, closing the space between them. "I know that look. If this is about Anastasia, and if it involves another threat to this family, you tell me right this second. Hand me the phone."
"Mom, please, it’s really not my place..."
"Now, Valerie."
Trapped under her mother’s iron gaze, Valerie wilted. With trembling fingers, she pulled the phone from her jacket pocket, woke the screen, and silently extended it.
The rose-and-white banner was still pulsing:
Cycle Tracker Alert: Period is 4 weeks late. High probability. Please log your symptoms or take an at-home test.
Victoria froze.
Her breath caught, the sharp edges of her composure fracturing instantly. A wave of conflicting emotions rushed through her all at once... first sheer, paralyzing shock, followed by a faint, involuntary flutter of joy. But right behind that joy came a crushing wave of guilt.
Her own harsh words to Damian in the hospital corridor echoed in her mind. Do you even love that girl? If you don’t, let her go.
Victoria knew better than anyone the intoxicating, suffocating pull between her son and Anastasia. Damian’s fierce, possessive physical claim on Anastasia was impossible to hide. She had known this day was bound to arrive eventually.
And deeper still, an ache from their shared past surfaced. Victoria remembered the bitter tragedy of the child they had lost once before... the silent grief that had fractured their relationship into ice and distance.
A new life could be the very thread that stitched the two of them back together, anchoring Damian’s volatile darkness into something steady and whole.
Yet, Victoria quickly pulled her defenses back into place, refusing to let wishful thinking blind her to reality.
"Cycle apps are not blood tests, Valerie," Victoria said, her voice carefully steady as she handed the phone back. "The human body is easily disrupted by trauma. The shock of being poisoned, the stress of the corporate gala... even I used to miss periods when the board meetings became unbearable. There is no reason to turn a delayed cycle into a covert secret."
Valerie sighed, rubbing her temples in exhaustion. "That’s just one possibility, Mom. What if she really is pregnant this time? Last time, nobody was around to help her. But this time we’re all here. We can support her. Wouldn’t that be amazing for them?"
"It would be a blessing," Victoria murmured, her voice softening with genuine emotion. "But let Anastasia discover and process this on her own terms. It is her body, her marriage. We do not meddle in something this delicate."
Valerie let out a long, tired breath. "So what, we just pretend we didn’t see it? We shouldn’t even bring it up to Damian?"
"Bring what up to me?"
The low, gravelly rasp sliced through the kitchen air like a blade.
Both women snapped their heads around in high alert.
Damian stood at the threshold of the kitchen, his dark hair disheveled, the top buttons of his charcoal shirt undone, and a sharp, suspicious frown cutting deep grooves across his brow.
Victoria recovered with the practiced ease of a woman who had negotiated business deals without blinking an eye.
"We were discussing your wife’s recovery, Damian," Victoria replied smoothly, stepping in front of Valerie with effortless poise. "Valerie was just suggesting we bring in a private holistic nutritionist to monitor her meals, but I told her to let Anastasia rest and consult her own physician first before we start overwhelming her."
Valerie jumped on the lifeline instantly, nodding with exaggerated enthusiasm as she slipped Ana’s phone into her back pocket. "Yeah! Exactly. I was just reading up on antioxidant meal plans for chemical poisoning, but Mom says I’m being a busybody."
Damian didn’t buy it for a second. His obsidian eyes narrowed, flicking between Valerie’s tense shoulders and his mother’s immaculate, unreadable poker face. A low, skeptical rumble vibrated in his chest.
"Since when do you two whisper in corners about antioxidant meal plans?" Damian asked, taking two slow, imposing steps into the kitchen, his gaze dropping to the edge of Valerie’s pocket before snapping back to his mother. "If you have something to say about Anastasia, say it to my face."
"Lower your defensive shields for once in your life, Damian," Victoria countered smoothly, brushing past him toward the espresso machine with supreme calm. "Not every hushed conversation under your roof is a corporate conspiracy. How is she feeling? Did she finally fall back asleep?"
Damian lingered in the silence, his jaw tight, testing the air for whatever secret they had abruptly swallowed.
"She’s sleeping," Damian said quietly, though his eyes remained dark and watchful. "And she will stay that way without either of you hovering over her."
*******************
The morning sun broke over Manhattan, washing the penthouse kitchen in pale, crystalline light.
Anastasia padded into the kitchen wearing an oversized cream knit sweater, her bare feet silent against the warm hardwood.
Her breathing was noticeably easier and the bruising along her throat had faded to a faint shadow, but the moment she crossed the threshold, the rich scent of dark roast coffee and buttered toast hit the air.
Her stomach seized violently.
Ana instantly braced one hand against the edge of the quartz island, her knuckles whitening as a fierce wave of nausea rolled straight up her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth, shutting her eyes tight and breathing through her nose until the sudden heave subsided.
Sitting at the far end of the counter, Victoria was reading through the morning’s financial paper. She didn’t miss a single detail.
Her sharp, discerning eyes tracked the sudden drain of color from Ana’s cheeks, the way her free hand unconsciously pressed flat over her lower abdomen, and the recoil from the food.
Victoria lowered the newspaper by an inch, watching in calculated silence.
"Are you all right, Ana?"
Valerie stepped out from the pantry carrying a bowl of fresh berries, looking like she hadn’t slept a wink. The moment Valerie saw Ana clutching the counter, her eyes flew wide in nervous alarm, darting frantically toward her mother.
Victoria gave Valerie a slight, imperceptible shake of her head... a silent command to hold her tongue.
Ana exhaled slowly, dropping her hand from her mouth and offering a pale, apologetic smile. "I’m fine... really. I think it’s just the antibiotics on an empty stomach. The doctor said they might cause some mild nausea."
Before either woman could reply, heavy, familiar footsteps echoed into the kitchen.
Damian strode in, already dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves folded over his forearms and slate trousers.
He carried the quiet, formidable presence of an executive ready to tear through a trading floor, yet the moment his obsidian eyes found Anastasia, his focus narrowed entirely to her.
He crossed the floor without hesitation, his broad palm naturally coming to rest against the small of her back, pulling her subtly closer.
"You shouldn’t be on your feet," Damian murmured, his gravelly voice low as his thumb traced the knit of her sweater. "You’re still pale."
"I was getting restless lying in bed," Ana replied softly, leaning into the steadying heat of his side.
Damian’s brow furrowed as he caught the subtle tremor in her frame, his gaze flicking to the counter and then to his mother. "Did she eat anything yet?"
"Not yet," Victoria answered smoothly, folding her newspaper. She poured a glass of chilled water, dropped in a thin wedge of lemon, and slid it gently across the marble toward Ana. Her gaze was warm and brimming with unsaid knowing. "Start with this, Anastasia. The citrus will settle your stomach much better than heavy food after your... medication."
Ana offered a grateful smile and took the glass, completely oblivious to the intense, silent current passing between Victoria and Valerie right under Damian’s watchful gaze.