Chapter 4 - The Ultimatum
“No.” Norah stepped back, her spine hitting the edge of a mahogany bookshelf. Books shifted slightly behind her from the impact. Dominic paused, his brow furrowing in irritation. In his world, people did not say no to him. Ever. “It’s a violation of my medical privacy,” Norah said, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to keep it steady. “I have rights, even as an employee in this house.” “You are an employee in a house where my word is law,” Dominic retorted, his voice dropping an octave. “You lied to my face. You sneaked off the property. You visited a maternity clinic. And now you’re refusing a routine medical check to clear your name? That doesn't look like privacy, Norah. That looks like guilt.” “I am not guilty of betrayal!” “Then prove it.” He took another step closer, trapping her between his body and the bookshelf. His hand came up, resting flat against the wood right beside her head, caging her in. “Open your sweater.”
Norah gasped, her hands instinctively flying up to cross over her chest, clutching the thick wool of her maroon turtleneck. “What?” “You heard me. Take off the sweater.” “Are you insane? I won't do that!” “If you have nothing to hide—if this supposed tumor or whatever ridiculous lie you fabricated is real—then you have nothing to fear from showing me your abdomen.” Dominic’s eyes were hard, flashing with a dangerous, paranoid brilliance. He was a man who trusted no one, a man whose entire life was built on suspicion and betrayal. He couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that she was hiding a pregnancy of his own making, because in his mind, the night in the safe room had been an anomaly, a single slip of restraint that he had locked away in the back of his mind. “I am not undressing for you,” Norah said, tears of frustration stinging the backs of her eyes. “If you want to fire me, fire me. If you want to throw me out on the street, do it. But you don't get to demand my clothes!”
She tried to duck under his arm, but Dominic was too fast. His free hand shot out, catching her gently but firmly by the upper arm, anchoring her in place. The touch wasn't violent, but it was inescapable. “Norah,” he murmured, his face inches from hers. The anger in his eyes suddenly flickered, replaced by something much more complicated—suspicion mixed with a strange, dark confusion. He looked down at her middle, where the thick wool of the sweater did its best to mask the gentle swell of her fifth-month bump. His gaze lingered there for a long, agonizing second. His hand slid from her arm, moving slowly down toward her waist. Norah’s breath hitched. She caught his wrist with both hands, pushing back with all her strength. “Don't.” Dominic froze. He looked up from her waist into her eyes. He felt it—the firm, unmistakable resistance beneath the heavy fabric, the rounded contour that no tumor could ever replicate.
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The silence in the study became absolute. You could hear the grandfather clock ticking in the corner, each second dragging out like an eternity. Dominic’s hand remained pressed against her waist, unmoving. His slate-gray eyes widened just a fraction as his brain rapidly connected the dots—the sudden weight gain in her face, the constant fatigue, the obsession with oversized clothes, the secret clinic visit. “It’s mine,” he whispered. The words weren't a question. They were a realization that hit him like a physical shockwave. Norah stopped fighting. Her hands dropped from his wrist, her fingers trembling at her sides. She stared back at him, the last line of defense crumbling away into dust. “Yes,” she whispered back. Dominic pulled his hand back as if he’d been burned. He stumbled half a step backward, running a hand over his face, his dark hair disheveled as he stared at her in utter disbelief. “Five months,” he muttered, pacing away toward his desk and then back again. “You hid this for five months under my roof.” “And what were you going to do if I told you?” Norah finally snapped, her voice breaking with pent-up emotion. “Hand me over to your doctors? Lock me in a gilded cage? Keep me as a breeding mare for your empire? I’ve seen how you live, Dominic! I wasn't going to let you raise my child in a war zone!”
Dominic stopped pacing. He stared at her, his chest rising and falling heavily beneath his white shirt. “Your child? It’s my blood, Norah.” “It’s my body!” she fired back, tears finally spilling over her lashes and tracking down her cheeks. “I carried it, I protected it, and I hid it because I knew the second you found out, I’d lose all control over my own life!” He stared at her for a long time, the anger slowly draining out of him, leaving behind a cold, dangerous determination. He walked back to his desk, picked up the manila folder, and tossed it carelessly onto the leather blotter. “Pack your things,” he said quietly. Norah’s heart stopped. “What?” “You’re moving to the east wing. The master suite. Starting today.” “I won't move anywhere with you—” “This isn't a negotiation, Norah,” Dominic interrupted, his voice dropping into that dark, absolute authority that brooks no argument. “You are carrying my heir. You will be treated like royalty, or you will be treated like a prisoner. The choice is yours. But you are not leaving this house.”
