Chapter 9 - The Broken Seal
The current moment rushed back with the crushing weight of a falling mountain.
Adeline stood in the dark, wood-paneled hallway outside the grand dining hall, her back pressed against the cold wallpaper. Her chest heaved as another wave of nausea washed over her, weaker this time, but accompanied by a terrifying, undeniable clarity.
She knew the signs. She was a trauma nurse. She had spent seven years charting symptoms, recognizing early-stage physiological changes in female patients, and calculating dates.
The missed period two weeks ago that she had blamed on stress. The sudden sensitivity to coffee grounds in the staff breakroom. The overwhelming exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix. And now, morning sickness triggered by the smell of rich food.
She was pregnant.
Adeline pressed her trembling fingers against her lower abdomen. Her skin felt hot through the thin fabric of her dress.
How? her mind screamed in panic. How is this possible?
The contract clearly stated that Cassian was sterile. Six medical reports from top specialists in London, Paris, and New York had verified it. He had been shot seven years ago; the damage was permanent.
Yet, there was no other man. There had been no one else in her life for three years.
Unless...
The memory of that night in Lake Forest flashed through her mind—the sedative in the water pitcher, the dark study, the hours she had spent unconscious on that sofa before waking up at dawn.
Had something happened while she was asleep?
Or was the medical report a lie—a brilliant, seven-year piece of misinformation designed to make Cassian’s enemies believe he had no weakness, no lineage to target, and no interest in women?
Before she could process the thought, a heavy, measured step sounded behind her on the runner rug.
Adeline turned around quickly, her back hitting the wall.
Cassian was standing five feet away in the dimly lit corridor.
He had left the dining hall. The twenty-two powerful guests, the silver trays, the roasted meats, and the ruined marble floor were forgotten.
He looked at her with an intensity that made the air in the hallway feel thin. His dark eyes swept down from her pale face, past her trembling hands, and settled directly on her fingers, which were still pressed tightly against her stomach.
He did not ask if she was sick. He did not ask if she needed a doctor.
He stepped closer, his broad frame blocking out the light from the wall sconces. He smelled of rain, expensive tobacco, and that dark, intoxicating leather scent that belonged exclusively to him.
"Adeline," he said softly. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble.
"I... I'm fine," she lied quickly, her voice high and thin. "It was just... the garlic in the sauce. My stomach has been sensitive."
Cassian did not blink. He took another step forward, closing the distance between them until he was standing three inches away.
He slowly raised his right hand.
For the first time since she had met him, Cassian was not wearing his black leather glove.
Adeline gasped softly, her eyes dropping to his bare hand.
His palm was covered in long, jagged white scars—scar tissue that ran from his wrist all the way up to his knuckles, the mark of a brutal, fire-filled survival that had stripped away the smooth skin of a normal man.
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His bare fingers were warm, rough, and trembling slightly as he reached out and gently brushed a strand of dark hair away from her pale cheek.
"Do not lie to me, Adeline," Cassian whispered, his thumb resting against her jawline. "You are a terrible liar."
