Chapter 145: You’re Seven Weeks Pregnant...
My brows knit together as my thoughts stumble over themselves, as if I’ve missed a step in the dark.
Baby’s health?
Who’s pregnant here?
Silas’s face shifts.
Barely. Almost imperceptibly.
A flicker of something passes through his eyes—there and gone before I can name it. He finally tears his gaze from mine, peeling it away like skin from a wound, and looks at Dr. Alan.
Dr. Alan smiles. Soft. Bright. Completely unbothered by the tension in the room.
"Why are you two staring at me like that?" His voice carries a lightness that feels almost cruel. "Shouldn’t you be giving me happy smiles?"
My voice comes out cold, sharp, cutting through the warmth of his words like a blade drawn too fast.
"What the hell do you mean by ’happy smiles’?" The words scrape against my throat. "What are you even talking about?"
Dr. Alan doesn’t flinch. He’s been a doctor too long to be shaken by anger.
"I’m talking about you, of course." A brief pause. "You’re going to be a parent soon."
The words land like stones dropped into still water. Ripples spread outward, distorting everything they touch.
Going to be a parent.
I stare at him.
My mind is already frayed—a battlefield torn between the man who lied to me, the poison still lingering in my veins, the memory of that hotel room, and the truth I can’t escape no matter how hard I try. And now it struggles to process this impossible claim.
"Going to be a parent?" I snap. My voice is ice. "Who’s pregnant here?"
Dr. Alan pauses.
For just a heartbeat, his smile wavers—a tiny crack in the façade. Then he laughs, a soft, disarming sound, shaking his head as though I’ve said something endearingly naïve.
"Of course you, kid." He gestures lightly, as if the answer is obvious. "Who else could it be?"
His tone shifts. The lightness drains away, replaced by something measured, clinical, precise.
"You’re seven weeks pregnant."
The words hit me like a bullet fired from somewhere I couldn’t see.
Unexpected. Unbelievable. Impossible.
I stare at him, my mind refusing to accept what my ears have just heard. The words echo through the hollow spaces of my skull, crashing against the walls of my disbelief.
Seven weeks.
Pregnant.
Me.
No.
This doesn’t make sense.
I’m an Alpha.
How could I be pregnant?
"That’s ridiculous." My voice is flat, sharp, dismissive—a door slamming shut. "I’m an Alpha. How can you say something like this?"
Dr. Alan doesn’t flinch. His expression remains serious, unshaken, carved from the same stone as his words.
"Of course you’re an Alpha."
His gaze shifts briefly to Silas, who sits motionless beside me, silent, his face unreadable.
"But your husband’s trait isn’t normal. He’s not an Alpha—he’s an Enigma."
The word hangs in the air, heavy and strange.
"And an Enigma can impregnate an Alpha."
My fists clench in my lap, knuckles white, the fabric of my trousers twisting beneath my fingers until I can feel the threads straining. My nails bite into my palms, grounding me in something real. Something I can still control.
Dr. Alan continues, his voice calm and measured, as if he’s explaining something simple—something I should have known all along, something I should have seen coming.
"After being drugged with that poison, it was nearly impossible for you to survive. The poison was designed to kill slowly, painfully, to leave nothing behind." He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle. "But because of your SS-Class Alpha trait, you did. You survived."
His gaze softens, just slightly.
"Even while carrying a child."
He takes a slow, deliberate breath.
"Your recovery has been faster than I expected—a good sign. But you’re still weak. The poison didn’t kill you, but it left its mark. It will take time." He holds my gaze, steady and sure. "It’s better if you control your negative pheromones. They can affect the baby."
Why is he talking so seriously about this nonsense?
My voice breaks through, raw and loud, shattering the fragile quiet.
"Can you stop this nonsense?" The words tear out of me. "It’s impossible. I’m not pregnant."
Dr. Alan doesn’t flinch. He waits for my outburst to fade before speaking again.
"Ellis, it’s possible." His voice is quiet now, almost gentle. "And it’s already happened. Alpha pregnancies are difficult to detect because they’re so rare. I ran the tests again and again, just to be certain."
A pause.
"Every time, the result was the same."
Another pause. The silence between us stretches like an open wound.
"You’re pregnant."
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
The words are lodged somewhere deep inside me, refusing to surface, refusing to acknowledge the reality pressing in from all sides. I don’t know what to say—what to do—to stop this impossible, unbearable nonsense from becoming real.
Dr. Alan stands, smoothing his coat with deliberate, unhurried movements.
"I understand this is difficult to accept—especially for an Alpha who never knew this was possible. I won’t push you to process it all at once."
He picks up his case, his fingers closing around the handle with practiced ease.
"Now I’ll leave you two alone."
He looks at Silas—a long, meaningful look that carries more weight than words ever could.
"I believe your husband owes you more than a few explanations."
He walks to the door, opens it, and steps outside. The door closes behind him with a soft click.
Leaving me alone with the silence. With the truth I cannot accept.
With something growing inside me that I never asked for, never wanted, never even knew was possible.
Pregnant.
Me.
The word settles in my chest like a stone. Heavy. Cold. Unmovable. My body is still. My breathing comes shallow and uneven.
Ridiculous. Too ridiculous.
I am not some Omega.
Silas’s voice comes from beside me, soft, almost a whisper, as if he’s afraid his words might shatter something already broken.
"Ellis..." A pause. "I’m sorry."
Another pause.
"That night at the hotel... I was in rut. I didn’t plan it. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I swear."
I don’t answer.
I don’t acknowledge him.
I don’t even look at him.
I push myself off the bed. My legs are unsteady, my body heavy with exhaustion and something else—something I refuse to name.
My steps feel heavy, as though I’m dragging something I can’t see, something I can’t name. The floor tilts beneath me. The walls seem to press in from every side.
Silas’s voice follows, quick and urgent.
"Please wait, Ellis..."
I don’t stop. I open the door and step into the hallway. The lights are dim, the air cool against my burning skin.
I hear his footsteps behind me.
Fast. Desperate.
Then his hand closes around my wrist. Not tight. But firm. Grounding. Unwilling to let go.
"Ellis..."
I stop. But I don’t turn back. I can’t.
My voice is quiet—too quiet, too calm for the storm raging inside me.
"Let go of my hand."
His grip lingers for a heartbeat before slowly, reluctantly, loosening. One finger at a time, he lets me go.
I start walking again.
I hear his footsteps behind me.
Following.
I don’t look back.
"If you follow me one more step..." My voice is flat, stripped of everything but exhaustion. "I’ll kill myself."
His footsteps stop.
The silence behind me is absolute.
I keep walking. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t care. The hallway stretches endlessly before me.
Everything is a mess.
Nothing makes sense.