Chapter 872: Pregnant Or Not?
Arabelle stared at the pregnancy test in front of her as though it were a demon summoned straight from hell. In truth, she would have preferred an actual demon, horns and all. At least she knew how to deal with those. This, though? This was terrifying on an entirely new level.
She was only a week late, barely enough time to panic—or so she had told herself for days. Gabe, ever the calm voice of reason, had simply shrugged when she’d brought it up. "Just go with the flow," he had said. As if that were an option when her brain refused to think straight.
And then there was Rafael. Why did he keep asking to meet her? It had been three weeks since that night, and she’d been certain he would move on by now. Men like Rafael Ignis, with their princely titles and flawless reputations, had no business lingering over someone like her. They were supposed to have better things to do, important lives to lead, and distractions to chase after.
Still, she knew better than to expect such luck. Rafael was nothing if not persistent. Of course, he’d want to know. He was principled like that, annoyingly so. If there was even a chance she was pregnant, he’d insist on answers—and worse, involvement.
The only way to shake him off was to take the damn test, confirm she wasn’t pregnant, and chalk all this up to some hormonal fluke. Simple enough.
Or it would have been, if the sharp ring of the doorbell hadn’t echoed through her small apartment just as she reached for the test. Arabelle froze, the sudden noise jolting her out of her thoughts. Her heart stuttered in her chest as her gaze darted to the door. Midnight. Who in their right mind would show up at her door at this hour?
She crept closer and peered through the peephole, only to stagger back as if burned. Him.
Had Rafael somehow discovered she’d just bought a pregnancy test? The idea was absurd, but her mind spiraled anyway. There was no way he knew... right?
Get rid of him. Fast. The thought propelled her into action. She grabbed the test and shoved it under a random book on the table. It was a flimsy attempt at hiding it, but it would have to do. Swallowing hard, she straightened her shirt, buttoned it all the way, brushed a hand through her hair, and forced her legs to move toward the door.