Chapter 57: Fake it
TERESA’S P.O.V.
I woke up slowly from a deep, hazy fog, every nerve in my body was alive with a dull, throbbing pain. It was as if I’d been crushed beneath a weight too heavy to lift, my muscles weary and unmoving. Even the light around me, bright and piercing, was enough to make my head pound, blinding me for a few moments as I struggled to open my eyes. But as my vision cleared, I saw him—Adrian—sitting at my bedside, cradling two tiny bundles against his chest, his posture was protective, almost tender. My heart stuttered, a fierce beat of recognition and fear, as fragments of last night tore through my mind.
Giving birth—it was a swirl of chaotic images and sensations, half-lost in a haze of pain and exhaustion. I remembered flashes: my own cries filling the room, the fierce desperation in every breath, every scream. Adrian’s hand was there, steady and cool, anchoring me in the storm. His voice—low, calm, soothing—had cut through the haze, steadying me as I felt my body shatter under the force of labor. I’d clung to him, felt his presence like a shield amid the agony, until I’d finally collapsed, drained and trembling, with only a glimpse of his face—a handsome, pale silhouette—lingering in my mind as I drifted into a deep sleep.
But now, as I lay here watching him, a darker memory surfaced, sharp and vivid against the warmth of those fleeting moments. I remembered Adrian at his mansion, a predator wrapped in elegance. His teeth, long and sharp, glinted like daggers as he bent over a woman, his eyes alive with a dark, hungry gleam. His fingers had curled like claws, digging into her skin as he drank her blood, his expression both ruthless and serene. The memory made my blood run cold; it was a part of him that terrified me, the part I wanted to believe wasn’t real. But it was real, and it haunted me even now.
And yet, there he was, sitting so peacefully, holding my newborns with a gentleness that seemed at odds with everything I’d seen last night. But I couldn’t shake the fear that clawed at my throat, a primal instinct screaming at me to keep my children safe, to pull them from his grasp. My chest tightened, panic rising like a tide as I imagined those sharp fangs, those cold eyes. What if he turned that same hunger on them—or on me?
The room felt thick with my unspoken fear, but then, as if sensing my unease, Adrian looked up. His expression was calm, unreadable, his eyes sweeping over me with a steady gaze that seemed to pierce right through me. And when he spoke, his voice was soft and smooth, carrying none of the darkness that lingered in my memories, as if he were merely asking a simple question over morning tea.
"Teresa... are you awake?"
His voice snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts, grounding me in the moment.
I froze, my eyes snapping shut again. How had he known I was awake? My mind scrambled. Calm down, Teresa. Think.