Chapter Nine

The footsteps stopped right outside Vivian’s door.

Not rushing. Not hesitant.

Deliberate. Measured.

Vivian stood frozen, one hand still gripping the door handle, the other instinctively covering her stomach.

Lucas shifted slightly in front of her, blocking her line of sight to the corridor.

“Don’t open it,” he said quietly.

A pause.

Then the footsteps stopped entirely.

Silence followed.

Too clean.

Too intentional.

Then, a faint click echoed through the hallway.

Like a door shutting somewhere far away.

Lucas’s jaw tightened.

“They’re testing you,” he muttered.

Vivian swallowed hard. “Testing me for what?”

Lucas didn’t answer immediately. His eyes stayed fixed on the peephole, as if he expected it to blink back.

Finally, he said, “To see how easy you are to reach.”

***

Against Vivian’s protest, Lucas refused to leave.

“I’m not asking,” he said flatly when she tried.

“This is my house,” Vivian snapped weakly. “You don’t just...”

“I do when you’re in danger,” he cut in.

That silenced her.

He moved a chair near the door and sat, arms crossed, like a guard posted at a gate.

Vivian stood awkwardly in the middle of her small apartment.

“This is insane,” she whispered.

Lucas didn’t look at her. “So is someone breaking into my systems to target you.”

Vivian exhaled slowly, fear still sitting in her chest like a weight.

“I don’t even understand why anyone would care this much about me,” she said.

Lucas finally looked at her.

His expression softened for a fraction of a second.

“Because you’re involved in something bigger than you think.”

Before she could ask what he meant, her stomach twisted sharply.

A wave of nausea hit her so suddenly she grabbed the table for support.

“Ah...”

Her knees weakened.

Lucas was instantly on his feet.

“Hey,” he said sharply, stepping closer. “Sit down.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, but her voice betrayed her.

Another wave hit. This time stronger.

Vivian rushed to the bathroom before she could stop herself.

Minutes later, she sat on the bathroom floor, pale and shaking.

Lucas stood outside the door.

“You need water,” he said.

“I don’t need instructions,” she muttered weakly.

A faint pause.

Then.

“You’re dehydrated.”

“I said I’m fine!”

Silence.

Then Lucas spoke again, quieter. “You’re not fine.”

That stopped her.

Because for the first time, his voice didn’t sound like authority.

It sounded like concern.

Real concern.

She opened the door slightly.

Lucas handed her a bottle of water without looking away.

She hesitated, then took it.

Their fingers brushed.

It was brief. But it lingered. Too long in her mind.

By morning, Lucas had already arranged for a private doctor.

Vivian resisted.

“I don’t need a hospital,” she said, pulling a blanket tighter around herself.

“You fainted twice in two weeks,” Lucas replied calmly.

“That’s normal for pregnancy!”

“That’s not normal,” he corrected.

She glared at him. “Stop talking like you own my body.”

Lucas paused.

Then said quietly, “I don’t. I just don’t want anything happening to you.”

That sentence unsettled her more than his usual coldness ever did.

Because it didn’t feel strategic.

It felt honest.

At the clinic, the doctor examined her carefully.

Lucas stood by the window, arms folded, eyes scanning every movement.

Vivian lay back on the bed, exhausted.

After a few minutes, the doctor frowned slightly.

“Stress levels are elevated,” he said. “And your nutrition is inconsistent.”

Vivian looked away.

Lucas’s jaw tightened.

The doctor continued, “Given your condition, I strongly recommend reduced physical activity and emotional stress.”

Vivian let out a weak laugh. “That’s impossible.”

Lucas turned slightly.

“You’ll stay at my residence,” he said immediately.

Vivian sat up. “No.”

The doctor cleared his throat awkwardly and left them alone.

Silence filled the room.

Vivian stared at Lucas.

“You don’t get to decide that,” she said.

Lucas didn’t move. “You nearly collapsed on your floor last night.”

“I’m still standing,” she shot back.

Lucas’s voice lowered. “That’s not the point.” A beat. Then, softer, “You’re carrying my child.”

That sentence hit differently this time.

Not like ownership.

But like responsibility he couldn’t escape anymore.

Vivian looked down, conflicted.

“I don’t trust your world,” she said quietly.

Lucas replied without hesitation:

“Then trust me in it.”

Silence stretched between them.

Heavy. Unresolved. But no longer hostile.

Just fragile.

That evening, Vivian returned home.

Lucas insisted on escorting her, but she refused to let him stay inside.

“Just go,” she said, leaning against the door.

Lucas hesitated.

For a moment, it looked like he might argue.

Instead, he nodded once.

“I’ll be outside.”

“You can’t just camp outside my house,” she muttered.

“I already am.”

That unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.

He turned and stepped into the hallway.

Vivian locked the door.

For the first time in days, the apartment felt quiet.

Too quiet.

She exhaled slowly and walked to her kitchen.

That’s when her phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

She hesitated before answering.

A voice came immediately.

Calm. Feminine. Cold.

“You didn’t listen.”

Vivian froze.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

A soft laugh.

“You’re still alive because I allowed it.”

Her blood turned cold.

“What do you want from me?”

“Leave him.”

Vivian’s grip tightened.

“Lucas?”

The voice responded simply:

“He doesn’t belong to you. And neither does what you’re carrying.”

Vivian’s breath caught.

The line went dead.

She stood frozen.

Then slowly turned toward the door.

Just as she reached for it, a sharp knock echoed from outside.

Not Lucas.

Too heavy. Too slow.

Three knocks.

Pause.

Then one more.

Vivian stepped back.

The doorknob began to turn.