Chapter 2
The fluorescent lights of the clinic buzzed overhead, a cruel reminder of the hospital where her mother had died. Bella sat on the crinkling paper of the exam table, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
Dr. Evans, a kind older woman, walked in holding a clipboard. “Well, Ms. Carter. Your bloodwork explains the fainting spells and the nausea. You’re approximately eight weeks pregnant.”
The room spun. Bella gripped the edge of the table. “That’s… that’s impossible. I took a pill. The morning after.”
“Those pills are highly effective, but they aren't foolproof,” Dr. Evans said gently. “Did you experience any vomiting shortly after taking it?”
The alleyway. The cold wind. The sickness. Bella’s heart stopped.
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She walked out of the clinic in a daze, clutching a sonogram photo no bigger than a postage stamp. A tiny flutter of a heartbeat. She was carrying the child of Lucas Drake. The most ruthless man in Chicago. A man who erased his mistakes with terrifying efficiency. If he found out about this baby, he wouldn't hand her a pill. He would take the child, or worse, he would make sure neither of them ever existed.
She couldn't go back to the hotel. She couldn't risk him seeing her. Bella quit her job that afternoon. Armed with her unused accounting degree, she applied for a low-level bookkeeping position at a small shipping firm on the South Side. She needed health insurance. She needed to hide.
