Chapter Fifteen: What the Body Knows
Two days passed.
The rain hadn't stopped.
It drummed steadily against the windows of the Leclair penthouse, a soft, mournful percussion that seemed to echo through the halls. The lights in the apartment stayed dim, casting everything in a golden hush, like a portrait held too long under glass.
Nuria Cael, now Leclair sat alone on the edge of the bed. Her spine was rigid, her knuckles white where her fingers clutched the edge of the silk duvet. She'd been awake since dawn, but only moved to breathe. And even that felt too loud in the room she now feared.
Behind her, Asa slept sprawled on his stomach, one arm outstretched toward where she had once laid. His breathing was slow, steady. But even in sleep, his brow furrowed, as if something hunted him from within.
Nuria rose.
She walked barefoot to the bathroom, her nightgown brushing her ankles. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her face looked foreign. There was a shadow to her skin, a tension in the space between her brows, a softness in her belly that felt both unfamiliar and sacred.
Later that morning, she slipped into a coat, pulled a scarf around her neck, and asked Milo for the car.
He didn't ask where she was going. He already knew.
---
The clinic was quiet. The walls were painted in muted creams and pale green, meant to soothe. But nothing could soothe the scream beneath Nuria's skin.
The doctor was gentle. She asked questions in a voice too calm for the moment. When she pressed the cold gel to Nuria's stomach and the screen lit up, Nuria didn't breathe. Not even when she heard the faint thump-thump-thump.
She was pregnant.
Not maybe. Not possibly. Not a whisper of a chance.
A child. Her child. Asa's.
The doctor said congratulations. Asked about symptoms. Suggested vitamins.
Nuria nodded. Smiled.
And crumbled inside.
---
That evening, back at the penthouse, Nuria stood in front of the mirror again. Her fingertips grazed her abdomen through her dress. There was nothing to see. But she felt it. The heaviness. The tremor of something beginning. A life inside her.
She curled onto the chaise by the window and let the storm outside fill the silence inside. Her fingers, again, instinctively settled against her belly. Protective. Terrified.
Behind her, Asa watched.
He hadn't meant to stare. But he had noticed it for days now—the vomiting, the dizziness, the fainting spells. The way she touched herself, subconsciously, like her body was already guarding something sacred.
His voice was soft when he spoke. "Your body says a lot about what your mouth refuses to."
Nuria froze.
Her hand stilled. She didn't turn around.
He stepped closer. Not touching her. Just standing near enough for her to feel the tension behind his breath. "You haven't told anyone yet."
She shook her head. Slowly.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.
She finally turned to look at him. Her eyes brimmed with something ancient. Not fear. Not love. Something in between. "Sometimes."
Asa blinked. He didn't step back. But his voice dropped to a whisper. "I would never hurt you."
She didn't answer.
Because the truth was complicated.
---
The next day, a call came from Asa's parents, the Leclairs. They wanted to see them.
"It's been months," Asa said to Nuria over breakfast. His voice was unreadable.
She nodded, sipping tea she could barely keep down.
"They want us to visit for a few days."
A pause.
"You want to go?" he asked.
She looked up. "Do you?"
He studied her. Her cheeks were hollowing. Her eyes were too tired for someone so young. "Maybe we need a change of place."
---
That night, Milo passed the west wing, a wing no one was allowed to enter. He paused, hearing the faint echo of a piano playing. A single note, struck again and again.
He said nothing. But his heart felt heavy.
Down in the servant quarters, Ines folded linens. Beatrice polished silver. Cleo made lists. Mayla sat by the heater, her face pale.
"She's pregnant," Ines said quietly.
No one contradicted her.
They had all seen it. Felt it in the hush that clung to her. In the way she now wrapped her arms around herself, not for warmth, but for protection.
And something else: a kind of knowing. That they would soon be protecting not just a girl.
But something more.
---
Asa stood in the old study. He stared at a painting of his childhood home. The one that burned. The one where blood stained the floors, and screams filled the walls.
He thought of Nuria. And what now grew inside her.
His jaw clenched.
He wanted to hold her.
But he didn't know how to hold anything without breaking it.
Not yet.