Page 105 of Velvet Chains
Dr. Claire nods, her expression turning serious. “I’ll be right there,” she says, turning back to us. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Duty calls and all that.”
“Of course,” Laura says, her voice understanding. “Go, do what you need to do. We’ll be fine.”
I echo her sentiment, and Dr. Claire gives us a grateful smile before hurrying out of the room, the nurse close on her heels.
As soon as the door closes behind them, Laura turns to me, her expression determined.
“This is happening. I’m keeping the baby, whether you’re on board or not.”
Chapter 42
Victor
AS I steer the car onto the quieter road leading back to our place, my hands grip the steering wheel tightly, my eyes scanning the passing cars with a newfound sense of caution.
It’s early, but some idiots always rush like they’re racing the devil.
I drive slowly, almost hesitantly, hyper-aware of every potential danger on the road.
Shit!
A car zips by too close, too fast.
Instinctively, I mutter a curse under my breath. “Blyad!” The sudden rush of adrenaline isn’t just about the car; it’s about protecting what’s mine—Laura and the new life we’re about to bring into this world.
My heart races, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Don’t fuck with my family.
I glare at the retreating taillights.
The word echoes in my mind, and I glance over at Laura. She’s staring at the picture of our unborn baby, one hand resting gently on her stomach. Her expression is soft, almost reverent, and I feel another surge of protectiveness wash over me.
Blyad, this woman has completely rewired my priorities.
I shake my head in disbelief. I’m actually thinking about having a child with her, about building a life together.
It’s a terrifying thought but also strangely exhilarating. The idea of keeping her by my side, of watching our child grow and thrive, makes my gut twist with a fierce, primal need. It’s like every instinct in my body is screaming at me to hold on to her, to never let her go.
“You okay?” I reach over, taking her hand in mine. She looks up at me, her eyes wide and questioning.
She freezes for a moment, then carefully slides the photo back into her purse like it’s a precious treasure. She turns to me, her expression serious.
“Just… processing, I guess. It’s a lot to take in,” she says, biting down on her lip. “Victor,” she tilts her head, catching my eye before I refocus on the road ahead.” I’m hungry.”
I nearly choke on my own spit.
Hungry? Now?
I glance over at her, and sure enough, she’s dead serious.
I shake my head and scoff out a laugh. “Okay, what do you have in mind?” I ask, trying to keep a straight face.
“A burrito. No, wait, a quesadilla. With extra guac and sour cream. Oh, and maybe some chips and salsa on the side.” Her eyes light up as she describes her craving.
“Did you not eat breakfast?” I ask, incredulous.
“Well, that was almost three hours ago,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
