Page 18 of Chains of Obsession

“I.. Um.” I swallow hard, my hands trembling as I step closer. The words stick in my throat, but I force them out. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, time seems to stop. Matteo’s expression freezes, his sharp features unreadable as the words hang in the air between us. Then, slowly, he rises from his chair, his movements deliberate and controlled.

“What did you say?” His voice is low, almost a whisper, but the intensity behind it sends a shiver down my spine.

“I’m pregnant,” I repeat, my voice steadier this time.

He closes the distance between us in two strides, his eyes searching mine as if trying to confirm the truth for himself. “You’re sure?”

I nod, my breath hitching as his hand settles gently against my stomach. The touch is unexpected, almost tender, and it sends a jolt of emotion through me. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence is heavy, charged with a mixture of fear, uncertainty, and something else—something I can’t quite name.

“Well, this changes everything,” Matteo finally says, his voice rough.

“It doesn’t have to. This doesn’t mean I’m going to fall into line, Matteo. It doesn’t mean you get to control me even more than you already do.”

His jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing. “You think I’d use this to control you?”

“Wouldn’t you?” I challenge, meeting his gaze head-on.

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, he only takes a step back, running a hand through his hair in a rare display of frustration.

“This isn’t about control. This is about protecting you. Protecting the child.”

The words hit me harder than I expect, and I have to look away to hide the tears threatening to spill. “I don’t need your protection,” I say, though the words feel hollow even as I say them.

“Whether you think you need it or not doesn’t matter,” Matteo replies, his tone firm. “You’re mine, Amelia. And now, so is this child.”

His possessiveness sends a spark of anger through me, but there’s something else beneath it, something almost desperate. As much as I hate to admit it, I know he means what he says.

“I don’t want to be another weapon in your arsenal. I won’t let you use this against me.”

His expression softens slightly, and for a moment, I see a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. “This isn’t a weapon, Amelia. It’s... it’s us.”

The words catch me off guard, and for the first time, I see a glimpse of the man behind the walls he’s built. But before I can respond, the door bursts open, one of Matteo’s men rushing in with a panicked expression.

“Boss,” he says urgently. “We’ve got a problem. It’s Luca.”

The mention of Luca’s name makes Matteo’s demeanor shift instantly, his expression hardening into the ruthless mask I know all too well.

“Stay here,” he orders, his voice sharp as he moves toward the door.

“Matteo—”

“I mean it, Amelia,” he snaps, turning back to pin me with a fierce look. “You’re not leaving this room.”

Before I can argue, he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him. I sink into the nearest chair, my hands trembling as I press them against my stomach. The fear I feel now isn’t just for myself, it’s for the life growing inside me.

The fragile hope that’s somehow taken root in the chaos of my life with Matteo. I don’t know what’s coming next, but one thing is certain: nothing will ever be the same. One hand resting on my stomach. I think about the child growing inside me, the fragile life caught in the storm of my existence with Matteo. Can I bring a child into this world? Into his world? The thought terrifies me. I find myself torn between the life I’m carrying and the life I’ve been forced into. The hatred I feel for Matteo is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it’s complicated now by moments of unexpected tenderness. The way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not watching, the way his touch lingers just a moment too long.

A few weeks later, the tension between us finally snaps. Matteo corners me in the garden, his expression unreadable as he blocks my path.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, his tone calm but laced with something sharper.

I cross my arms, meeting his gaze with a defiance I don’t entirely feel. “Maybe I just don’t want to see you.”

His lips twitch into something that’s not quite a smile. “I don’t believe that.”

“Believe whatever you want,” I say, turning to leave.

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