Page 29 of Trapped By the Cartel

It was a flimsy lie, but hopefully, it would be enough to satisfy him—for now.

Damon set down his racket, walking slowly towards me until he stood close enough for our bodies to brush. His hand cupped my cheek, tilting my chin up so that our gazes met.

"You listen here," he said firmly, yet gently. "There is nothing more important to any of us than making sure you feel welcome, safe, and happy. You don't have to figure anything out alone—not while I'm here. Not while any of us are here."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, threatened to spill over. Damn him and his way with words. He was so good at it.

"Thank you," I whispered, leaning into his touch. "That means a lot."

He smiled warmly, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. "Good. Now, why don't we take a break from this game and go find some snacks? Maybe some food will help chase away whatever demons are haunting you today."

And maybe he was right, but part of me thought that it wasn't going to make a difference.

Damon led me by the hand through the sprawling manor, our footsteps echoing off the polished marble floors. We passedthrough grand hallways adorned with intricate tapestries and massive oil paintings, each step taking us further away from the tension that hung heavy in the air during our aborted table tennis match.

We entered the expansive kitchen, a space that seemed entirely too large for its purpose. The stainless-steel appliances gleamed under the soft lighting, and the counters were spotless, save for a small island in the center. Damon guided me towards it, pulling out a stool for me before disappearing behind the counter. He was always so thoughtful.

"This might not seem like much," he called out, rummaging through cabinets and drawers, "but I promise you, it'll hit the spot."

Moments later, he emerged with a cutting board, a knife, and several ingredients laid out neatly beside them. He began to chop and slice with practiced ease, the rhythmic sound of metal against wood oddly soothing. As he worked, he hummed softly, a tune I didn't recognize but found comforting nonetheless.

My racing thoughts disappeared, replaced by all the good moments already spent with him.

The aroma of fresh fruit soon filled the air, accompanied by the sweet scent of honey and the earthy richness of nuts. When Damon finally turned around, he held aloft a platter piled high with delicate slices of apple, pear, and orange, drizzled generously with local honey and sprinkled with toasted almonds.

"A fruit salad?" I asked, surprised. "For me?"

Damon placed the platter in front of me, along with a fork and a napkin. "Not just any fruit salad," he corrected, pouring two glasses of chilled sparkling water. "Your favorite fruit salad."

I blinked, taken aback. How did he even remember that?

But then, I realized that there was nothing actually surprising about that. I was the most important person to him.

"When we first started spending time together, after…" He paused, clearing his throat slightly. "After you became mine, I paid attention. I noticed things—like how you'd always pick the fruit salads when given a choice between dessert options. And whenever we had them at home, you'd eat every last bite, no matter how full you were."

A warmth spread through me, starting at my chest and radiating outward. It hadn't occurred to me that he'd been paying such close attention to my habits—let alone remembering them weeks later.

"But why go through all this trouble now?" I asked, genuinely curious. "What changed?"

Damon leaned against the counter across from me, crossing his arms as he studied me intently. "Because I can see that something's bothering you, Elliot. Something big. And I want to understand what it is so I can help."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation I knew was inevitable.

"There's… there's something I need to tell you," I admitted reluctantly, pushing the untouched fruit salad aside. "But I don't know if you're going to like it."

Damon raised an eyebrow, remaining silent and still. He waited patiently for me to continue, giving me the space to gather my thoughts.

"I've missed my period," I blurted out, unable to keep the worry from creeping into my voice. "And I know we took precautions, but I can't shake this feeling—I think I might be pregnant."

The room fell silent for a long moment, the only sound the distant ticking of a clock somewhere down the hallway. Damon's expression remained neutral, unreadable, giving nothing away.

"And you haven't told me this sooner because…?" He prompted gently, his tone measured despite the storm of emotions I could sense brewing beneath the surface.

I sighed, running a hand through my disheveled curls. "Because I was scared. Scared of your reaction, scared of what this meant for both of us, scared of everything changing." I looked up at him, searching his gaze for any hint of anger or resentment. "And part of me wondered if maybe I was being paranoid—that maybe it was just stress or hormones or something else. But then again, another part of me felt certain that this was real, that there was a life growing inside me."

Damon pushed off from the counter, rounding the island to stand directly in front of me. His hands cupped my cheeks, tilting my head back so that our eyes met. In his depths, I saw a swirling mix of possessiveness, pride, and a fierce determination that made my heart pound wildly in my chest.

"You are carrying my child," he declared, his voice resonating with primal satisfaction. "Our bond has grown stronger than ever, and our connection has created new life."

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