Page 58 of Her Possessive Dominant Fake Husband

She tilted her head, then looked down at my hands, at the way my fingers trembled just slightly against my phone. And somehow, she understood.

She gave a gentle nod, then gestured for me to follow. Another woman, slightly younger, joined her, murmuring something before reaching for a pink-and-white box and holding it out to me with a knowing smile.

I exhaled.

“Thank you,” I whispered, bowing slightly as I took it. Gratitude swelled in my chest, unexpected and overwhelming.

Their smiles lingered, warm, reassuring, before they waved me off like I was a daughter they’d just helped find her way home.

Home.

The thought made my chest ache.

I hurried back to the hotel, gripping the bag tightly, my pulse thrumming. The hallway felt too long, too empty as I slipped into our room.

He was still sleeping as I went in. Thankfully, the directions were also in English, and I followed them exactly.

I tried not to look for three minutes, but I couldn’t help myself. And I watched the liquid sweep across the little window, and there was no doubt.

The plus sign. Clear. Definite. Real.

My hands trembled as I held it, as I watched everything I’d known spiral and shift into something different, something bigger. Was I ready for this?

I stood in the doorway, my breath shallow, my hands shaking. The world had shifted beneath me, and I had no idea how I was on my feet. Leaving the bathroom, I crept toward him.

Alexander lay in the dim light, the soft rise and fall of his chest steady. I hesitated, my fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. This wasn’t how I meant to tell him. Not half-breathless, not shaken, not in the early dawn hours.

But I couldn’t hold it in.

I moved closer, pressing a hand to his shoulder, gentle at first—then firmer as my urgency took over.

“Alexander.” My voice barely carried through the quiet.

He stirred but didn’t wake.

I swallowed hard. “Alexander,” I whispered again, this time more forceful.

His brow furrowed before his eyes blinked open, hazy with sleep. “Claire?” His voice was rough, his hand reaching instinctively for mine. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t know how to say it. I hadn’t rehearsed this moment. I hadn’t prepared for it.

“I—” The words tangled in my throat, twisting around the shock still thrumming through me.

He sat up now, fully alert, concern sharpening his gaze. “Tell me.”

A breath. A heartbeat. The moment before everything changed.

“I’m pregnant.”

His face went blank, as if he’d never considered this possibility – funny, given the fact that the first time we’d been intimate, we hadn’t used protection – then his grip tightened around my fingers, comforting and sweet.

And then—slowly, cautiously, like stepping into something too sacred to disturb—he exhaled.

“Claire,” he whispered, awe breaking through the edges of his voice.

And just like that, everything that had felt too big, too overwhelming, and terror washed through me. “I don’t know how to- I don’t- can we-?”

His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close, and for the first time since the realization hit me—I let myself breathe.

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