Page 93 of Emperor of Corruption
It hits me that he’s no longer bringing me to every event because he doesn’t want a repeat of the situation with Silas. He doesn’t want me around other men, and he doesn’t want to give me the opportunity tocovetother men. His jealousy really is out of control… and he’s boxed me into something of a corner.
I only have little tidbits of information to go on, but my gut tells me that I was digging in the right place when I was researching Silas. Something is clearly going on between him and Killian—while I’m not sure what exactly it is, I’m determined to find out as soon as I get home.
Since I have some freedom—albeitmonitoredfreedom—I decide to head out and explore the city. Though I’m traveling internationally and luxuriously, I’ve scarcely had a chance to sight see or really take in all the different cultures. After getting ready for the day, I ask Locke if he can take me to a café—somewhere I can sit, relax, and enjoy my alone-time.
Locke drives me onto a crowded street, parks the car, and brings me to the doorstep of a charming café. I enjoy a coffee and delightful cheese pastry as I read the news on my phone, answer a few work-related emails, and enjoy listening to the people milling around me, speaking German and ignoring my existence.
I like blending into a crowd—it’s when the best people-watching can be done. One of the reasons I pursued journalism is because human behaviorfascinatesme. I watch as a woman at the table next to mine holds up her pinky, ring, and middle finger to order three lattes for her table—an odd change from the way Americans signal thenumber three. A man walking outside holds the flowers upside-down by the stems.
The sun here is brighter, and the air somehow tastescleaner. While I don’t enjoy having to deal with Killian’s bullshit, Idoenjoy experiencing a snippet of foreign life.
Locke stays out of sight, though I know quite well he’s watching me. Since I have the illusion of being alone, I enjoy a nice walk down the street once I’m done at the cafe, window shopping as I go. When I pass a pharmacy, I pause. The shampoo Killian got me consistently makes me nauseous—I should probably look for something cheap and unscented as a replacement. I step into the store, squinting at the foreign lettering on each aisle, and decide to just wander until I find what I’m looking for.
Everything’s cleaner here, from the streets to the stores. The tiled floors are polished to a shine, and the organization of products is sensible and accessible, even to a foreigner. I pass by an aisle with feminine products—tampons, pads, vitamins, and pregnancy tests—
I stop cold when my stomach turns over, and every cell in my body turns to ice.
Chapter Thirty-Four
When was the last time I got my period?My heart stutters, then breaks out a race as I pull my phone out of my pocket and look at my calendar. My cycle has been regular for years, and the last time I bled was… six weeks ago.
Several facts collide in my mind. I’ve been sick every morning and some nights—which could be attributed to stress, but could also be much more sinister. I’ve been distant and standoffish with Killian, which could easily be chalked up to his behavior the night he caught me researching Silas, but is also reminiscent of how I get when I’m PMS’ing.
My body is more sensitive—when Killian spanked me last night, it hurt more than usual. I figured he was adjusting the strengths of his blows because he hadn’t had time to spank me in several days, but then… he might not have.
My breasts feel more tender. I’m exhausted all the time, sleeping in and going to bed early.
And I’m two weeks late on my period.
No. No, no, no, no… I can’t be pregnant. I cannotbe pregnant. The very thought fills me with dread—there’s no fuckingwayI’m pregnant. I’ve onlyknownKillian for two months, and while he’sfucked me often—and has never once used a condom—I took Plan B in the beginning, and then, I got on birth control.
But birth control isn’t 100% effective… and a couple weeks ago, I had to take antibiotics to get over my cold. Don’t antibiotics mess with the effectiveness of birth control pills?
The pit of dread in my stomach balloons, coursing throughout my entire body. My hands shake so violently I have to clasp them as I stare wide-eyed at the pregnancy tests. With a trembling hand, I reach forward to pick one up, turning it over to see if it has English instructions on the back.
It does. It’s an early detection test, claiming to detect pregnancy within 7-10 days of conception. Exhaling deeply, I pick up three tests.
I’m not pregnant, Ican’tbe pregnant… but it wouldn’t hurt to double-check. Just to settle my emotions and get the horrible thought out of my mind.
Locke. Locke’s lurking somewhere outside the store—if he sees I purchased pregnancy tests, he’ll tell Killian, and if Killian finds out, I don’t know what he’ll do. If they come back positive—which they can’t—he’ll probably force me to have an abortion. He’s repeatedly stated that I’m not fit to carry his heir.
That’s a point we agree on. I’m too young to be a mother, and I don’t have a reliable partner or financial stability. Bringing a child into the world at this stage in my life would be a cruelty, not a kindness.
I grab a few shampoo and conditioner bottles, carefully arranging the tests behind them as I walk to the checkout desk.
A woman speaking heavily accented English makes small talk with me as she rings me up, but I don’t have the attention span to truly engage with her.
I pay with my card instead of the one Killian left on the nightstand, accept the paper bag with my purchased goods she hands me, and walk out of the pharmacy, feeling dazed.
Locke is idling just outside, smoking a cigarette. I didn’t know he smoked. The scent of tobacco makes my stomach turn, but I swallow down the vomit threatening to rise. All I can think about is taking these tests. I have to take them, I have to be certain I’m not pregnant, and then I have to find a way to permanently escape Killian—hone in on Silas and establish a link.
I have to get past this nightmarish stage of my life and move on.
“You alright?” Locke asks, stomping out the cigarette. “You look pale.”
His eyes drop to the bag clutched in my hands, narrowing on the death-grip I have on the paper.
I clear my throat, attempting a smile. “Yes, I’m just a bit tired. I still haven’t shaken off the jetlag. Can we go back to the castle?”
