Chapter 2 Fake Pregnancy, Real Trap

# Chapter 2: Fake Pregnancy, Real Trap

Three days of captivity had taught me the rhythms of Rose Manor. The guards changed at six, meals arrived at precise hours, and Victor visited each evening at eight—clinical check-ups disguised as courtesy calls. Tonight would be different. Tonight, I had a plan.

I'd arranged the pillows on my bed to suggest a sleeping form and positioned myself behind the door. When the lock clicked open, I held my breath.

"Antonia?" Victor's voice was soft, almost concerned.

When he approached the bed, I slipped out the door—only to collide with a guard in the hallway. Before I could scream, Victor's hand clamped over my mouth, dragging me back inside.

"Impressive," he murmured, his grip firm but not painful. "But predictable."

I bit his hand hard. He jerked away with a curse, blood welling from the small wound.

"You little viper," he said, but there was something like admiration in his eyes.

I spat into a tissue, secretly tucking it into my sleeve. His DNA—potentially useful if I ever escaped.

"The fertility drugs are working," he said, studying me with clinical detachment. "Your pupils are dilated, skin flushed. Textbook response."

"I'm not your textbook," I snapped. "Or your vessel."

Something flickered across his face—surprise, perhaps. "You found Seraphina's photograph."

"What happened to her?" I demanded. "And the others?"

Victor moved to the window, his profile sharp against the moonlight. "Complications arose."

"Did you kill them?"

He turned, eyes cold. "I'm trying to create life, not end it."

"By forcing women to bear your children?"

"By finding compatible genetic material to break a curse that has killed every naturally conceived Cosimo heir for six generations." His voice had risen, revealing a crack in his composure. "Do you think I enjoy this?"

"I think you enjoy control," I said, holding his gaze.

The ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Perhaps." He approached slowly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face. "But tonight is not about control. Tonight is about compatibility."

His kiss caught me off-guard—not gentle, but not violent either. Determined, like everything else about him. I remained perfectly still, waiting for my moment. When his tongue traced my lower lip, I bit down—hard enough to draw blood.

He jerked back, touching his bleeding lip with genuine surprise. "You keep drawing my blood, Antonia. Some might consider that intimate."

I wiped my mouth. "Some might consider kidnapping a poor basis for intimacy."

His laugh was unexpected—warm, almost human. "You're nothing like the others."

A knock interrupted us. Victor's security chief entered, looking grim.

"Sir, there's a package. For Dr. Blackwood."

Victor's playful demeanor vanished instantly. "Scan it."

"Already did. Contents are... organic."

The small box they brought in was elegant, tied with black ribbon. When I opened it, the world tilted sideways. Inside lay a severed finger with Jamie's signet ring—the one our father had given him for his sixteenth birthday.

"No," I whispered, my knees buckling. Victor caught me before I hit the floor.

A note accompanied the grotesque gift: *The Godfather's seed won't live to birth. —D*

"Dario," Victor growled, immediately on his phone. "Double the guard on the boy's hospital room. Now."

I clutched the box, trembling. "This is my brother's ring. His finger. Oh God, Jamie—"

"It's not his," Victor said firmly, examining it. "The nail beds are wrong, fingers too thick. This is theater, designed to terrorize you."

Relief flooded me, followed by rage. "Who is Dario? Why is he targeting me?"

"My father's former partner. Now my rival." Victor's jaw tightened. "And apparently aware of our arrangement."

"Our arrangement?" I laughed bitterly. "You mean your reproductive hostage situation?"

Victor ignored this, studying the note. "He's threatened the pregnancy that doesn't yet exist. Interesting."

"Interesting? Someone sent me a severed finger!"

His eyes met mine, ice-blue and calculating. "It means Dario has informants here. Trust no one but me."

"Trust you?" I stood shakily. "You're the reason I'm in danger."

"I'm also your only protection." He tucked the box away. "We're moving up our timeline. Tonight."

My stomach dropped. "No."

"Dario won't hesitate to use your brother. Each day we delay puts him at risk."

That night, I was brought to a different wing of the mansion. Elegant dinner, candlelight, wine I refused to drink. Victor watched me across the table, his expression unreadable.

"You haven't touched your food."

"I've lost my appetite," I replied coldly. "Severed fingers do that to me."

The dinner was interrupted by commotion outside. Victor's security chief burst in, dragging a struggling man in servant's clothing.

"Found him tampering with the security feeds," the chief explained, forcing the man to his knees.

Victor's transformation was instant and terrifying. Gone was any pretense of civilization. He drew a gun from his jacket and approached the trembling servant.

"Who sent you?" His voice was soft, more frightening than if he'd shouted.

The man remained silent. Victor pressed the gun to his forehead.

"Last chance."

"Go to hell," the man spat.

The gunshot made me scream. The servant collapsed, blood pooling on the marble floor. Victor turned to me, his expression eerily calm, and extended the gun, handle first.

"You want revenge for your brother's torment? For your captivity?" He guided my reluctant hand around the weapon. "Aim here." He pressed the barrel against his own chest, directly over his heart.

My finger trembled on the trigger. One pull, and I could end this nightmare.

"Do it," he whispered, his eyes never leaving mine.

I squeezed the trigger.

*Click.*

Empty chamber. My breath left me in a rush.

Victor's lips curved into a smile. "You're more like me than you know. Ruthless when necessary."

He took the gun back, his fingers lingering on mine. "Tomorrow, you'll see Dr. Seraphina for a checkup. Cooperate fully."

Later that night, alone in my room, I examined the bloody tissue containing Victor's DNA. A small victory, but meaningless without a way to use it.

The next morning, Seraphina—the auburn-haired woman from the photograph—conducted my examination. Her beauty was marred by a hardness around her eyes.

As she pressed the ultrasound wand to my abdomen, she leaned close, whispering, "Your uterus shows scarring from old trauma. You can't conceive."

My heart leaped with hope—a medical reason Victor would have to release me.

But on the monitor, impossibly, a positive pregnancy result flashed.

"Congratulations," Seraphina said loudly, her eyes conveying a different message. "You're carrying the Cosimo heir."

That night, violent nausea woke me. I barely made it to the bathroom, vomiting until nothing remained but blood-streaked bile. As I rinsed my mouth, I caught a glimpse of something in the mirror—words appearing in what looked like lipstick:

*He's poisoning you slowly.*

I turned, but the bathroom was empty. The message remained, glistening wet as if freshly written.