I grab one with cold hands and shove it into my pocket. Then I carefully rearrange everything to look undisturbed. If Maria or Beatrice notice a test missing, they’ll think the other one took it. Hopefully.
I sneak back out into the hallway, my pulse racing, the test burning against my hip through the thin fabric of my pocket.
I can’t take it in our bathroom. What if Leo comes back? What if he finishes his call early and comes looking for me? What if someone comes in to clean?
My old room. The one I stayed in for before Leo and I—before everything changed. No one uses it anymore. No one would look for me there.
I practically run down the hallways, trying to look like I’m moving casually. I swing by the kitchen first, grabbing an unused timer, and the staff ignore me thank god, and I resume my hussle back to my old room. When I reach the door, I hurry inside and close it, leaning against the wood for a moment while I try to catch my breath.
The room looks exactly the same as it did two months ago, when I was first shut in. The bed is made with sharp edges, the curtains drawn, everything neat and untouched. It feels like a lifetime ago that I slept here, that I hated Leo, that I was planning my escape.
Now I might be carrying his child.
I force myself to run into the attached bathroom. My hands are shaking so badly I drop the test before I can unwrap it. I scoop it up and put it on the counter before I take a few deep breaths.
“Just take the test, Emma,” I tell myself. “There’s no use panicking until you know.” With that, I take another breath and unwrap the test. I don’t need the box of instructions to tell me how to take a pregnancy test. Pee on the stick. Wait three minutes. One line means not pregnant. Two lines means…
I can’t even finish the thought.
I take the test, my hands trembling the entire time, and then I set it carefully on the counter. I can’t look at it yet, so I sink down to the cold tile floor, wrapping my arms around my knees, and I wait.
Three minutes feels like three eternities.
I stare at the grout between the tiles, counting the seconds, trying to breathe. My mind won’t stop spinning and thinking about all the implications if this test is positive.
If I’m pregnant, everything changes.Everything.
If my father somehow manages to get me back, I’ll be pregnant with a Santoro heir. The ultimate betrayal in his eyes. The living, breathing proof that I didn’t just submit to my captivity but actively participated in it. That I fell in love with his enemy. He’ll lose his mind. He might disown me. Might?—
Nope. Not going down that route.
And Leo—what will Leo think? Will he be happy? Terrified? Will he see it as another chain binding me to him, more leverage tokeep me here? Or will he understand that this baby—if there is a baby—isn’t about leverage or captivity? That it’s about love, about the relationship we’ve built together in this impossible situation?
Will he even want to be a father? We’ve never talked about kids. We’ve never discussed the future beyond the immediate crisis of Dad. For all I know, Leo might not want children at all.
The thought makes a spike of fear shoot through me I wasn’t expecting.
But underneath all the terror and panic and confusion, there’s something else. Something warm and fragile and frighteningly intense.
If I’m pregnant, I want this baby.
The realization hits me with stunning clarity. I want this. I want this baby. I want this piece of Leo and me.
I’m out of my fucking mind.
But I can’t help it.
I check the timer. Three minutes have passed. Actually, five minutes have passed because I’ve been sitting here spiraling.
It’s time to look.
I force myself to stand on shaky legs, my mouth dryer than the Sahara desert. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might break through my ribs. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and I look down at the test on the counter.
Two pink lines.
Clear as day. Unmistakable. Bold against the white plastic.
I’m pregnant.