Chapter 4
Lucy's POV
His blunt words made my ears blush with shame.
"You're still so sensitive," he murmured, nuzzling my neck. The words made my heart ache – not with love, but with the knowledge that this tenderness wasn't real. His fleeting tenderness was solely to secure my blood donations for Ivy.
The sharp ringtone of his phone shattered the moment. Ethan reached for it immediately, his expression changing when he saw the caller ID. I already knew who it was before he answered.
"Hey." His voice softened in a way it never did for me. "I'm at home... No, she's not targeting you, don't worry... I know, I'll come by later..."
He spoke to Ivy in a gentle tone, which made me ache. I shakily set about straightening my messy clothes.
Ethan ended the call, watching me with amusement. "What's the rush, Lucy? We're not done here."
I ignored him, and his hand caught my wrist. I tried to pull away, but his grip was firm, possessive. After three years of marriage, my body still betrayed me every time he touched me. But my mind screamed the truth - I was nothing more than his sex doll and a walking blood bank for his precious Ivy.
"If you don't want me to continue undressing you, un-blacken my number." he said, reaching for my buttons again, "Or ..."
I jerked away from his touch. "Fine."
He stroked his chin in satisfaction. "Come downstairs and eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"You need to eat." His tone held that edge of command that always made me want to rebel. "Prison food must have been awful."
The mention of prison was like a bucket of cold water. One year behind bars for a crime I didn't commit, while Ivy played the perfect victim in her wheelchair. All a setup, I thought bitterly. Just like this marriage.
The dining room, like everything else in our apartment, was a study in modern luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a stunning view of Central Park, but all I could focus on was the nauseating smell of the grilled salmon our housekeeper had prepared.
"Mrs. Storm, you've lost so much weight," our maid, Margaret Brown fussed, adding another piece of fish to my plate. "Please eat more."
The smell hit me again, and I had to press my hand to my mouth to keep from gagging. "I'm fine," I managed. "I'm full."
Ethan's sharp eyes missed nothing. "The prison food was bland. She's not used to rich food yet. Make her some porridge instead."
His phone buzzed again. This time he didn't even try to hide his urgency as he stood. "I need to go. Ivy's not feeling well."
"Of course she isn't," I muttered under my breath, but he was already heading for the door, leaving me alone with my churning stomach and the overwhelming smell of fish.
Mrs. Brown cleared my plate with a concerned look. "Should I make you some ginger tea, Mrs. Storm? It helps with nausea..."
Her words hit me like a thunderbolt. Nausea. Come to think of it, I'd been feeling queasy for days. And my period...
Oh God.
Later that night, I sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the three pregnancy tests lined up on the marble counter. All positive. Shit. Double shit. The memory hit me like a truck - I'd forgotten to take the pill after our last sex.
"Oh, man, I'm...pregnant." My voice trembled as I touched my still-flat stomach. A baby. Our baby. Something inside me was growing, half me, half Ethan. My heart felt like it would burst. Tears of joy streamed down my face as I imagined a tiny version of Ethan.
Then panic hit me like a sledgehammer. My hands started shaking. How would I tell Ethan? What would he choose - his unborn child or his precious Ivy? I already knew the answer, but my heart refused to accept it.
My phone pinged with a notification, twisting the knife deeper. Another Instagram post from Ivy: a selfie from her hospital bed, looking ethereal in designer pajamas. The caption read: "So grateful for those who always put me first." The comments were full of praise for Ethan's devotion to his "childhood sweetheart."
I turned off my phone, fighting back tears. In the massive apartment that had never felt like home, I'd never felt more alone.
Dawn broke over Manhattan, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. Ethan hadn't come home all night. I'd barely slept, my mind racing with possibilities and fears.
"Mrs. Storm!" Mrs. Brown's excited voice made me jump. She was holding up one of the pregnancy tests I'd forgotten to hide. "This is wonderful news! Why are you keeping it secret?"
I took the test from her hands, my voice tight. "I've already asked for a divorce."
Her face fell. "But Mrs. Storm, you can't divorce now. Not with a baby!"
"The baby changes nothing." But even as I said it, I wondered if I was trying to convince her or myself.
"Think of the child," she pressed. "You know the Storm family never divorces. It's tradition."
Tradition. Another chain to bind me. But now it wasn't just about me anymore. Maybe this baby was a gift from God, a chance to win back Ethan's heart. After all, wouldn't a child of his own mean more to him than Ivy?
The Storm Investment Group tower gleamed in the morning sun, a monument to power and wealth. Ethan's office occupied the top floor, offering a panoramic view of Manhattan that still took my breath away.
He barely looked up from his laptop when I entered. "Make it quick. I have a board meeting in twenty minutes."
I took a deep breath. "Where were you last night?"
"Ivy had a bad episode. I stayed at the hospital with her." He finally met my eyes, challenging me to object.
I steadied myself, my heart racing with expectation."Ethan, if we had a baby, would you spend more time at home?"
His fingers stilled on the keyboard. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes – surprise? Interest? But then his expression hardened.
"Ivy's health is fragile lately," he said coldly. "If you're pregnant, you won't be able to donate blood to her."
And there it was. The truth I'd always known but never wanted to face. In this marriage, in his life, I was nothing more than Ivy's blood bank.
I looked down, fighting back tears as I pressed my hand to my stomach where our child was growing, unseen, and unwanted by its father. The morning sun caught my wedding ring, making it sparkle. Such a beautiful cage.
"Is that all?" Ethan was already back to his emails.
"Yes," I whispered, turning to leave. "That's all."