Page 123 of The Endless Want

The hum in the ceiling pulses again, the way it has every so often, never predictable. At first, I thought it was ventilation. Then I realize it changes slightly in pitch—either deliberate or coincidental, but unsettling. Like they want me to feel the air itself reacting to someone else’s decisions.

Eventually, the door opens again. I don’t hear footsteps at first, just the soft shift of air as someone moves inside. Then, slow, deliberate pacing. My chest tightens, but the baby rolls gently in response, grounding me.

“Still alive,” the man murmurs. “Good. I was beginning to wonder.”

I don’t answer. I’m not sure what version of me he’s come for today. The one who snaps? The one who stays silent? The one who asks questions? He’s still testing me, trying to see which thread to pull first.

He crouches again, and the carpet creaks softly. The blindfold is adjusted just enough that I feel his knuckles near my jaw. I fight every instinct telling me to jerk away. Showing fear gives him data. I won’t.

“You’ve been quiet,” he observes. “More than most.”

“I don’t talk to men who hide behind blindfolds,” I say.

He laughs, soft and amused. “Bold. But foolish.”

I shift my hands, resting them protectively over my stomach. He hears the movement, of course. Everything in here is amplified because it’s all I can hear.

“Interesting,” he says. “You protect the child before protecting yourself.”

“That’s what parents do.”

“Is that what he plans to be? A parent?” His tone curls with disdain. “Your Declan?”

My pulse stutters. Not because he knows Declan’s name—everyone in this world does. But because of the way he says it, like it’s not a name at all but a fault line he intends to crack.

“He’s not mine,” I say carefully. “And I’m not his.”

“But you carry his heir,” he says thoughtfully. “That makes you something. Maybe not to him. But to the people hunting him.”

I stiffen. “If you touch this baby⁠—”

“Oh, hush,” he snaps, impatient. “You think we want to harm the child? There are easier ways to break a man. A child is leverage. If Declan wants you or the baby back, we negotiate. If he does not…” He shrugs. “You will still be useful.”

I swallow hard. “Leverage for what?”

“That is not something you need to know yet.” He straightens. His voice shifts from almost human curiosity to businesslike cold. “Have you reconsidered your position?”

“What position?”

“Your willingness to help us.”

I lift my chin. “I’m not betraying anyone.”

A patient sigh. “You keep using that word. Betray. As though it applies to you.”

“It does.”

“No,” he says, stepping closer. “Betrayal requires loyalty to break. Do you know what I see when I look at you? A woman caught between men who either underestimate her or misuse her. A woman who fights for a place that sees her as replaceable. A woman whose value has only just been recognized because she carries a child.”

His voice drops, sharp as a blade. “They only care about you now because of what is growing inside you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” he challenges.

It hits a nerve—an ugly one I don’t want to acknowledge. One born of Declan’s uncertainty and Liam’s strategic thinking and the way the entire war room shifted its posture around me as my belly started to show. People see babies as shields or burdens or prizes. Rarely people.

I tighten my jaw. “You don’t know anything about them.”