Bound by lies, Trapped by Desire - Chapter 95: Chapter 95

Elena’s POV:
I looked at him, heart thudding steadily in my chest, and slowly shook my head. The pressure behind my eyes was mounting again, like something swollen, trying to burst.
“My mom’s at the hospital. She’s in her office, and I—I can’t disturb her right now,” I muttered, half to him, half to myself. “She’s already been through enough because of me…”
I trailed off, the guilt hitting like a punch to the throat. I didn’t need to drag her into another scene. Fiona had her exams to study for, and Rachel… God, I didn’t even know where she was. She hadn’t been answering her messages since the weekend, probably halfway across the city or neck-deep in stitching a new design at her aunt’s boutique.
“No one?” Malakai’s brows lifted, and he slipped his phone out of his coat pocket. “Then…Nikolai? Yeah, I should probably call him—”
My eyes snapped wide. “No.” My voice cracked out, raw and urgent, and my hand shot out before I could think. I pushed at his phone, not hard, just enough to stop him.
“No,” I repeated, softer this time, but firmer. “Don’t. Please don’t call him.” I sighed, the dizziness hitting again, this time like a wave threatening to knock me under. “Fine. Okay. I’ll go with you. Just… don’t call him. Please.”
There was a long beat before he nodded, sliding his phone back into his coat pocket with a soft click. “Good,” he said with a relieved smile. “Come on. Sit down. I’ll pay the bill and be right back.”
He helped me back into the chair, his hand brushing my shoulder briefly, and I sat down hard, my limbs too heavy to resist. My fingers fumbled as I grabbed my cap from the table and shoved it into my bag with clumsy movements. I reached for my rucksack next, but before I could lift it, Malakai had already taken it from me.
“I’ve got it,” he said simply, nodding toward the door. “You just move forward.”
I didn’t argue.
Even the act of blinking was exhausting.
Once in the car, I barely registered the start of the engine before I was leaning against the window, my body giving in to the pull of sleep almost immediately. I vaguely remember murmuring the location of Dr. Beckett’s clinic before everything went dark.
When I stirred next, someone was calling my name gently, fingers brushing against my shoulder. “Elena,” Malakai said, “we’re here.”
My eyes blinked open, bleary with sleep and residue from the migraine pulsing through my skull. I pushed the door open, stiff limbs carrying me out slowly. The afternoon light was gentler now, softer, golden around the edges. A breeze tugged at my hoodie, sharp enough to remind me that I was very much awake, very much not okay.
We entered the clinic together. It was clean, modern, but not flashy—painted soft cream with green plants dotting corners and a few cushioned chairs against the walls. The receptionist gave us a welcoming smile, but it faded a little when she saw the pallor on my face.
I gave my name quietly. “I’m here to see Dr. Beckett.”
The nurse tapped at her tablet. “You’re in luck. There’s no rush right now. Please have a seat, she’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.”
I nodded and thanked her before turning to Malakai. “You don’t have to come in. Just wait here, or you can leave if you want, okay?”
“I’m staying here. But you sure you don’t want me there?” he asked, glancing toward the hallway that led to the consultation rooms. He probably thought I was coming alone for the first time. Little did he know, hospitals were my second home for years.
“Yeah,” I said, more firmly. “It’s fine. Thanks… for this.”
He nodded once. “Take your time.”
After fifteen minutes the nurse told me to go to her room.
I walked down the corridor toward Dr. Beckett’s room, the soles of my sneakers squeaking faintly on the polished floor. My hands trembled as I reached for the handle. The door opened before I could knock.
“Elena,” Dr. Beckett greeted with a warm smile. Her voice was gentle, soothing. “It’s been a while. Come in, sweetheart.”
I stepped inside the room that had once felt safe to me as a child, now feeling like I was walking into a courtroom. The walls were the same pale blue, the familiar framed photos of her family still on the desk beside her stethoscope.
She gestured to the chair and sat across from me. “You look exhausted. Tell me what’s going on.”
I took a deep breath, trying to gather the scattered pieces of my mind into something coherent.
“I’ve been nauseous,” I began, voice hoarse. “Dizzy. Headaches. I couldn’t keep my lunch down today even after skipping breakfast—barely made it to the bathroom.”
Dr. Beckett’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t interrupt.
“And I feel… strange. Just… off.”
She nodded slowly, taking notes. Sturned to take a seat and started clicking on her computer as she asked me some more questions about my recent lifestyle, eating habits and emotional fluctuations. She finally spoke after a while. “Any chance you could be pregnant?”
I stared at her for a second, then blinked rapidly. “No. I—I have an IUD.”
She raised her brows slightly but didn’t look surprised. “Even so, no method is a hundred percent. These things fail. It’s rare, but it happens. And your symptoms…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she got up and fetched a small, white box from the cabinet.
“I need you to take a test, Elena,” she said quietly, placing the kit into my hand. “Just to be sure. If you are pregnant, we need to know immediately. With an IUD, there can be complications.”
Complications.
I swallowed around the hard lump forming in my throat.
My legs moved on autopilot as I followed her direction to the small adjoining bathroom.
I opened the test kit with trembling fingers.
Please no. Please, not now.
I followed the instructions, each motion feeling foreign, mechanical. Then I waited.
The longest five minutes of my life.
I sat on the toilet lid, staring down at the test on the counter, arms wrapped tightly around my stomach like I could protect myself from the answer. I kept chanting inside my head—Don’t do this. Don’t do this to me. Don’t let this be real.
The second line appeared.
Faint, but unmistakable.
A sharp coldness spread through me.
Everything stilled.
My vision tunneled.
My breathing went shallow.
It was positive.
I don’t know how long I sat there, staring at the little plastic strip like it had betrayed me.
My body didn’t move. My thoughts didn’t work. All I could feel was a single truth echoing through my skull. I’m pregnant.
A soft knock came on the bathroom door. “Elena?” Dr. Beckett’s voice was calm, but I could hear the concern under it. “You can come out whenever you’re ready.”
I splashed my face with water. My fingers felt numb as I washed my hands, dried them, and opened the door.
She looked at me. I looked at her.
“It’s positive,” I said numbly.
Her lips tightened, but she only nodded, gently guiding me back to the chair. “We’ll run a few more tests to confirm and to see how far along you are. Just a urine sample and a scan, alright?”
I nodded wordlessly.
After ten more minutes, she returned with the results.
“You’re about three weeks along,” she said gently. “Now, Elena, with an IUD in place, there are risks. If you decide to keep the baby, we’ll need to remove the IUD immediately to prevent complications. But…”
She paused, probably because she could see the horror on my face, her voice softening.
“If you decide otherwise, we’ll discuss the safest method for terminating the pregnancy.”
I froze.
Abortion?
My stomach twisted violently again, though I had nothing left to throw up. I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.
The idea of it—the clinical removal of something inside me—of erasing something I hadn’t even asked for, felt unreal. Like I was listening to someone else’s life.
Dr. Beckett was watching me carefully, her hands folded patiently. “Whatever you decide, I’ll be here. But time is important.”
My phone buzzed.
I reached into my hoodie pocket and pulled it out. The screen flashed with a message.
Niko.
I stared at it like it was a live wire.
A memory flashed—his voice low and desperate, his breath hot against my ear as he hovered over me that night.
“I’m trusting you.”
He hadn’t said it out of cruelty. He’d said it because he believed me. Because he didn’t want to believe I’d lie about being on birth control.
But now?
What the hell was this?
This wasn’t my fault.
But it felt like a trap. A betrayal.
If I kept this child… Would it be like I was trapping him? Would he think I had done it on purpose?
I stared at the message.
Then at the doctor.
Then down at my stomach.