Chapter 948

The physician responded swiftly, "Mr. Graves, your timing couldn't have been better. The procedure hasn't commenced yet."

Lucian's gaze dropped to Rosalind's abdomen, still flat beneath her gown. "Is the child unharmed?"

The doctor gave a reassuring nod. "Perfectly healthy. No complications detected."

"How long until she regains consciousness?"

"After some rest, she'll wake naturally."

Without another word, Lucian bent and gathered Rosalind into his arms, carrying her out of the sterile hospital corridors and into the waiting car.

He brought her to Rosewood Manor, the sprawling estate bathed in moonlight. Gently, he laid her upon the silk sheets of the master bedroom, tucking the duvet around her slender frame.

Fury simmered beneath his skin, but his hands remained tender. She carried his heir—his future. That truth stayed his wrath.

His palm settled over the slight curve of her belly. Beneath his touch, life pulsed—his blood, his legacy. Their creation.

A dull ache spread through his chest, yet it was eclipsed by something warmer, heavier. Slowly, he lowered himself, pressing his forehead against her stomach. His voice emerged rough with emotion. "Don't be afraid, little one. Daddy's here."

The depth of his love for this unborn child stole his breath. He pressed a reverent kiss to Rosalind's abdomen. "It's me," he murmured. "Your father."

Though no response came, Lucian's lips curved faintly. This first taste of fatherhood—this irrevocable bond—would forever mark his soul.

Straightening, he studied Rosalind's peaceful expression. His fingertips traced the delicate arch of her cheekbone.

The question burned: Why?

Hurting him was one matter. But their child?

Had she truly despised him so thoroughly that she'd reject even his blood?

A hoarse whisper escaped him. "Rosalind... what the hell am I going to do with you?"

Darkness. Cold metal. Hands pinning her down.

Rosalind thrashed against the nightmare, tears scalding her cheeks. With a gasp, she jerked upright, hands flying to her stomach. "My baby—!"

A voice like shaved ice cut through the panic. "The child's fine."

Her head snapped up. Lucian stood framed by the floor-to-ceiling windows, backlit by dawn's first light.

He turned. Shadows hollowed his features, his crimson-veined eyes betraying a sleepless night. Yet his expression remained impenetrable.

Rosalind barely registered her surroundings—his bedroom, the lingering scent of his cologne. Memories flooded back: the hospital, Genevieve and Julian's treachery.

Her palm pressed desperately against her abdomen. "It's truly... unharmed?"

Lucian prowled forward, looming over the bed. "Yes. Does that disappoint you?"

The venom in his tone made her flinch. Then his words registered.

Her breath hitched. "You... know about the pregnancy?"

A mirthless laugh. "I discovered it myself. Were you ever planning to tell me? Or were you determined to erase every trace of me?"

"I intended to—"

"Intended what?" he snarled. "To inform me after you'd disposed of my child?"