Chapter 7: Cracks in the Ice
At sixteen weeks, something unexpected happened. Dominic started... lingering.
Not in the cold, mechanical way he used to. He'd find excuses to be in the same room. He'd glance at my belly when he thought I wasn't looking.
One morning, I caught him standing outside the nursery — a room Seraphina had decorated entirely in her taste.
He was just staring at the crib, his hand on the doorframe, his expression unreadable.
When he noticed me, he straightened immediately. "Just checking the room's ready."
"It's only sixteen weeks," I said.
"I know." He cleared his throat. "I'm being... thorough."
He walked past me, and his sleeve brushed my arm. He flinched like he'd been burned.
That night, for the first time in months, the timer didn't go off. The visits had stopped once pregnancy was confirmed, but he usually sent the doctor instead.
Tonight, he came himself.
"How are you feeling?" He stood awkwardly by my bed, hands in his pockets.
"Fine."
"No nausea? No pain?"
"No."
He nodded slowly. Didn't leave.
"The baby kicked yet?" His voice was quieter now.
I hesitated. "Not yet. It's still early."
"Right." He rocked on his heels. "Right. Well. Get some rest."
He was halfway to the door when he stopped. "That soup Seraphina's been making you. Do you... like it?"
My blood chilled. "Why do you ask?"
"You never finish it. The staff mentioned."
I measured my words carefully. "The smell triggers my nausea. I've been eating plain rice instead."
He was quiet for a beat too long. "I'll tell her to stop, then."
He left. And for the first time, I wondered if something was shifting behind those cold gray eyes.
But I couldn't afford to wonder. Pity was a trap. Affection was a trap. Every soft moment with this man was a leash disguised as a gift.
The next morning, Seraphina appeared in the kitchen, furious.
"Dominic told me to stop making her food," she told Mrs. Ashford over tea, her voice dripping poison. "After everything I've done. He's taking her side."
Dominic's mother sipped her tea without expression. "The surrogate carries the Ashford heir. We need her healthy. It's practical, not personal."
"It IS personal!" Seraphina's composure cracked. "She's manipulating him. I can see it. She looks at him differently—"
"Enough." Mrs. Ashford set her cup down. "You'll be the child's legal mother. That's what matters. A surrogate is a vessel. Nothing more."
I stood around the corner, listening. My hand rested on my belly.
*Nothing more.* That's what they all believed.
Callum appeared beside me silently. "The orphanage records arrive this week."
I nodded. "And the DNA comparison?"
"Scheduled. Laurent family dental records are being matched against Seraphina's file. If she's not the real Vivienne Laurent..."
"She isn't." I looked at him steadily. "Because I am."
---
Not in the cold, mechanical way he used to. He'd find excuses to be in the same room. He'd glance at my belly when he thought I wasn't looking.
One morning, I caught him standing outside the nursery — a room Seraphina had decorated entirely in her taste.
He was just staring at the crib, his hand on the doorframe, his expression unreadable.
When he noticed me, he straightened immediately. "Just checking the room's ready."
"It's only sixteen weeks," I said.
"I know." He cleared his throat. "I'm being... thorough."
He walked past me, and his sleeve brushed my arm. He flinched like he'd been burned.
That night, for the first time in months, the timer didn't go off. The visits had stopped once pregnancy was confirmed, but he usually sent the doctor instead.
Tonight, he came himself.
"How are you feeling?" He stood awkwardly by my bed, hands in his pockets.
"Fine."
"No nausea? No pain?"
"No."
He nodded slowly. Didn't leave.
"The baby kicked yet?" His voice was quieter now.
I hesitated. "Not yet. It's still early."
"Right." He rocked on his heels. "Right. Well. Get some rest."
He was halfway to the door when he stopped. "That soup Seraphina's been making you. Do you... like it?"
My blood chilled. "Why do you ask?"
"You never finish it. The staff mentioned."
I measured my words carefully. "The smell triggers my nausea. I've been eating plain rice instead."
He was quiet for a beat too long. "I'll tell her to stop, then."
He left. And for the first time, I wondered if something was shifting behind those cold gray eyes.
But I couldn't afford to wonder. Pity was a trap. Affection was a trap. Every soft moment with this man was a leash disguised as a gift.
The next morning, Seraphina appeared in the kitchen, furious.
"Dominic told me to stop making her food," she told Mrs. Ashford over tea, her voice dripping poison. "After everything I've done. He's taking her side."
Dominic's mother sipped her tea without expression. "The surrogate carries the Ashford heir. We need her healthy. It's practical, not personal."
"It IS personal!" Seraphina's composure cracked. "She's manipulating him. I can see it. She looks at him differently—"
"Enough." Mrs. Ashford set her cup down. "You'll be the child's legal mother. That's what matters. A surrogate is a vessel. Nothing more."
I stood around the corner, listening. My hand rested on my belly.
*Nothing more.* That's what they all believed.
Callum appeared beside me silently. "The orphanage records arrive this week."
I nodded. "And the DNA comparison?"
"Scheduled. Laurent family dental records are being matched against Seraphina's file. If she's not the real Vivienne Laurent..."
"She isn't." I looked at him steadily. "Because I am."
---