The Ruthless Mafia Boss Got Down on His Knees to Save Our Failing Marriage

I've wanted to be pregnant for so long, but I know I shouldn't be. Donovan has made it clear. He never wanted children, never wanted to build a family with me.

"Is everything alright?" The doctor asked, her voice careful, as if she could sense the dread inside me.

I forced a smile and shook my head.

"Yes, definitely," I whispered before walking out. There was nothing I could feel but heaviness in my chest.

Hours have passed since I got the news, but my mind is still reeling. I'm pregnant. And I'm terrified.

How will Donovan react? What will he do when he finds out?

My thoughts spiral.

What if he lashes out? What if he does something terrible... to me, to our baby?

The fear is overwhelming.

I don't know how to tell him. I don't even know if I'll find the courage to say it. But one way or another, he has to know. I guess I just need to find the right moment, if there ever is one.

I sat on the couch in the leisure room, absentmindedly caressing my belly. I was lost in thought, when suddenly, fingers snapped in front of me. Donovan stood there, his eyes sharp.

"What the hell are you thinking? You look so tense," He muttered, his gaze piercing through me.

I swallowed hard, struggling to find my voice. "Uh… nothing. Just a headache," I managed to say, avoiding his eyes.

But as I spoke, my gaze fell to his lips—there was a fresh cut, like someone had bitten him. Then, my eyes drifted to his collar, where a faint lipstick stain stood out.

I blinked, trying to process what I was seeing. My mind raced with questions. Is he cheating on me? Did he just come from another woman's arms? Has this been going on for a while? The doubts and suspicions flooded me, but all I could manage to say was, "What... what is that?"

I saw Donovan stiffen slightly, panic flickering in his movements as he hastily wiped at the stain on his collar. "Are you serious? Are you accusing me of something? It's just a stain I got from my Ferrari!" His voice was defensive and the guilt radiated off him. "I'm not in the mood for this, Clara. I'm exhausted." With that, he brushed past me, clearly trying to avoid further confrontation.

Strangely, I felt numb.

No anger, no tears—just emptiness.

After a few moments, I retreated to my bedroom. We had long since decided on separate rooms—another indication of our crumbling relationship.

To distract myself from the chaos in my mind, I unlocked my phone and opened my social media, something I hadn't done in ages. Unexpectedly, the first post I saw was from someone close to Donovan.

It was Arlene Blake, Donovan's ex. His first love.

She had posted a photo from the airport two days after Donovan's party—the night he had hit me before claiming he had to meet a friend arriving from abroad.

Suddenly, something inside me says that none of this was coincidental. And as I pieced things together, dread settled over. Could he have been meeting her all along?

I turned off my phone and closed my eyes.

Could that friend have been Arlene?

I shook the thought away. Impossible. Arlene's married now, I reminded myself, trying to push down the lingering doubts.

A month passed, and I still hadn't found the courage to tell Donovan about the pregnancy. But today, it seemed like my secret was going to come out whether I was ready or not.

I was in the bathroom, hit by another wave of nausea. It was the third time I'd thrown up today. Unfortunately, this time, Donovan barged in, slamming the door open, catching me mid-vomit.

"Clara!" He shouted, gripping my arms tightly, forcing me to face him. "Why are you vomiting?" His voice was already harsh, the fact that he didn't know anything yet.