He Finally Touched Me, But Called Her Name

The darkness pressed in on Adela as she surfaced from a restless sleep.

Something was wrong.

A heavy weight settled over her, smelling of expensive whiskey and a cloying, sweet perfume that wasn't hers.

She tried to push it away, her hands meeting a wall of muscle.

Then came the familiar scent beneath the alcohol—the one she knew even in the dark. Cedar and tobacco. Her husband, Caden—a man who, after all this time, had never once touched her in their bed.

His lips moved against her ear, a ragged whisper that shattered her heart.

"Cristal."

The name was a poisoned blade. He was drunk and thought she was another woman.

Adela tried to turn her head away, to escape. But he wouldn't give her a moment to breathe.

His kiss was brutal. Cold. It wasn't a kiss of passion, but of possession. Of release. The silk of her nightgown tore under his impatient hands.

Adela stopped fighting.

She lay like a broken doll, a single tear tracing a silent path from the corner of her eye into her hair.

Morning light sliced through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Adela woke to a deep, soul-crushing soreness. The space beside her in the bed was cold.

Caden stood at the foot of the bed, already dressed in a flawless bespoke suit. His eyes were colder than the Hudson River in January.

He reached into his pocket and tossed a small plastic case onto the duvet in front of her. It landed with a soft thud.

"Take it." His voice was devoid of any warmth.

Adela's gaze fell to the case. Emergency contraception. The humiliation of the night before crashed over her again, a physical wave of nausea.

She bit her lower lip, hard. "Caden, you were drunk last night, I—"

A cold laugh cut her off. "Trying to use an accident to get pregnant? To escape your cheap background? Don't dream, Adela Buchanan."

The words struck her, and all the color drained from her face. She knew their marriage was a transaction, an agreement she'd signed to cover her grandmother's staggering medical bills. But she never imagined he could be this cruel.

She clutched the sheets, her voice a raw whisper. "I won't take it."

His patience snapped.

In two long strides, he was at the bedside. His hand clamped around her jaw, forcing her mouth open. The pressure was immense, making her feel as if the bone would crack.

He shoved the small pill into her mouth, then grabbed the glass of water from the nightstand and poured it down her throat.

Adela choked, sputtering as the cold water and the bitter pill slid down. Tears she could no longer control streamed down her face.

He released her. He looked down at her pathetic, coughing form with pure disgust. "Don't forget what you are. A wife I bought. You will never, ever give birth to a Moran heir."

He adjusted his perfectly tailored cuffs, as if he had just disposed of a piece of trash.

"If I find out you tried any tricks, I will personally drag you to a clinic and have that thing scraped out of you."

He turned and walked out of the bedroom without a backward glance. The heavy slam of the door was a final, brutal blow.

Adela curled into a ball, her body shaking uncontrollably. A violent retch seized her stomach. She scrambled to the bathroom, collapsing in front of the toilet—and she didn't notice the small white thing that came up with the vomit.

She slumped onto the cold marble floor, catching her reflection in the mirrored cabinet. Pale face, empty eyes. A laugh escaped her lips, a sound more broken than any sob.

Caden didn't come back for weeks. The penthouse was a gilded cage, her only human contact the housekeeper, Mrs. Diaz, who brought her meals on a tray.

Adela threw herself into her work at the hospital, the long hours a welcome anesthetic. But a deep fatigue began to settle in her bones, and waves of nausea would hit her at random. She told herself it was just the psychological aftermath of that morning.

One month later, as she heaved over the sink, a terrifying thought pierced through the fog of her denial.

Her hand trembled as she pulled an unopened pregnancy test from the back of the medicine cabinet. She'd bought it months ago, just in case. She never thought she'd use it like this.

She went into the bathroom. Time stretched, each second a slow, agonizing tick.

Five minutes later, she picked up the stick, squeezing her eyes shut. She took a deep breath before daring to look.

Two pink lines. Bright, sharp, and undeniable.

The air left Adela's lungs in a single, silent gasp. The test slipped from her numb fingers, clattering against the floor.

She was pregnant.

After he had warned her in the cruelest way possible, this child had still come. Was it a sick joke from fate, or the beginning of an even deeper hell? Her hand moved instinctively, resting on her still-flat stomach.