Her hands shook as she reached out and pulled open the mirrored cabinet. She took out the familiar small plastic bottle of birth control pills. She unscrewed the cap and tipped a single white pill into her palm.
She brought it closer to her face. The faint, chalky, bitter smell she was accustomed to was gone. Instead, a sweet, artificial fruit scent drifted to her nose.
Her breathing stopped. The blood roared in her ears.
She turned away from the sink, clutching the bottle. She walked out of the bathroom, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor of the hallway, and entered the bedroom. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand.
Her fingers slipped on the screen as she opened her medical consultation app. She typed in Dr. Reed's name, her chest tight with panic. The loading icon spun on the screen. She bit her lower lip hard enough to taste copper, twisting the hem of her silk pajamas with her free hand.
The doctor's status turned green. She snapped a clear photo of the pill in her palm and hit send. She typed a single sentence: What is this medication?
Her legs gave out. She sank onto the edge of the mattress, her knees weak. She stared at the screen, her thumb rubbing the edge of the phone case.
A notification popped up. Dr. Reed's reply was brief. It is a standard prenatal folic acid vitamin.
The phone slipped from her hand and landed softly on the duvet. Her pupils dilated. The air in the room felt too thin to breathe.
She stood up abruptly, a wave of dizziness forcing her to press her palm flat against the wall for support. A cold sweat broke out across her back. She remembered Julian standing in the doorway every single night, his dark eyes fixed on her, watching her swallow that pill. A violent chill ran down her spine.
She snatched the phone back up and opened her secure messaging app. Her fingers hovered over the screen for an agonizing second, her heart pounding against her ribs, before she texted her best friend, Paige: "I need three pregnancy tests. Drop them off with the concierge in a plain pastry box. Tell them it's from that bakery I like. Hurry."
Thirty minutes later, the sharp buzz of the intercom shattered the silence. Chloe jumped. She ran out of the bedroom and down the hall to the entryway. She checked the video monitor, saw the building's concierge holding a white pastry box, and yanked the door open. She grabbed the box from his hand without a word, offering a tight, forced smile.
She slammed the door shut. She did not bother to put on slippers. She ran back down the hall, her bare feet slapping the floor, and locked herself in the bathroom.
She tore the cardboard boxes open. Her hands trembled so violently that the plastic sticks clattered against the marble counter.
She followed the instructions, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. She laid the first test flat on the sink. She stared at the blank digital window.
The first red line appeared instantly. She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingernails digging into her palms, praying to a god she did not believe in to keep the second line away.
She opened her eyes. The second red line was stark, bright, and undeniable. Her last shred of hope vanished.
Driven by a frantic need to prove it wrong, she ripped open the other two boxes. She repeated the process. She lined them up next to the first one.
Six bright red lines stared back at her. They looked like fresh cuts against the white plastic.
Her knees buckled. She slid down the cold bathroom cabinet until she hit the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest, buried her face in her arms, and cried. No sound escaped her throat, but her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs.
She was carrying a child. She realized with absolute clarity that she was now permanently tethered to the predator who owned this penthouse.
She forced herself to take a deep breath. The cold air burned her lungs. She had to survive. She could not let Julian know she had discovered his trap.
She pushed herself off the floor. She gathered the three pregnancy tests and wrapped them in thick layers of toilet paper. She shoved the bundle deep into the inner pocket of her heavy winter coat hanging in the closet, planning to throw it away in a public trash bin the next time she was allowed to leave the apartment.
She picked up the bottle of vitamins, placed it exactly where it had been on the middle shelf of the cabinet, and wiped the counter clean of any water spots.
She reached into the glass shower enclosure and turned the handle. The hot water blasted from the showerhead, filling the room with steam. She needed the noise to cover her panic.
Over the sound of the rushing water, a distinct mechanical click echoed through the apartment. The electronic lock on the front door was turning.
Chloe froze. Her heart leaped into her throat. She reached out and twisted the shower handle off.
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