A week passed. For seven days straight, I locked myself inside my damp little lodging. The walls, scarred with peeling cracks, looked like old wounds refusing to heal. The musty stench seeped into my bedding, clinging to my lungs with every breath. From the leaking faucet came a steady drip, accompanied by the scurrying of rats in the shadows—an oppressive symphony of captivity.

This morning, I sat at the edge of the bed, gazing at my swollen feet, toes bound tight as if shackled by invisible ropes. Blue veins bulged across my skin like cruel bindings. A deep breath only tightened my chest further, dragging me down into exhaustion. I knew if I lingered in this stagnant air any longer, my body would wither away.

I slipped into a faded maternity dress. But as I passed the mirror, my steps faltered. The woman staring back at me still carried traces of prettiness, yet dark circles under my eyes betrayed my weariness. Fingers trembling against the cold glass, I whispered, as though clutching at myself:

— It’ll be fine… hang on, Clara.

…

Outside, the streets pulsed with noise—blaring horns, hurried footsteps, the hoarse cry of street vendors. I shuffled forward, each step dragged down by my heavy belly. A sharp pang ripped through my back now and then, like a blade twisting deep. I collapsed onto a stone bench, one hand clutching my waist, sweat beading on my temples.

When I looked up, my gaze caught a couple across the road. The husband crouched to tie his wife’s shoelaces, then rose, his hand never leaving the small of her back. His gentle smile transformed the ordinary into something unbearably tender.

For an instant, I saw myself in that scene. Andrew kneeling to fix my laces, his steady hand supporting my swollen body, his eyes soft as they once had been. But the illusion dissolved quickly, leaving only the hollow ache in my chest.

My heart whispered a name before I could stop it: Andrew… If only I hadn’t left you four years ago…

My hands twisted the fabric of my dress, nails digging white marks into the cloth. No. I mustn’t remember. Mustn’t falter.

…

My wandering steps led me to an old mansion. Moss crept up the high walls, the iron gate loomed silent, guarding secrets within. The place radiated majesty and a coldness that chilled my bones. My legs grew heavy, as though dragged down by an unseen weight. The sounds around me thinned, drowned out by my racing heartbeat—then slower, fainter. The world warped, blurred, and finally collapsed into darkness.

In my last flicker of awareness, I felt as if I were falling into an endless void, torn away from my own body.

…

I jolted awake. A vast ceiling stretched above me, a crystal chandelier casting a golden light—warm yet distant.

Thick velvet curtains hung heavy, allowing only a narrow sliver of air to seep in, making the lights sway faintly. The scent of polished wood lingered in the air, while from afar came the solemn ticking of a grandfather clock. The room was spacious, but its grandeur only cloaked an emptiness.

My body ached as though every bone were splintered. The pain in my back stabbed with each breath, sharp as needles.

A maid in uniform rushed to my side, her voice anxious:

— Miss, stay calm! How are you feeling?

I clutched my belly, eyes darting across the unfamiliar room.

— Where… where is this? Who are you? Why am I here?

— You fainted at the gate. My master found you and carried you in. This is his residence.- The woman spoke quickly, eyes kind.

Relief barely touched me before another spasm seized my back, wringing a groan from my lips. Cold sweat broke across my forehead.

— Please… I need a warm compress… I’m pregnant… the pain is unbearable…

The maid nodded and hurried away. When she returned, she placed the compress gently into my hands.

—

The master said you may stay here until you recover. If you need anything, just ask.

I lowered my gaze.

— Then… please, thank him for me.

…

The room fell silent again. I struggled to press the compress against my back, but my belly blocked my reach. My hands trembled, never finding the right spot. Pain throbbed through my temples, my lips pressed tight. God… it hurts so much…

Click. Click.

The door opened. I stiffened, a chill rushing down my spine. A tall figure stood framed by the light of the doorway. Each step he took into the room thickened the air, suffocating my breath.

My eyes widened. My heart skipped, then pounded so violently I thought it might shatter my ribs. The name rose in my mind—familiar, unbearable: Andrew.

For a heartbeat, I thought I was still delirious. But his eyes—cold, bottomless, inescapable—told me this was no dream.

My hands clawed at the sheets, nails leaving pale grooves. I was torn between two tides: the searing hunger to lean on him, and the paralyzing terror of his distant gaze.

I forced my lips to move, my voice cracked and trembling:

— You… you don’t have to… I can manage on my own…

My words choked, strangled by the weight of his stare.

— Will you turn yourself, or must I do it for you?

His tone pressed down like a command. Shaking, I turned my back to him.

The sharp hiss of a zipper sliced the air. Cool air brushed my skin. The dress slipped, my bra exposed. I gripped the sheets, face burning.

— Andrew… don’t… let me…

He didn’t answer. With a firm hand, he unclasped my bra, his voice low and edged:

— For God’s sake, pregnant and still buried under layers. Irritating.

The garment fell away. I sucked in a sharp breath—relieved, yet stripped bare to the bone.

The hot compress pressed against my spine, warmth seeping through taut muscles, easing the stabbing ache. I trembled, eyes half-closed, breath ragged, my heart spiraling out of control.

— Andrew… stop… let me… - The plea slipped out, fragile.

Silent, he pressed the heat lower, hard against my pelvis.

— Ah…! - I cried out, shoulders jerking, tears springing to my eyes.

His voice, deep and cutting, struck like a slap:

— If it hurts, then shut up. I don’t have time to waste.

I bit my lip until it bled, forcing myself into silence. He was still Andrew—merciless, yet his twisted care suffocated me. I felt his breath ghost across my nape, close enough to make me shiver, close enough to unravel me completely.

When the compress cooled, he pulled away. Without looking at me, Andrew slid his hand beneath my dress, retrieved the bra, zipped the fabric back up, swift and decisive.

He strode toward the door. Hand on the knob, he paused, voice low and commanding:

— Without my permission, you are not to leave this place.

The door shut with a resonant thud, echoing in the cavernous room.

I sat frozen, hands trembling over my belly. My heart battered against my ribs—painful, and yet… igniting something nameless. The warmth of the compress lingered like his brand upon my skin. His scent still hung in the air, inescapable.

Andrew… if you truly hate me… then why do you still touch me as if to carve your mark into me?