Chapter 93
Ninety four
Lisa
The safehouse looked locked down from the outside. It was a narrow duplex with sealed windows and thick curtains pulled shut, the air trapped inside.
My mom and I stood in the living room, looking around at furniture that wasn’t ours. A keypad blinked beside the door. Franklin punched in a code, and the lock clicked behind us. The sound carried through the house. I ran my fingers over the couch arm. Fake feather. Cold.
A camera lens near the ceiling flashed as my mom walked into the kitchen. Franklin stood outside with the guards, talking to them while I checked the locked windows and the metal bars bolted over them.
Could the camera presence even be less subtle?
Small blinking lights near the TV recorded everything I did.
Franklin stepped inside and pointed toward the hallway. “There are two exits. Front door and the back through the kitchen. Both stay locked unless I’m here or one of the guards signals. The bars on the windows are reinforced steel p>
I dropped my bag on the chair. “Okay, fine. Can we make it any more obvious that I’m in a glorified prison p>
He set a keycard on the table. “It’s safer for you. The kitchen is stocked. If you need anything, send me a message and I’ll get it p>
I sat on the sofa and leaned my head back. “What about a nurse p>
“Yes. Starting tomorrow morning she’ll check your vitals and monitor symptoms. Ensure everything remains stable until the first doctor’s visit. And I’ll be taking your mother to the hospital for her eye appointment p>
I sat up straight. “Can I at least be given my freedom to go to the nursery p>
Franklin crossed his arms. “Not anymore p>
“Why? This feels excessive p>
He rubbed his forehead. “You were nearly attacked yesterday, which is exactly why you have to stay as far away from danger as possible. Which unfortunately includes staying away from Sasha and Cora p>
“That’s not fair.” I pushed off the sofa. “Sasha came to visit me. Why are you keeping her away from me? She can come here and stay until she wants to leave p>
“I don’t call the shots. Risk isn’t always about intention. Besides, this is temporary p>
I lay on the couch and faced the backrest. My mom set a glass of mango juice on the table and nudged it toward me.
“I’m not thirsty p>
They looked at each other over my head, and I didn’t know what they expected from me. Something heavy sat in my chest, and I had no idea where to put it.
The evening dragged. I lay on the unfamiliar bed and watched the ceiling fan turn.
I kept thinking leaving Evangeline was going to make me happy. It did.
But Cameron hadn’t called.
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That annoyed me more than I wanted to admit. I told myself I didn’t care, but my phone stayed on the bedside table where I could see it every time the screen lit up with some useless notification. Every notification made me grab for it.
I hated that.
I rolled onto my back and pressed my palm over my stomach. I was nothing. Nothing but a hired womb. The words sat in my mouth and tasted wrong.
I picked up the phone, opened our chat, then locked it again. His last message sat there. No new bubble. No typing dots. Nothing.
I turned my face into the pillow and shut my eyes, but sleep didn’t come. My mind replayed Evangeline lunging at me and Cameron grabbing her arms.
I didn’t feel safe. I felt stored.
If he cared, he would call. Even a message. Even one word. I told myself I didn’t need him, but the silence kept proving I did.
Morning came with nausea. It hit before I even opened my eyes. My mouth filled with saliva and my stomach twisted. I pushed up and grabbed the side of the bed as the room tilted.
My mother hurried over. “Easy. Sit. Breathe p>
I made it to the bathroom and threw up into the sink. The taste stayed in my mouth. Bitter and sour. My chest felt tight, and my breasts ached when I moved.
She rinsed a cup and held it out. “Let me get you some salt crackers p>
I pushed the cup back toward her.
She watched me, her mouth pulled tight, then guided me back to the bed. “Lisa, you need to take it easy on yourself. You’re pregnant p>
She sat at the edge of the bed and pressed her hand into my calf. “Tell me what you want. Tea? Soup p>
“Not hungry p>
“But you need to eat p>
“I’m not hungry p>
She lifted her hands and let them fall into her lap. “I know you’re sad, and I know it’s beginning to hit you what you’ve done. But the journey has already begun. Let’s not make this hard for ourselves, please p>
She stood there waiting. I said nothing. She walked out.
Franklin arrived late morning to take her to the hospital. She checked her bag and moved toward the door. “Will you be okay p>
“I’m not a child p>
She smiled. Franklin looked at me. “We won’t be long p>
I didn’t answer. The front door closed, and I heard the car pull away.
I didn’t know what to do with myself.
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I walked from the living room to the kitchen, then back again. I opened the fridge, stared inside, closed it. Picked up my phone. Put it down.
I opened a cabinet and found rows of canned food. Beans. Corn. Soup. I shut it harder than I meant to. The sound bounced off the walls.
Time crawled in this place.
I sat on the couch and pulled at a loose strand of my hair, wrapping it around my finger and staring at it like it might explain something. Hunger crept in, and I regretted not asking my mom to cook.
I went back to the kitchen and opened the freezer. Everything was frozen solid. Frost clung to the plastic packages.
I pulled one out and left it on the counter, then leaned against the sink and stared at the sealed windows.
The air felt wrong. Stale. Pressed down on my chest.
I needed fresh air.
I headed for the door. As I reached it, one of the guards stepped in front of me.
“You can’t go outside p>
“I’m not going anywhere. I want to sit on the chair p>
He blocked the doorway with his arm.
I gripped the handle. “You think I’m going to run p>
His face didn’t change. “Orders are orders p>
I let out a short laugh. “Right. Because pregnant women love sprinting past armed guards p>
“I need fresh air p>
He studied my face, then touched his earpiece. After a short exchange, he stepped aside. “Porch only p>
I walked out and sat on the long chair near the entrance. Sunlight hit my face. I leaned my head back and let it warm my skin.
It helped, but not enough.
Maybe if Cameron asked how I was doing, things wouldn’t feel this empty.
P
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Cedella
Cedella is a passionate storyteller known for her bold romantic and spicy novels that keep readers hooked from the very first chapter. With a flair for crafting emotionally intense plots and unforgettable characters, she blends love, desire, and drama into every story she writes. Cedella’s storytelling style is immersive and addictive—perfect for fans of heated romances and heart-pounding twists.