Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

#Chapter 33 – In the Mirror

I slam my door behind me and press my back against it, slipping down to the floor and crying into my hands. Amelia’s words echo after me – sham, slut, w***e. Disappear. In so many ways, they’re all true.

Glad, for once, to be in an empty house, I let myself cry my heart out, reliving all of the darkest moments of my life.

Joyce, grabbing me, throwing me into that closet. Watching him with my sister.

My father, ripping me out of Victor’s hotel room, not saying a word to me the whole ride home.

The banishment, cold and formal. Sleeping on a city bench. Begging for work so that I could buy a meal – and then, so I could buy a pregnancy test when.

The complicated experience of giving birth alone, welcoming my two boys into the world, promising to love them no matter what, but with no family there to stand with me as I gave them their names.

Years of working, struggling, to keep a roof over their heads. The absolute humiliation of being evicted, my life’s possessions strewn all over the yard. The shame I felt at accepting charity – charity – from Victor, after I promised myself I’d always be self-sufficient.

I open my eyes and stare at the bracelet on my wrist, and then tear it off, the gossamer gold chain breaking easily. I hurl it across the room. I’m just the pet that Victor kept in his play house out back, the nanny to his boys, feeding me with scraps from his table.

Slowly, I gather myself, pulling myself to my feet, and make my way upstairs, my shoulders still shaking with sobs for which I have no more tears.

I walk into my bathroom and turn the tap on the tub, filling it with hot water, seeking warmth from something, anything. Even if it scalds me.

As the tub fills up, I stare at myself in the mirror, my face red and puffy from the crying, my hair limp as it falls around my shoulders.

As I stare at myself, I begin to peel off my clothing, piece by piece. First my top, which I see, suddenly, has a smudge of jelly towards the bottom, courtesy of one of my boys grabbing for me before he’d quite finished his lunch.

I slip off my jeans, which are frayed and ripped, but not in a fashionable way – just from years of use. I peel off my socks and study myself there, in

of me, as a parasite who is taking advantage of her fiancé, living for free on his charity because I was “lucky” enough to get knocked up by accident five years ago. To her, I hit the lottery,

for my boys, to hold myself to the highest standards, to be self-sufficient. I bury my face in my hands again because Amelia’s words nag at me

and unhook my bra, letting it fall to the floor. Then I slip my panties – basic, cotton –

my angles in the mirror, lifting my hair off my shoulders and piling it on top of my head so that I can see the lines

panes of my stomach, letting them settle on my hips. Looking at myself, I know I’m not an

years ago, but she’s only here because some mating bond snapped into place not very long after that. Everything Amelia has, she has because Victor gave it to

off the bath’s tap as it threatens to overflow. Even without the mating bond,

hot baths, but even this one takes my breath away – I think that I haven’t quite been fair to Amelia. My boys and I did

incredible amount of faith and patience to agree to Victor’s plans to acknowledge his sons. After all, when he does that, they will be his heirs, taking the title from any sons

to think that I could walk into Amelia’s house and be her friend, give her advice on love and her marriage. After all, I have not been…Well. My behavior with Victor

here, away from

I can admit that I have a little crush on him. It’s been slow-growing, creeping

of the past few weeks – Victor threatening to take my boys, trying to find a house, negotiating my place within Victor’s kingdom. But now that all of that is starting to calm down, I have to admit that the connection, which was perhaps always there, is beginning to surface

enough. Victor would have pulled me to him. He was hungry for

hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat. I would have drawn my nails across the skin of his back, begging for it, and then he would have bitten me – hard enough to draw blood, hard enough to claim me. And

own teeth, pushing down Victor’s shorts, tearing off my own, demanding

fantasy, it’s the full knowledge of what almost happened that night in the bathroom, what was seconds away from occurring if Alvin had not called

walking a fine line here. And it’s irresponsible