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.

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

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, and I’m cashing

I’ve worked to build a life 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 – aren’t they true? I don’t pay for this house. I’m only here because

I reach behind myself and unhook my bra, letting it fall to the floor. Then I slip my panties – basic, cotton – from my hips, and let them

head so that I can see the lines of my back, my ass,

my stomach, letting them settle on my hips. Looking at myself, I know I’m not an unattractive woman, that I’m not used-up, that I still have

snapped into place not

turn away to turn off the bath’s tap as it threatens to overflow. Even without the mating bond, Amelia is a serious model, with a career. I can’t discredit her to make

I climb into the scalding water – I’ve always loved hot, hot baths, but even this one takes my breath away – I think that I haven’t quite been fair to Amelia.

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 that she may later have. That is a big sacrifice, even though those children do not yet exist, and

house and be her friend, give her advice on love and her marriage. After all, I

under here, away from the sounds and realities of the world. If I close my eyes, I can pretend

have feelings for Victor. Or. Fine, yes, I can admit that I have a little crush on him. It’s been slow-growing, creeping up on

stresses and trials of the past few weeks – Victor threatening to take my boys, trying to find a house, negotiating my place within

front of me, I could have very easily reached out, just touched him, once, with just the tip of my finger. It would have been enough. Victor would have pulled me to him. He was hungry for me that night. And I would

would have been like. Victor would not have been gentle with me, wrapping his hand in my 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 I would have let him, I would

ground and I would have bared my own teeth, pushing down Victor’s shorts, tearing off my own, demanding that he give himself to me.

it’s the full knowledge of what almost happened that night in the bathroom, what was seconds away from occurring if Alvin had

I know, are walking a fine line here. And it’s irresponsible and