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.

years of use. I peel off my socks and study

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, and

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

in the mirror. Slowly, I reach behind myself and unhook my bra, letting it fall to the floor. Then I slip my panties – basic, cotton

piling it on top of my head so that I

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

here because some mating bond snapped into place not very long after that. Everything Amelia has, she has because Victor gave it

threatens to overflow. Even without the mating bond, Amelia is a

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. My

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

advice on love and

deep breath and sinking under the water. It is peaceful under here, away from the sounds and realities of

that I don’t…not have feelings for Victor. Or. Fine, yes, I can admit that I have a

moment we met, but that was buried in the stresses and trials 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

It would have been enough. Victor would have pulled me to him. He was hungry for me that night. And I would have let him take my mouth with his own, let

expose my throat. I would have drawn my nails across

have bared my own teeth, pushing down Victor’s shorts, tearing off my own, demanding that he give himself to me. Gasping, not caring if it hurt, Victor would have plunged into me, and

water and I gasp for breath. f**k, s**t. It’s more than a fantasy, it’s the full knowledge of what almost happened that night in the bathroom, what was seconds

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