At Eight Months Pregnant, I Chose To Raise My Baby Without Her Vampire Father

Adrian came home past nine that evening.

The sound of the front door echoed from the foyer. I sat on the living room couch, lights off, not moving.

He paused visibly when he walked in, then quickly softened his voice, calling out to me with his usual warmth: "Emily, why are you sitting in the dark?"

A second later, the lights blazed on.

I squinted against the sudden brightness and saw Adrian standing in the doorway — suit jacket draped over his arm, shirt collar loosened, still looking every bit the picture of effortless elegance.

It was that face that had made me lose my composure at an auction gala all those years ago. That face that made me marry him even after I knew he wasn't human.

But now, all I felt was disgust.

Because when he moved closer, beneath his usual scent of cold cedar, there was a faint trace of rose.

I never went near fresh flowers because of my allergies.

He seemed completely oblivious. He walked over, crouched in front of me, and placed his palm naturally on my belly, a warmth flickering in his eyes. "How's the baby doing today? You look awful — have you been skipping meals again?"

It hit me then: Adrian had always been like this. Sweet words, caring gestures — but he had never truly paid attention.

Even now, knowing full well about my allergies, he hadn't bothered to wash the pollen off himself. Eight months into my pregnancy, and every dinner in this house was still prepared to his taste — cold, rare steak, every single night. Food I couldn't stand.

Before, I would have wrapped my arms around him and told him the baby had been kicking hard, that my back ached so badly I couldn't sit, that I had no appetite.

But now, the performance made me sick.

I looked at him steadily. "Where were you today?"

Not a flicker crossed Adrian's face. His answer came without hesitation: "At the office. Meetings all afternoon, then dinner with the board. What's wrong?"

A lie.

He'd been with Clara.

Maybe he'd held her, kissed her — right before coming home to me.

My heart was numb with cold, but I let a slow smile form on my face. "Nothing. I just suddenly felt like having pizza from that place on the west side. You said once that if I ever wanted something, you'd go get it for me even in the middle of the night."

He had said that. But I'd never actually been selfish enough to make him go.

A flash of irritation crossed his eyes — so quick it could have been my imagination. But I caught it.

The next second, Adrian took my hand, his voice still soft: "It's too late now. That place always has a crazy line. I'll get it for you tomorrow, okay?"

No, it wasn't okay.

Ten minutes ago, Clara had posted a video of Adrian personally waiting in line to buy her pizza from that exact shop. In the video, she was nestled in his arms, nuzzling against him. That restaurant was far from Blackwood Corp headquarters, yet he'd gone without complaint.

When it came to me, Adrian couldn't be bothered.

I gently pulled my hand away and lowered my eyes, pretending not to notice his dismissiveness. "Forget it. It's not like I have to have it."

And you're not someone I have to love, either.

Adrian probably assumed it was just pregnancy mood swings. He leaned down and kissed my forehead. "Be good. I'm going to shower. I'll come keep you company after."

He stood and headed upstairs, but his phone screen lit up just then.

Face up, right on the edge of the coffee table.

One glance was all it took.

Clara.

The message was a single line: "My stomach's bothering me. The baby keeps kicking."

My nails dug hard into my palms to keep from laughing out loud.

So she'd planned the pregnancy, too. No wonder she'd been brazen enough to send me those photos and videos. This wasn't provocation — it was a power play. She probably figured that once she was carrying Adrian's child, his blind devotion would guarantee her the title of Mrs. Blackwood.

Too bad she'd miscalculated one thing.

I wasn't the kind of woman who'd cry and beg her husband to come back.

And I sure as hell wasn't about to hand over the Blackwood fortune to a mistress.