CHAPTER 109: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND NINE

The evening sun cast long, stretching shadows across the floor of Ashlyn’s bedchamber. The room was quiet, save for the soft clinking of coins.

An older man with graying hair and a heavy leather bag stood by the door. He was Dr. Aris, a physician known for his discretion. Ashlyn stood before him, her posture straight, though her face was pale. She reached into a small drawer in her vanity and pulled out a heavy pouch.

She placed it in the doctor’s hand. It was more than the standard fee. Much more.

"Thank you for coming so late, Doctor," Ashlyn said, her voice low.

The doctor bowed deeply, feeling the weight of the pouch. "It is my duty, My Lady. Remember my instructions. Rest is vital."

Just as the doctor turned to leave, the heavy oak door creaked open. Carlos walked in.

He looked tired. His coat was unbuttoned, and his hair was a little messy, as if he had been running his hands through it all day. He stopped when he saw the stranger in the room. His eyes narrowed instantly. Suspicion was his natural state these days.

The doctor, sensing the tension, bowed quickly to the Second Master. "Greetings, my Lord."

Carlos looked him up and down, recognizing the medical bag. He didn’t smile. He just gave a stiff, dismissive nod. "Mmm."

The doctor didn’t wait for more. He stepped around Carlos and hurried out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

They were alone.

Carlos walked further into the room, his heavy boots thudding on the carpet. He went to the round table in the center of the room where a pitcher of water and a glass waited. He poured himself a drink, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn’t look at Ashlyn immediately.

Ashlyn walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. She smoothed her skirt with trembling hands. She took a deep breath, preparing herself. This was the gamble. This was the card she had been waiting to play.

Carlos took a long sip of water, the cool liquid soothing his dry throat. He turned to her, the glass still in his hand. His eyes scanned her face, looking for signs of deception or weakness.

"What is the matter?" he asked, his voice flat. "Why was a doctor here? Are you feeling unwell?"

He was thinking of the money. He was wondering how much she had spent on the doctor. He was wondering if she was sick and would be unable to fulfill her "duties" as a wife.

Ashlyn looked up at him. Her expression was soft, almost shy. It was a mask she had perfected.

"Carlos," she said, her voice steady but quiet. "We are going to have our own child."

Carlos had the glass raised to his lips, ready to take another swallow.

The words hit him like a blow.

He froze. His eyes went wide, the whites showing all around the iris. He choked. The water went down the wrong way, and he sputtered, coughing violently. Water sprayed over his hand and chin. He slammed the glass down on the table, hard, water sloshing over the rim.

He coughed again, beating his chest with his fist, his face turning red. But he wasn’t looking at the floor. He was looking at her.

"What?" he wheezed.

He abandoned the table. He rushed across the room, stumbling slightly in his haste. He didn’t care about the water dripping down his chin.

"Is it true?" he asked, falling to his knees in front of her, grasping her hands.

Ashlyn nodded slowly. "Yes. The doctor confirmed it just now."

Carlos stood up from his seat in pure happiness. A bright, manic energy seemed to fill him. He let go of her hands and sat down next to her on the bed, so close their legs touched.

He reached out. His hand, usually rough and grabbing, hovered for a second before gently touching her stomach. It was flat, showing no sign of life yet, but to him, it was the center of the world.

He pointed his free hand toward the closed door, his finger shaking with excitement.

"That doctor..." he started, his voice breathless. "He said... he..."

He couldn’t finish his words due to the excitement bubbling in his throat. He wanted to ask a hundred questions. Is it a boy? When will it come? Are you sure?

Ashlyn placed her hand over his hand on her stomach. Her skin was cool.

"Yes," she said, cutting through his rambling. She looked him in the eye, her expression turning serious. This was the most important part. "But, Carlos, there is a problem."

Carlos’s smile faltered. "A problem?"

"The doctor said my body is weak," Ashlyn said smoothly. "The whipping... the stress... it has taken a toll. He said the pregnancy is unstable."

She paused, letting the fear sink into him. She needed him to be afraid of losing this prize.

"He said we must be very careful," she continued, lowering her voice. "He said... we can’t share intimacy. Not for a long time. If we do, we might lose the baby."

She held her breath. This was the test. Would his lust override his ambition?

Carlos stared at her. He looked at her stomach, then at her face. He processed the information. No sex. No "new tricks." No whip.

But then, a different light entered his eyes. It wasn’t lust. It was greed. It was the hunger for legacy.

He nodded his head rapidly. "Yes, yes, of course," he said, his voice serious. "No problem. We must protect the child. That is the most important thing."

Ashlyn let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She smiled, a small, relieved curve of her lips. "Thank you, Carlos."

He didn’t pull his hand away. He started rubbing her stomach in a slow, circular motion. It was possessive, claiming the life inside her as his property.

"Rest well," he said, his voice taking on a soothing, almost hypnotic tone. "Don’t worry about anything. I will listen to you. I won’t bother you at night. You just focus on growing our child."

He shifted closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"You know, Ashlyn," he said, his eyes gleaming with a dark intensity. "Our child will be the second grandchild of the family."

He looked at the wall, as if he could see through it to the cold, northern estate where Ryan had been sent.

"But Ryan..." Carlos murmured. "Ryan is Theodore son. The true heir."

He looked back at Ashlyn, his grip on her waist tightening slightly.

"If something were to happen to him," he said, the words hanging heavy and ominous in the air, "ours will be the one true heir. The only heir."

Ashlyn felt a chill run down her spine. She saw the naked ambition on his face. He was already burying his nephew. He was already counting the inheritance.

"If it is a boy," Carlos continued, his smile widening, revealing his teeth, "he would be the Thompson family’s eldest son. The future Grand Duke."

He wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking at a future where he was the father of the second most powerful man in the kingdom.

Ashlyn smiled back, but her eyes were cold. She nodded. "Yes. He would."

Carlos let out a long, satisfied sigh.

"I’ll finally outrank Derek in something," he whispered.

The bitterness in his voice was palpable. All his life, he had been the bastard son. The mistake. The one who wasn’t good enough. But Derek had no children. Derek had a wife he barely slept with. Derek had a nephew who was far away.

But Carlos? Carlos had a child on the way. He had won this race.

Overcome with a sudden wave of affection,not for Ashlyn, but for the vessel carrying his victory, he leaned forward.

He put his head on her lap.

Ashlyn stiffened slightly but forced herself to relax. He snuggled his face into her stomach, pressing his ear against the fabric of her dress, as if trying to hear the heartbeat that wasn’t strong enough to hear yet.

"My son," he mumbled into her dress. "My heir."