Episode 2

Flashback

5 months ago.

Liam stood at the doorway, the weight of the butler’s words still echoing in his head.

She hasn’t allowed anyone to touch her… and it looks like she has been crying.

He stepped in quietly, almost unsure if he had the right to. The room was dim, curtains drawn shut, the air heavy with silence and shame. Ella sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a sheet, her back to him, shoulders stiff. The sheets around her were wrinkled, tangled—marked. A vivid red stain on the fabric made Liam freeze mid-step.

He swallowed hard.

“Ella…” His voice was hoarse. Guilt lodged deep in his chest.

She turned her head slightly, enough for him to see her swollen eyes and tear-streaked face. “You’re finally done pretending nothing happened?”

Liam said nothing. What could he say?

She scoffed bitterly. “You don’t get to stand there in silence, Liam. Not after last night.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“But it did.” Her voice cracked, but she pushed through it. “You came home angry. You didn’t ask. You didn’t listen. You just took.”

He stepped forward, trying to bridge the gap between them, but she recoiled instinctively.

“You think I don’t know what that was about?” she spat. “You saw me dancing with someone else and you got jealous. You acted like you didn’t care for three months and suddenly one dance was too much for your pride to take?”

Liam’s jaw tensed. “He had no right to touch you.”

“He had more right than you did last night,” she shot back.

The words hit like a slap. She stood now, the sheet clutched around her, her expression filled with a rage she’d held back for too long.

“You’ve ignored me for months. Barely spoken to me outside of public appearances. I was fine with it. I didn’t expect love—I didn’t even expect kindness. But last night…” her voice trembled, “you didn’t treat me like a person. You treated me like something to conquer.”

“I lost control,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“No,” she said coldly. “You made a choice.”

Silence.

Liam didn’t try to explain again. He just looked at her—really looked at her—for the first time in weeks. She was hurt. Alone. Angry. And all of it was because of him.

She turned her back to him. “Leave.”

He hesitated, but her voice was firmer this time. “Leave. Now.”

Liam’s chest tightened as he backed away. The door clicked shut behind him. Only then did he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He didn’t know then that last night would change everything. That her tears would haunt him.

That in her brokenness, something irreversible had begun.

Flashback

4 months ago.

The room was silent except for the sound of the rain lightly tapping against the windows. Ella lay on the bed, pale and weak, her breaths shallow but steady. A faint flush touched her cheeks as she blinked slowly, returning to consciousness. Her hand instinctively gripped the sheet beneath her as her eyes adjusted to the light—and then to the three figures standing around her bed.

Liam. Tyrone. And the royal physician.

“What… what happened?” she asked softly, her voice dry.

“You fainted,” the doctor said gently, checking her pulse again. “You lost consciousness in the hallway. One of the maids saw you fall.”

Liam stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, eyes locked on her. He looked… conflicted. Tense. But not cold.

Ella avoided his gaze.

The doctor cleared his throat, removing his stethoscope and glancing briefly at Tyrone before turning back to her. “Your Highness… I ran a few quick tests to make sure everything was stable. Your blood pressure was low, and I suspect some iron deficiency. But… that’s not the reason you fainted.”

Ella frowned, sitting up slowly. “Then what is?”

There was a pause—just long enough to be noticed.

“You’re pregnant, Your Highness.”

The words dropped like a stone into water, rippling through the room. Ella’s breath caught. Her fingers clenched the sheet. She didn’t speak—she couldn’t.

Behind the doctor, Tyrone’s eyes flicked toward Liam, but he said nothing. He knew better than to interfere in this.

Liam took a step forward, but his expression was unreadable—somewhere between stunned and something deeper. Regret? Fear?

“No,” Ella finally whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “That’s not possible.”

“You’re roughly five weeks along,” the doctor said, gentle but firm. “Based on your last cycle and the symptoms… everything lines up.”

Ella blinked at him, her body still but her mind racing. Five weeks. The night. That night.

She turned her head sharply toward Liam. “You did this.”

He didn’t flinch. “We both did.”

Her laugh was dry, humorless. “Don’t you dare pretend this was mutual. You know what that night was.”

“I’m not pretending anything,” Liam said, his voice low. “But it happened. And now…”

He didn’t finish. Couldn’t. The weight of what “now” meant hung between them like fog.

Ella turned her face away, eyes glassy. “Get out. All of you.”

The doctor opened his mouth to object, but Liam raised a hand.

“We’ll give you space.”

Tyrone and the doctor stepped out. Liam lingered for just a second longer.

“I’ll make arrangements,” he said quietly. “Whatever you need.”

She didn’t look at him.

Liam left.

And as the door clicked shut, Ella sat there, staring ahead—at nothing. Inside her, a child was growing. A child born of anger, of power, of a night she never wanted to remember.

And yet, it was real.

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