Aria's POV
"Aria, it's St. Vincent's."
"Hello?" My voice felt brittle as I pressed the phone to my ear, heart fluttering in anticipation. "Hi—yes?"
"This is Nurse Clarke. We're calling to remind you that the Tel-Al antenatal session is tomorrow at 10 AM. Please arrive fifteen minutes early for registration."
Antenatal class. The word sent a thrill through me—nervous excitement mingled with the ever-present knot of fear. I placed a hand on my belly, feeling the twins shift like restless wings. "Thank you," I whispered.
I hung up and exhaled. Damon was in the next room, reviewing documents for tomorrow's board meeting. I stepped into the study, closing the door softly behind me.
"I just got the call," I announced, trying to keep my tone casual. "Antenatal class tomorrow—Tel-Al, 10 AM."
He looked up, eyes brightening. "Great. I'll be there with you." His smile was gentle, but I saw the protectiveness beneath: the promise that he wouldn't let anything threaten me or our babies.
"I—thank you," I said, voice catching. "I was nervous about going alone."
He rose and closed the distance between us, brushing a fingertip along my cheek. "You won't be alone."
My heart fluttered. He kissed my forehead, then rested his hand lightly on my belly. "Get some rest tonight. Tomorrow will be good."
I nodded, though unease threaded through me: what if Celeste showed up? After everything she'd done… I shook off the thought. I needed to trust Damon's assurance: this would be a safe environment, a place of support.
The next morning, sunlight filtered through sheer curtains as I dressed in comfortable maternity wear: a flowing blouse and leggings, sneakers for stability. Damon appeared at the bedroom door, tie loosened, hair tousled in that just-woke-up way I adored.
"Ready?" he asked, offering his arm.
"Ready," I replied, slipping my hand into his. We drove in silence, the city passing in blurred patterns. My stomach churned with anticipation. The class. Meeting other expectant mothers. Partner exercises. Breathing techniques. I clutched his hand, grateful he'd insisted on joining.
When we arrived at Tel-Al's bright atrium, expectant mothers milled about in soft pastels, partners and friends in tow. The waiting area smelled of lavender and fresh coffee. I spotted the registration desk: a nurse greeting women with warm smiles.
"Welcome to antenatal class," the nurse said as I approached. Damon stood behind me, pride and protectiveness radiating from his posture.
"Aria Harper," I said, giving my name. Damon's presence by my side felt like armor. The nurse handed us a pamphlet. "Please sign here, and pick a seat in the main hall."
We found seats near the front. I sank into the chair, feeling the twins press gently against my spine. Damon knelt beside me, one hand resting on my knee, the other brushing a strand of hair from my face.
"How do you feel?" he whispered.
"Nervous," I admitted. "But okay."
He kissed my temple. "We'll go through this together."
The instructor, a warm-faced midwife named Nina, stepped onto the small stage. She greeted the group with a soothing tone: "Welcome, everyone. Today we'll cover breathing exercises, partner support techniques, and some light movement to prepare for labor."
As she guided us through deep breathing—inhale calm, exhale tension—I closed my eyes, focusing on filling my lungs and releasing worries. Damon placed his hand on my belly, inhaling with me, exhaling reassurance.
We moved into partner exercises: Damon standing behind me, hands cradling my belly as I leaned back against his chest, drawing in breath, releasing with gentle sounds. The room filled with quiet murmurs of encouragement. Other couples exchanged smiles; the atmosphere was supportive, sisterhood forming among expectant mothers.
I relaxed into Damon's arms, feeling the twins kick in response. A soft smile curved my lips—this was what I'd wished for: a normal experience, guided by love and safety.
Then Damon's phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen: Godson Crane calling. Excusing himself, he rose quietly.
"I'll be right back," he mouthed, slipping out.
I watched him go, my chest tightening but trusting him to handle whatever arose. I returned focus to Nina's demonstration: pelvic tilts, gentle stretches. Damon reappeared moments later, nodding at me, his expression calm.
But before I could speak, the door to the hall swung open with a jarring crash. A hush fell as Celeste Langford entered, eyes blazing. My heart seized. How had she found us here? The anticipation of a supportive environment shattered in an instant.
She stalked down the aisle, lips curved in a vicious smile. "Well, well, if it isn't the shameless snatcher." Her tone carried across the room. Pregnant women turned, shock flickering in their eyes. Partners tensed. Nina paused mid-sentence, confusion and alarm on her face.
I rose unsteadily, cheeks burning. Damon stood immediately, placing himself between Celeste and me. But Celeste surged forward, ignoring Nina's startled command to leave.
"You," Celeste spat, pointing at me. "Pregnant with his bastard children, thinking you belong here among decent people?" She sneered, voice dripping contempt. "How dare you sit in this class—like some charity case."
Gasps echoed around the hall. Some expectant mothers moved closer; others recoiled. Damon's jaw clenched. He reached for Celeste's arm, but she shrugged him off.
"Stay away," he warned, voice low and dangerous.
Celeste laughed cruelly. She strode toward me, swift as a viper. Before I could react, she slapped me across the chest, ripping the fabric of my blouse and tearing my dress beneath. The sharp sound of tearing cloth echoed. I staggered backward, hand flying to my chest where skin stung from the blow. I looked down at the ruined maternity top: a ripple of humiliation washed over me as I felt eyes on me—judging, sympathetic, horrified.
"You think you deserve him?" Celeste hissed, raising her hand again. "You think you deserve anything?"
I tried to shield myself, but she shoved me. I stumbled and fell to the floor, pain radiating from my abdomen. The hall erupted in chaos. Partners rushed forward; Nina shouted for security.
Damon lunged toward Celeste, grabbing her by the shoulders. "I thought you were dead!" he barked, eyes blazing. His voice echoed: shock, fury, disbelief. "What are you doing here? Get away from her!"
Celeste glared at him, face pale, lips twisted. "You'll always belong to me!" She spat the words before security personnel arrived, seizing her arms.
Someone knelt beside me—another expectant mother? A nurse? I felt hands lifting me gently, colleagues murmuring urgent questions. My vision blurred, fear and pain swirling together.
"Call an ambulance!" Nina's voice cut through the panic. "She's injured."
Damon knelt beside me, face etched with concern. He brushed a strand of hair from my forehead, eyes frantic. "Aria, can you hear me? Talk to me."
I blinked up at him, tears stinging. "My…my clothes…" I tried to sit, but a wave of pain forced me back down.
He shook his head. "I'll handle this." He signaled to security: "Take her away. Now."
Celeste was escorted out, fighting and cursing. Damon turned back to me, voice urgent: "We need to get you to the hospital."
Hands supported me as I was helped onto a wheelchair. The hall spun: sympathetic faces, whispered apologies, stunned silence. Damon slipped beside me in the wheelchair, hand never leaving mine.
"Hold on, baby," he murmured, voice rough. "We're going to the ward."
In the ambulance bay, paramedics transferred me onto a gurney. Damon followed, voice booming as he instructed: "Take her to maternity ward. Check the babies immediately."
I felt cold sweat, my abdomen throbbing. Sirens wailed, lights flashing. Damon squeezed my hand as they loaded me into the emergency elevator.
"I'm so sorry," he said, brushing hair from my face. "This shouldn't have happened."
I fought to keep breathing evenly. "I… didn't expect her." Voice trembled. "I thought it would be safe."
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I miscalculated. I should have anticipated she might strike again." His tone hardened: "No one hurts you."
In the ward, nurses swarmed, hooking me to monitors, checking vital signs, preparing an ultrasound to assess the twins. Damon hovered, tense and watchful.
Nurse: "We'll need to scan for any impact injuries. The tear in the dress suggests force; we must ensure the babies are unharmed."
I nodded, anxiety spiking. I closed my eyes as the ultrasound probe moved over my belly. Each second felt like an eternity.
Nurse (softly): "Heartbeat steady. Both babies appear fine so far, but we'll continue monitoring."
Relief and exhaustion mingled as tears slipped down my cheeks. Damon wiped them away, voice gentle: "They're okay."
But I couldn't shake the turmoil: the humiliation in front of strangers, the fear for my babies, the shock that Celeste had invaded this sacred space. The pain in my abdomen throbbed as a reminder of vulnerability.
Damon crouched beside me as they changed my IV drip. "I'll stay right here," he vowed.
I forced a nod. "Thank you."
He brushed my hair back, gaze fierce: "I'm not letting her harm you again."