Chapter 5
Tears streaked down my face as I pulled into my parents' driveway.
If anyone would believe me, it'd be them—their only daughter, their golden child.
Surely they'd help once they learned the truth: that my decorated husband wasn't just emotionally cold-blooded... but literally reptilian.
Okay, fine—there was the small matter of the thing growing inside me. But Future Lucille could deal with that.
Step One: Convince Them Frederick Isn't Human. It went spectacularly badly.
The moment I whispered, "I think Frederick might be... not human?"—my parents exchanged glances like I'd just claimed to see UFOs.
Dad immediately pulled up CNN: "Four-Star General Frederick Alston Receives Presidential Medal of Freedom." Mom scrolled through his Wikipedia page—three scrolls of achievements—before patting my hand like I was a delusional child.
"Lucille, sweetheart," Mom said gently, "Frederick's a little stiff, but he's a decorated general. If he were secretly a monster, don't you think the government would've noticed?"
Dad nodded sagely. "If he's abusive, we'll hire the best divorce attorney. But making up wild stories? That's not like you."
I wanted to flip the damn coffee table.
Hell, if I hadn't seen that scaled tail coil around our bedpost last night, I'd think I was crazy too.
That night, I overheard them whispering.
"Should we drug-test her?"
"Or check for carbon monoxide leaks?"
Dad's sigh carried through the door.
"This is why she needs a job. Too much free time, too many dramas. Did she binge-watch Supernatural again?"
I was speechless.
Sure, I'd obsessed over Twilight as a teen.
But I never signed up for my own damn horror romance!
The next day, I stormed out and hopped into my car—only for a kid to dart into the road. I swerved hard... and smashed straight into a black sedan.
Before I could even unbuckle, three identical SUVs boxed me in. Men in black suits materialized, hands hovering near their hip holsters.
Who the hell are these people? Then I saw the license plate: D.C. GOV-3.
Tears blurred my vision. Oh God, whoever's in that car is someone big in the government.
I was so screwed. What if they arrest me?
Outside, bystanders were already filming. I could see the news headline now: [Military Wife Runs Over Civilian].
Fumbling for my phone, I speed-dialed Frederick. Six rings. Voicemail.
A gloved hand rapped on my window—tap-tap-tap—like the world's politest death threat.
Finally, the call connected. "Honey, I—"
A woman's honeyed voice cut me off. "The General's in a classified briefing, sweetie." Click.
She actually hung up on me.
I sat there, gripping my phone like it might spontaneously combust.
The knocking continued.
Steeling myself, I stepped out, already digging for my insurance card. "Sir, I am so sorry. I'll cover all—"
A familiar voice cut me off, sounding more amused than angry. "Lucille Murphy?"
That voice.
My head snapped up. Leaning against the car, rubbing a faint scratch on his temple, stood Damian Halsey—my college crush.
Of all the ways to reunite with my first love after three years, this was not how I imagined it.
Is he gonna think I did this on purpose just to get his attention?!
Damian looked every bit the successful man now—sharp suit, polished shoes, a faint scratch on his temple. He must have been on his way to some high-profile meeting.
Meanwhile, his security detail was eyeing me like I was a rabid animal that needed immediate containment.
I was this close to crying.
Damian just smirked, those foxlike amber eyes crinkling.
"Still apologizing to the air, I see."
My cheeks burned. My pulse pounded so hard I could feel it in my molars.
"H-Hey Damian," I choked out. "Small world?"
*****
We attended the same high school. Damian Halsey wasn't just popular—he was legendary. The kind of guy who aced every test, dominated every sport, and had so many academic awards they had to store extras in the headmaster's office.
His photo wall in the honors corridor looked like a damn shrine. Not that any picture stayed up more than 24 hours before some lovestruck junior "borrowed" it.
Naturally, every girl—and half the boys—had a crush on him.
Me? I was solidly in the "B-average and grateful for it" crowd. Our paths should never have crossed... until that fateful day in gym class.
When my cramps hit during the mile run, I collapsed.
Next thing I knew, I was in the nurse's office, blinking awake to the sound of cicadas buzzing outside. Sunlight haloed Damian's stupidly perfect profile as he turned with that infuriatingly perfect smile.
"Feeling better, Murphy?"
In that moment, my heart tried to break my ribs.
...And that's how I became the 127th member of the "Steal Damian's Honor Photo" club.
I failed spectacularly. (Then I blew three weeks' lunch money buying one from a senior. Zero regrets.)
The universe works in weird ways. Before that day, I'd gone months without noticing Damian. After? Suddenly, he was everywhere.
Like when I discovered "my" secret rooftop nap spot—the one place I could escape the drama of high school—wasn't so secret after all.
"Jesus Christ!" Damian yelped as I stepped on his leg.
I screamed loud enough to scare pigeons off the roof.
He peeled his Physics textbook off his face with a groan. "This is how you repay your knight in shining armor?"
Heat flooded my cheeks. I backpedaled so fast I nearly went over the railing. "S-sorry! I'll just—"
"Hey." His voice stopped me cold. "You dropped something."
Between his elegant fingers dangled the 8x10 glossy.
It was face-down. He hadn't looked yet. His thumb started to flip it—
NO.
I launched myself at him like a linebacker, tackling us both to the concrete. My nose smashed into what felt like a brick wall, and tears sprang to my eyes.
"Don't look!" I screeched, making a grab for it.
Our skulls collided with a crack that echoed across the rooftop. White spots danced in my vision.
When the world came back into focus, Damian was already holding the photo at arm's length, one eyebrow arched in that infuriating "really?" expression.
"Well," he drawled, "this explains why yearbooks keep going missing."
I wanted to spontaneously combust. To be raptured. To have the roof swallow me whole—
Just end me now, universe.
*****
Our compromise was simple: I'd bring him a strawberry yogurt every lunch period as "hush money."
Thus began our strange rooftop truce.
It worked perfectly—until that golden afternoon two weeks before graduation.
I woke with a start, my cheek pressed against Damian's shoulder. He hadn't pushed me away—just sat there watching me with that infuriating smirk, like he'd won some silent bet.
I jerked upright so fast I nearly concussed myself. "Y-you couldn't have coughed? Cleared your throat? Something?"
"Lucille." His voice was low, warm enough to melt my resolve. "There's a party after finals." His fingers brushed mine. "Be my date?"
When I hesitated, he leaned in—close enough that his citrus-and-mint scent short-circuited my brain. "Please?"
His lips were inches from mine—
The bell screeched like a banshee.
I vaulted backward, nearly toppling over the railing.
"I'll text you!" I yelled, already sprinting for the door.
*****
He vanished the next day. No warning. Not even a finals-week goodbye. Rumor mill said his family had whisked him off overseas.
The ache lingered longer than I'd admit.
And now, of all times, of all places—
A sharp cramp twisted through me. My knees buckled.
Damian caught my arm. "Lucille? What's—"
Warmth bloomed between my thighs.
Blood.
His amber eyes dropped to the dark stain seeping through my dress. "You're—"
"Hospital. Now." I clutched his wrist, my nails biting into his skin.
"I'm pregnant."