#tw.chase

Nicholas exhaled, slow and patient, as if he could feel the way you trembled beneath him. His hand never moved from your stomach, palm warm, fingers splayed possessively over the barely-there swell. You weren’t even showing yet—had barely begun to grasp the reality yourself—but he had already claimed it.

Claimed you.

"You still don’t understand, do you?" His voice was gentle, but there was something dark beneath it. Something dangerous. "You’re mine, sweetheart. Both of you."

His thumb brushed slow, lazy circles over your skin. You hated how effortless it was—how he touched you like you already belonged to him, like he had every right.

"You ran." The words were thoughtful, absentminded, as if he was working through the pieces himself. "Twice."

You swallowed hard, unable to speak.

Nicholas shifted, pressing closer, his body heat bleeding into yours. "I should punish you for that."

A fresh wave of panic shot through you, your body tensing on instinct. His fingers flexed in response, gripping your hip, keeping you still.

"But," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, "you need to be careful now."

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Not a threat. A warning.

"You wouldn’t want to do anything… reckless." His hand pressed firmer against your stomach. "Would you?"

Your breath hitched.

He was smiling.

He was enjoying this.

You tried to jerk away, but the shackle around your wrist dug sharply into your skin, yanking you back. Nicholas’ grip tightened in an instant, his fingers curling against your waist as he let out a low, displeased hum.

"Still so stubborn," he mused, tilting his head. "I should break that."

The words sent ice through your veins.

"But," he continued, as if the thought was amusing, "not yet."

A slow, dragging silence stretched between you.

Then, his hand moved.

Lower.

A deliberate, agonizing descent down your stomach, fingers ghosting over the curve of your hip.

You froze, every muscle locked in place.

Nicholas chuckled, the sound soft—too soft. "Shhh, sweetheart." His touch skimmed back up, tracing the shape of your ribs. "You’ll learn."

A breathless, shaking exhale slipped from your lips.

"One way or another."

The room felt smaller with every passing second, the air thick with something oppressive—something inescapable. Your pulse pounded against the weight of Nicholas’ hand, still resting over your stomach, his grip firm yet deceptively gentle. Like a collar around your throat, a leash you couldn’t pull away from.

He knew.

And now, there was nothing left to hide.

His fingers curled slightly, pressing against your skin, as if savoring the feeling of your body beneath his touch. You could feel the satisfied hum reverberating in his chest, a sound that made your stomach twist in knots.

"You’ve been so difficult lately," he murmured, his lips brushing the crown of your head. "Running. Lying. Acting as if you had a choice."

A slow, deliberate exhale left him, warm against your temple.

"But now," he continued, fingers tracing slow, idle circles against your stomach, "you don’t."

Your throat felt too tight, like you couldn’t get enough air.

His grip shifted, splaying wider across your abdomen, possessive. "Do you even realize what this means?" His tone was almost soft, but the quiet undercurrent of dominance sent a fresh wave of fear through you.

You tried to twist away again—instinct, desperation—but Nicholas’ other hand slid up, wrapping around your throat just enough to still you. Not squeezing. Not yet. Just holding.

A warning.

"Don’t," he said simply.

The command settled over your skin like iron.

You swallowed, pulse fluttering beneath his palm, and Nicholas sighed like a man indulging a child’s tantrum.

"You never should’ve left," he murmured, thumb brushing along the hollow of your throat. "I was going to be patient, you know." A quiet chuckle, dark and knowing. "I was going to wait."

His fingers flexed.

"But you made this difficult for yourself."

A shiver wracked through you as his lips ghosted over your temple. "I wanted to give you time," he continued, as if he were confessing something intimate, something vulnerable. "Time to come to me on your own. To realize that there was no one else who could take care of you the way I do."

His grip on your throat tightened—just for a second, just enough to make you gasp.

"But now… I can’t trust you to make the right decisions."

The truth behind those words settled in your bones like a sickness.

Nicholas’ touch drifted downward again, possessive and slow, fingers skimming across your stomach. His breath fanned against your ear, voice sinking lower.

"I won’t let you make any more mistakes."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

"You’re staying right here, sweetheart." A pause, his lips pressing just beneath your jaw. "With me."

A sharp, shuddering exhale slipped from your lips.

Nicholas only smiled.

"Don’t fight it." His hand flattened against your stomach once more, pressing firm and unyielding. "You already belong to me."

The days blurred together after that night.

Nicholas kept you close, never letting you out of his sight for long. If you weren’t in his arms, you were within reach—tethered by the invisible leash he had placed around you the moment he discovered your secret.

And now, everyone knew.

His mother had been the first to call, her excitement so palpable you could hear it through the speakerphone. “Oh, darling, why didn’t you tell me sooner? We have so much to prepare! You need maternity clothes, baby supplies—Nicholas, be a dear and bring her to the mall this weekend. We’ll get everything sorted.”

He had been reluctant at first, but she had a way of insisting that even he couldn’t refuse.

So now, you found yourself seated in the passenger seat of his car, staring blankly out the window as the city passed by in a blur. His hand rested lazily on your thigh, thumb rubbing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. A constant reminder that he knew you. That he could feel the tension in your body.

That he was waiting for you to try something.

You forced yourself to breathe evenly, fingers curling against the hem of your sweater.

You had planned this carefully.

Your excuse was simple—restroom. A normal request. Something he wouldn’t think twice about. And the moment you were out of sight, you would slip into the crowd, blend in, disappear before he could stop you.

Nicholas turned to glance at you, his sharp gaze assessing. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m just tired.” The lie came easily, your voice smooth despite the pulse hammering in your throat.

He hummed, fingers flexing slightly. “You should be taking it easy. No unnecessary stress.”

You swallowed. I know.

The mall was bustling when you arrived, filled with families, couples, people too absorbed in their own lives to notice the woman quietly planning her escape.

His mother greeted you with a warm hug, her excitement almost dizzying as she led you toward the baby section, chatting about cribs, strollers, things you couldn’t bring yourself to think about.

Nicholas stayed close, his hand never straying far from your lower back, his presence a shadow at your side.

You waited.

Bided your time.

And then—

“I need the restroom.”

Nicholas barely glanced at you, too occupied in conversation with his mother. “Go ahead. I’ll be here.”

You nodded, turning on shaky legs, moving with forced calm toward the restrooms.

Then, the second you were out of sight—you ran.

Heart pounding, you weaved through the crowd, slipping past distracted shoppers, turning sharply into an empty hallway leading to the emergency exit.

Freedom.

You could taste it.

Your hand reached for the door—

And then—

A sharp vibration.

An unmistakable chime.

Your stomach dropped.

Panic seized you as you heard it—his smartwatch. The alert echoing like a death knell through the air.

Nicholas had stopped talking mid-sentence.

The realization was immediate.

You barely had time to react before his voice rang out from somewhere behind you. Low. Unyielding.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

A choked gasp ripped from your throat as a firm grip closed around your wrist, yanking you backward. You stumbled, breath hitching as Nicholas caged you against the wall, his body pressed flush against yours.

His expression was unreadable.

But his eyes—his eyes were burning.

He lifted his wrist slightly, letting the dim glow of his smartwatch cast a cold light over your face. The screen displayed a blinking red dot.

Your tracker.

The one implanted in your arm.

"You really thought I wouldn’t notice?” His voice was dangerously soft, his hand sliding up to grip your jaw, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze. “Did you forget what I told you, sweetheart?"

A slow, deliberate pause.

"You can’t run from me."

Your pulse thundered against his grip.

His fingers tightened.

His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, his breath warm as he whispered—

"You’re never leaving me again."

A shudder wracked through you as Nicholas’ grip tightened, his fingers digging into your wrist like iron shackles. The emergency exit loomed behind you, so close yet completely out of reach. Your pulse pounded against his touch, a frantic drumbeat that only seemed to amuse him.

“You must be getting desperate,” he murmured, his voice a dark hum of amusement. “Running in broad daylight? In public?” His fingers flexed against your jaw, his grip firm yet unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to teach you the lesson you clearly hadn’t learned.

He tilted his head, studying you. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the moment you left my side?”

A harsh, shuddering breath slipped from your lips. Your free hand pressed against his chest, trying to push him away, but he didn’t budge.

Nicholas chuckled, low and knowing. “Sweetheart, you really don’t understand, do you?” His other hand lifted, the cool metal of his smartwatch grazing your skin as he traced the faint outline of the tracker buried beneath your arm. His touch was deceptively gentle, a sharp contrast to the possessiveness in his voice. “I don’t need to follow you.” He exhaled, slow and deliberate. “You belong to me already.”

Your breath hitched, panic clawing up your throat as you fought against the growing sense of dread.

“Let go,” you rasped, twisting in his grasp, but his hold only tightened.

Nicholas’ expression darkened, the amusement flickering from his eyes like a candle snuffed out. "Is that what you want?" he asked, his tone dropping to something colder. "To make a scene?"

Your stomach churned. The hallway was deserted, the noise of the mall a distant hum beyond the corridor’s walls. But if you screamed—if you fought—someone would hear.

Wouldn’t they?

Nicholas smiled as if reading your thoughts. "Go ahead." He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Scream for help. Let’s see who comes running."

You froze.

And he knew he had you.

His hand slipped lower, pressing against the small swell of your abdomen, his touch infuriatingly gentle despite the cruel mockery in his eyes. "What do you think they’ll do when they see you like this? Hmm?" His thumb traced slow, idle circles. "A pregnant woman, being rescued from her loving fiancé?”

The word fiancé nearly made you flinch.

"Or maybe," he continued, tone softening in a way that only made the sick feeling in your stomach grow, "they’ll see a hormonal little thing having a panic attack while her partner just tries to calm her down?"

Your throat closed.

"You wouldn’t," you whispered, barely able to force the words out.

Nicholas chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin. "Wouldn’t I?"

And then, before you could react—

A sharp tug.

Your stomach lurched as he pulled you forward, his arm locking around your waist as he all but dragged you out of the hallway. You stumbled, legs nearly giving out beneath you, but Nicholas didn’t slow. His grip was firm, unrelenting, his strength a quiet reminder of just how little power you had in this moment.

You barely had time to register your surroundings before you were back in the store, back under the warm, artificial glow of the overhead lights.

His mother turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, her face brightening. “There you are! We were just—”

She paused, her gaze flicking between you and Nicholas.

Nicholas, who still had his arm wrapped so tenderly around you.

You, who couldn’t stop the slight tremble in your frame.

For a brief, fleeting second, hope sparked in your chest.

Did she see it? Did she notice something was wrong?

Then Nicholas sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation. "She got overwhelmed,” he said smoothly, shaking his head as if you were nothing more than a silly, emotional thing. “I told her to take it easy, but she insisted on rushing around."

His mother tutted, concern flashing across her face as she reached for your hands. "Oh, sweetheart, you should’ve said something!"

You opened your mouth, but—

"It won’t happen again," Nicholas murmured, his grip on you tightening in a way that sent an unmistakable message. "Right, love?"

Your stomach twisted.

The words sat heavy on your tongue, the weight of his threat pressing against your skin.

You could say something.

You could try.

But then—his hand slid against your abdomen, a silent warning. A cruel reminder.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you could risk it.

So instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat, forced a weak nod, and whispered—

“…Right.”

Nicholas smiled.

And just like that, any hope of escape slipped through your fingers.

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