The rage in his voice was unmistakable, his contempt clear. “Does it hurt? Good. Maybe now you’ll remember this.”
Under Peter’s orders, a male nurse came forward and strapped down my arms and legs. Millie leaned over, gagging me with a cloth so I couldn’t protest.
Panic surged through me and I mumbled desperately through the cloth, pleading with Peter. “I’m not afraid of pain,” I begged, my voice barely a whisper, “I’m afraid of dying with the baby! How can I possibly deliver a four-kilogram baby naturally? This is your own child!”
Peter only sneered, a smirk of disbelief crossing his face. “A giant baby? Dying with the baby? Do you think I’m that easily fooled?” he scoffed.
“Stop pretending. If you manage to give birth safely, then bow to Millie and apologize, maybe, just maybe, I’ll consider forgiving you.”
With that, he turned and ordered the others to take me to the delivery room. Then he took Millie, who feigned distress, out of the room with him, claiming she needed medication.
Moments later, I could only imagine what was happening in the other room. They had lost themselves to their passions and Peter now cradled the exhausted Millie, his eyes filled tenderness.