My room was exactly as I'd left it only days ago, but it seemed as though it belonged to another person entirely. Discarded clubbing outfits littered the unmade bed. My hair gel was still open on my dresser.

I touched my hair. It was stiff and matted. The movement drew my attention to my reflection in the mirror. The man I saw was one I did my best to hide. Behind clothes. Behind hair. Behind smiles.

Was I really any better than my father, hiding behind masks of my own making?

Father. I was going to be a father. I was pregnant.

The knowledge rushed through me with a tidal wave of fears. I'd done drugs just a few days ago, an act that seemed so utterly pointless in this moment. What if I had hurt the baby? I mean, obviously I hadn't been pregnant that night, but did the drugs hang out in your system that long?

I stumbled to my laptop and logged in, opening up a web browser.

I winced. The last thing I had searched was myself, a habit my father had instilled in me. The page had automatically refreshed, leaving me with a screen of screaming article titles and a line of photos of me partying, half-lidded, blazed out of my mind, sniffing cocaine off that omega's ass. That part of the photo was blurred, too "hot" for public consumption, the headline declared.

Clicking away from the page in disgust, I typed "drugs and pregnancy". How could I have been so stupid? Why would I have wanted to take photos of me being so stupid? Had it only been a few days? The boy in those photos looked like a stranger, and yet I could feel him deep inside me.

I had to refine my search, as the first round told me which antibiotics and painkillers were safe for me.

The results made me sick to my stomach. Some articles and comments said it wasn't harmful so early in the pregnancy, that if it was bad enough, I'd just lose the pregnancy. I clutched my stomach in protest and fear. How had this child, this potential person, become so important to me just minutes after learning of their existence?

Other sources said my past two years of life choices would affect the child’s emotional well being. That what I ate or did could result in autism, or will make the kid be an addict as an adult.

I shut the computer in a near-panic attack, closing my eyes and trying to breathe.

Dad didn't bother to knock. He just opened my door, and its soft click nearly made me bolt out of my seat. After looking around my messy room for a moment, he picked the mostly made corner of the bed and sat with a sigh. I steeled myself for a full lecture, uncertain I could handle it right now.

Dad simply said, “We need to get you to a doctor.”

The next breath was easier. My mouth opened and my thoughts started streaming out. "Yes, a doctor. They'll be able to see if the baby is healthy or not. I know better than to look health stuff up on the internet. I need a good doctor. A shifter doctor. Holy hell, I'm going to be a dad in three months and—"

"You’re not going to be a father in three months." Dad's voice dripped with derision. "That’s absolutely ludicrous. We’re going to see a doctor so you can get rid of this complication and then we will discuss how to handle this indiscretion with the soldier. Tristan wasn't the most ideal candidate, but he was the best I could arrange for you, all things considered. Our situation is even more precarious now."

Breathing wasn't difficult now—I'd completely stopped. For a moment, I’d forgotten who I was talking to. Dad had already stated his intention for me to get an abortion. A fierce calm flowed through my veins. That was not fucking happening. This wasn't some childish rebellion against my father. I’d always fought against my father’s strictures, but this wasn’t about me. It was about the life that I was carrying. I had fucked up a lot of things in life, but I wasn’t going to fuck this up.

"There's nothing for you to handle. I'm sorry if I indicated that. I will make the doctor's appointment. You won't have to worry about anything."

Dad looked up, and for the first time in my life I saw... pleasure. Pride.

"Well. That's a welcome surprise. I'm sure Dr. Heimmer can see you this afternoon, give you a couple pills to handle things, and then we can make a statement about your release. No one need know about these other... hiccups. I may even be able to hint that the anti-shifters were involved..."

I swallowed. Give you a couple pills. "Dad. I'm not getting an abortion. I'm having this baby."

Dad sighed, the brief sign of acceptance fading as quickly as it had come. "I was afraid of that. No matter how hard I try to pave the way for you, you always get off track." He stood and shook his head. "No more. This time, I’m putting my foot down."

I'd heard that phrase come from his mouth twice in my life, and it never boded well. Once, I'd been put on house arrest for three months, and the time before that, I'd been in military school for three years. I stood and began throwing clothes into a bag. Part of my mind was fussing that the clothes at hand were completely impractical—good for a night out on the town. I doubted I'd be having much of those in my near future.

"No, Dad, I’m putting my foot down. I'm an adult. A pregnant adult. You aren’t going to take this from me."

Dad's voice was frighteningly calm. "It’s always about you. You, you, you. What kind of father do you actually think you’ll make? You have no job. No career. No alpha to care for you, since you’re not able to take care of yourself. You’re self centered. You’re a druggie. You’re penniless."

Each accusation was like a bullet to my heart.

"You’ll just become one more single parent on the streets, living under bridges, whoring out for drugs while his kid starves, if it even lives that long." Dad shook his head. “I should have expected this. You’re just like your mother. A user. A worthless please of trash. You can’t expect me to come bail you out like I did her, over and over and over again. I had to give up, finally, when she left us completely. You’ll only repeat her mistakes.”

I was shaking, determined to ignore my father’s words, terrified they were true. "It won’t be your concern." My voice wasn't as steady as I hoped. "I’m leaving. I’m not your problem anymore."

“You’re right.”

I froze, shocked that my dad was actually agreeing with me.

"But I can’t just wash my hands of you. I’m your father. I’m responsible for you. And I’ve determined that it’s in your best interests to go away for a little while."

Men in white scrubs burst into my room.

He'd threatened this—he'd threatened this over and over.

I dropped my bag and tried to run, but the two bulky men who'd entered were alpha shifters. Not as brawny as Noah and his men, but easily able to grab and contain me. I lashed out, smacking one of them in the face with my open hand, but he simply grunted and held me tighter.

"The Ivory Towers facility is used to dealing with difficult cases." Dad's voice was emotionless. Did he really think he had the right to control me like this? "It’s a last resort. I'm certain you will come to your senses there."

"You can't do this!" I screamed, thrashing against the men. "I'm an adult! This is illegal!"

"It's all perfectly legal, Preston. I had hoped we could go to the press together, celebrating your release, but as it is, I'll have to tell them you were too distraught after your ordeal, though you had come to your senses and voluntarily submitted yourself to rehabilitation and therapy. We have high hopes for your quick recovery."

One of the men wrapped his arms around my stomach and I had the sudden fear that he was going to squeeze the baby right out of me. Tears were streaming down my face. Didn't anyone care that this wasn't right?

I pictured Noah's face as he told me, "Accept, Love, Protect, Honor, Always." Where was his protection when I really needed it? He was gone. Everyone was gone. My mother, abandoned me when I was a child. My father, emotionally unavailable my entire life. My friends—I didn't even know if I could actually call them friends. And Noah. The man who had built me up and torn me down in less time than I had imagined possible.

It was just me and my baby now. I had to protect him or her at all costs.

The house staff stared after me uncomfortably as the men dragged me from the house. I never stopped struggling. No matter how tired I was. No matter I hadn't had a decent meal in days. I wouldn't have had enough energy to fight this strongly for myself, but for my child?

For my child, I would do anything.