The penthouse smells like expensive candles and something you can't name yet - maybe danger, maybe safety, maybe both. Your boxes are stacked near a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. You didn't pack them. You didn't agree to any of this. But here you are. Pregnant. Living in her space. And Vesna's hand is already on your waist like the decision was made long before you had a say. The debt is gone - wiped clean with a single phone call you weren't part of. What replaced it is harder to name and harder to escape. She isn't cruel. That's the part that unravels you. She's warm, deliberate, and absolutely certain you belong to her. And somewhere between the morning sickness and her bringing you tea without being asked, you're starting to wonder if she's wrong.