Chapter Text
Landon
Don’t get me wrong, I love surprises. I love the feeling of uncertainty, the thrill of deciding my next move. I love seeing the fear of the unknown on people’s faces because I know and believe with my whole black heart that I will turn it in my favor.
That doesn’t mean this particular surprise was welcome. It was one of the few that actually had me speechless since, I don’t know, my birth? Me, The Landon King, speechless. Shocking. Unheard of. Slightly disturbing.
I found out on a random Tuesday. It wasn't a dramatic day. No thunder, no sudden realization in the mirror. Just a sterile room that smelled like disinfectant and a nurse who couldn’t meet my eyes when she handed me the result.
Positive.
I didn’t react the way people expect you to react to news like that. I didn’t sit down. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even blink at first. I just stared at the paper, read the word again, and felt something click into place inside my chest—quiet, final and immovable.
Of course.
Of course it would be him.
Jeremy Volkov didn’t do small things. He didn’t leave fingerprints, no. He left fractures. Even one night with him was never going to disappear quietly, he made sure of it. That bastard.
I walked out of the clinic with my coat still open, the cold biting into my skin like punishment. My hands were steady. My face was calm. Anyone watching would’ve thought I was fine.
I was fine. Nothing else would be acceptable.
Inside, I was already calculating.
This was a new game, one that I wasn’t familiar with, but see, I am a good chess player. I know how to move, how to adapt, and win. Even if I wasn’t the one who laid the board.
I could do this alone.
I knew that immediately.
I was smart, a genius even. I had money. I had discipline. I had a reputation that made people step back instead of asking questions. I had survived worse than pregnancy. Worse than Jeremy. Worse than his obsession.
I always knew he was obsessed with me, or rather with the aim of destroying my perfectly tailored façade. He wasn’t trying to hide it at all. Showing up at the places I frequented, waiting in front of my studio late at night when he knew I was alone, trying to catch a glimpse of the real me. Trying to solve me, even if he hated the pull I had on him. I knew it, and I played accordingly.
Jeremy and I had always been a disaster waiting for witnesses. Enemies. Hating each other, despising the sound of each other’s breathing. We didn’t speak, we collided. Every room we shared turned sharp around the edges. Arguments that burned too hot, too fast. Too much eye contact. Too much tension that never had anywhere safe to go.
Until one night it did. One night where we stopped fighting long enough to ruin everything.
I was trying to tear his ridiculous control apart, as always. Testing boundaries, talking shit just to rile him up, and, I achieved my goal. Great. A hundred points for me.
What I didn’t expect was to witness the real monster that was lying under his skin. To see how far his obsession would go. The possessiveness of his hands where they squeezed the air out of my lungs at my throat. The look of ownership, for lack of a better word, in his eyes.
What came after, well, let’s say it is the reason the test is positive.
So, yes, I could do this alone. But knowing I could didn’t mean I wouldn’t tell him. Not because I needed him. Because he deserved to know, no matter how much I hated him. See? I am nothing if not a good sport.
I tried to convince myself this was not me giving up control, it was a move. My first move. Maybe my only chance of getting rid of this ridiculously unnerving obsession he had for me.
I didn’t expect tenderness when I told him, that would be ridiculous. I didn’t expect warmth, that wasn’t his forte. I didn’t even expect understanding. But, shockingly, the cruelty of his words still landed exactly where they were meant to.
Fuck Landon, get it together.
He stared at me like I’d handed him a weapon.
“You’re pregnant?” his voice was flat and dangerous.
“Yes.”
There was a silence, then he laughed. It was short, bitter, and very, very wrong.
“You think I want a kid with you?” he snapped. “With you? Who do you think you are to decide that for me?”
There it was.
I just waited. Not a single muscle on my face moved, my breath didn’t even shudder.
“I don’t want this,” he continued, pacing now, angry at himself more than me and taking it out where it hurt most. “I don’t want a baby. I don’t want this mess. I don’t want you tied to me for the rest of my life.”
Each sentence landed clean. They were almost surgical. I felt every word deeply, I just didn’t let it show.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me out of control—which I wasn’t. I was always in control. I knew how he would react, what he would say. This whole performance was considered.
Still, I couldn’t stop myself from feeling sorry for the little devil inside me. What a shame to have two fucked-up messes for parents.
I tilted my head slightly, the way I always did when someone underestimated how much damage they were doing. “Then congratulations,” I said calmly. “You’re free.”
He stopped. Looked at me. He must have been waiting for a bigger reaction, my usual knife-sharp choice of words. Well, would you look at that—maybe I was maturing without realizing it.
“I’m not asking you for anything,” I continued, my voice was smooth, I sound almost bored. “Not your help. Not your money. Not your presence.”
A pause. I saw in his eyes the moment the obsession he tried so hard to control burned. The way I was dismissing him from my life drove him mad. Good. Let him be mad.
“I will keep it. And if you don’t want this child, you don’t get it. You don’t get to show up later with regret in your mouth and tears in your eyes.”
His jaw clenched.
“So do us both a favor,” I finished softly. “Fuck off. Don’t contact me. Don’t come crying. You’ll have no rights here.”
I turned before he could respond. I played my move so smoothly even I was impressed. My mask gained another layer.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my hands shake. That fucker was the last person I would ever show any weakness to.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel sadness or relief.
Jeremy probably thought he’d won that night. Probably felt angry. Probably told himself obsession was weakness—and that he’d finally cut it out of his system. Unfortunately, we both knew he was wrong. His obsession ran too deep to simply vanish. It would wait—I just didn’t know for what.
None of this was about love. It wasn’t about hate either. It was about ownership. And I had just taken something from a man who never forgave loss.
I went back to the mansion that I shared with my brother and cousins, walked into my room, and locked the door for the first time in my life.
Checkmate, I thought. Not because I had won, but because the game had finally begun.
“Welcome to the board, little one,” I whispered. “Things are about to get complicated.”