The town car became Leo's sanctuary and his prison. The scent of sandalwood, faint but unmistakable, clung to the leather seats, a constant, unsettling reminder of the man who had sent him here. The city lights streamed past the tinted windows, a blur of color that matched the chaotic swirl in his mind. Alexander Thorne's final word – 'Rest' – echoed, layered with the intensity of his gaze, the probing questions, the sheer, terrifying intimacy of that dinner.
But beneath the psychological turmoil, the physical reality asserted itself with brutal clarity. The phantom ache, dismissed for days as stress, had transformed during the meal. It was no longer a dull throb but a sharp, insistent cramping deep in his pelvis, radiating outwards. The pain had spiked during the dessert course, making him wince, drawing Thorne's unnervingly perceptive attention. 'You seem pale.' The memory sent a fresh wave of humiliation and fear through him. He'd lied. Badly.
Now, alone in the moving darkness, the pain intensified. It wasn't just cramps; it felt like something twisting, pulling internally. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead, prickling uncomfortably against his collar. He pressed a hand firmly against his lower abdomen, curling in on himself slightly. 'Just stress. It has to be.' But the rationalization felt flimsy, paper-thin against the visceral reality gripping his body. The rich food from Silk & Steel churned uneasily in his stomach. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, trying to quell the rising panic.
The car pulled up smoothly outside his and Maya's apartment building. Leo fumbled for the door handle, his movements stiff and clumsy. "Thank you," he managed to rasp to the unseen driver before practically stumbling out onto the sidewalk. The cool night air offered no relief. He leaned against the building's brick facade for a moment, taking shallow breaths, willing the wave of dizziness and pain to subside. He couldn't go up like this. Maya would see instantly.
He pushed himself upright, forcing his legs to carry him through the lobby and into the elevator. The short ascent felt interminable. By the time he fumbled his key into the lock, his hand was shaking. He pushed the door open, bracing himself against the frame.
Maya was curled on the sofa, a textbook open on her lap, but her head snapped up the moment he entered. Her expression shifted instantly from mild curiosity to sharp concern. "Leo? You're back early. How was the... oh my god." She was on her feet in an instant, crossing the small living room. "You look like death warmed over. What happened? Did he do something?" Her voice was tight with protective fury.
"No, no," Leo gasped, waving a weak hand as he shuffled towards the bathroom. "Fine. Just... dinner was rich. Feeling a bit off." The lie tasted sour. He needed space, darkness, silence. The pain was a constant, grinding pressure now, punctuated by sharper stabs.
"Off? Leo, you're white as a sheet and sweating!" Maya followed him, hovering outside the bathroom door as he closed it, leaning heavily against the cool wood. "Did he say something awful? Pressure you? What happened at Silk & Steel?"
Inside the small bathroom, Leo flicked on the light, wincing at the brightness. His reflection in the mirror was ghastly – skin pale and clammy, dark circles stark under his wide, frightened eyes. He gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white, as another wave of cramping seized him, sharper this time. He doubled over with a soft groan, pressing his forehead against the cool porcelain.
"Leo!" Maya's voice was urgent, pounding lightly on the door. "Open the door! Right now!"
He couldn't hide it anymore. The pain was too overwhelming, the fear too primal. He fumbled with the lock and pulled the door open, collapsing slightly against the doorframe.
Maya caught him, her arm looping around his waist to steady him. Her eyes scanned his face, then dropped to where his hand was still clamped over his abdomen. Her expression hardened, the protective fury giving way to a dawning, horrified realization.
"Leo," she whispered, her voice suddenly very calm, very serious. "How long has it been hurting? Like this?"
"Just... tonight," he gasped, another wave making him clutch her arm. "Got worse during dinner."
"Describe it. Exactly." Maya guided him towards the sofa, easing him down. She knelt in front of him, her gaze locked on his.
"Cramping," Leo managed, his breath hitching. "Low. Deep. Sharp sometimes. Like….. twisting." He closed his eyes, shame warring with the sheer physical distress. "And I feel sick. Dizzy."
Maya was silent for a beat. Leo opened his eyes to see her face pale, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her mind was clearly racing, connecting dots Leo had desperately tried to ignore. "Your period," she said, her voice flat, devoid of its usual teasing tone. "When was your last one?"
Leo flinched. The question was a direct hit to his most guarded secret. He rarely discussed the irregular, often painful cycles that were part of his intersex physiology. He tracked them meticulously, privately, a necessary vigilance. "I.….. it's irregular," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. "But....…maybe six, seven weeks ago?" The admission felt like tearing off a bandage.
Maya sucked in a sharp breath. Her hand tightened on his knee. "Six weeks."She paused, the silence heavy with implication. "Leo..... the night. The gala after-party. You said.... you said you thought..."
Panic, cold and absolute, flooded Leo. It obliterated the physical pain for a terrifying second. "No," he whispered, the word a denial to the universe itself. "Maya, no. It's impossible. They told me.... the doctors, years ago... they said it was highly unlikely. Almost impossible." He'd clung to that medical assurance like a lifeline, a justification for the reckless abandon of that single night with Thorne – a night fueled by champagne, intense connection, and the terrifying, exhilarating feeling of being desired for 'himself', secrets and all. They hadn't used protection. The assumption of infertility had been their shield.
"Highly unlikely isn't impossible, Leo," Maya said, her voice trembling slightly despite her effort to stay calm. "Especially with..... with your specific physiology. You know it's a spectrum." She looked down at his hand still pressed protectively against his stomach. "These symptoms... the nausea, the dizziness, the cramping ..... Leo, this isn't just stress or bad oysters. This feels...familiar."She met his eyes again, her own filled with a terrible, sympathetic certainty. "We need to know. Now."
The weight of her words crashed down on him. The phantom ache wasn't phantom. It wasn't stress. It was something real, something terrifyingly possible growing inside him. The consequence of stepping into the storm's eye, of the bargain he'd struck with Alexander Thorne, was no longer abstract. It was visceral. It was pain. It was a potential life-altering catastrophe.
"No,"he repeated, weaker this time, tears pricking at his eyes – tears of pain, of fear, of utter disbelief. "It can't be. It can't." The image of Thorne's intense gaze across the table at Silk & Steel flashed in his mind – the curiosity, the assessment, the quiet command. How could he face him with this? How could he ever tell him?
Maya stood up, her resolve hardening. "Screw 'can't'.We're finding out. Get your coat."She was already moving towards the closet, grabbing her own jacket and purse. "There's a 24-hour urgent care clinic three blocks away. They have labs. We're going. Now."
"Maya, I can't..." Leo protested, the thought of facing doctors, of tests, of potential confirmation paralyzing.
"You 'can'," Maya said, turning back to him, her voice fierce. "Because you have to. Because ignoring this won't make it go away. Because whatever this is, you're not facing it alone." She held out her hand. "Come on. Lean on me if you need to. But we're going."
The cramping chose that moment to intensify, a vicious twist that stole his breath and made him gasp, doubling over again. The pain was undeniable. The fear was overwhelming. But Maya's hand was steady, her presence an anchor in the sudden, terrifying maelstrom.
Leo looked up at her, tears finally spilling over. The carefully constructed walls of his life – the professional competence, the guarded privacy, the fortress built around his body and his secrets – felt like they were crumbling around him. The storm wasn't just outside anymore; it was raging within. He took her hand, his grip weak and trembling, and let her pull him to his feet. The journey to the clinic felt like walking towards the edge of a cliff, the phantom ache now a horrifyingly real harbinger of the impossible truth he was about to confront. The foundation of his carefully controlled existence had cracked, and the world was falling through.