Morning came quietly.
A pale strip of sunlight slipped through the curtains, thin and hesitant, touching the edge of the bed.
Eline woke first.
For a moment, he didn't remember where he was.
Then he felt it.
An arm around his waist.
Heavy. Warm.
Possessive.
His breath caught.
Slowly, carefully, he looked down.
Carlson's arm was wrapped around him, firm even in sleep, as if it had settled there with intention.
The weight of it felt unfamiliar,
Eline's heart thudded once.
He hadn't expected this.
He had expected the bed to be empty.
Expected cold sheets and distance.
He had told himself that once it was done, Carlson would leave. That there would be no softness, no lingering.
But he was still here.
Still holding him.
Something about that unsettled Eline more than if he had woken alone.
Carefully, he reached down and touched the wrist resting against his waist.
Just to confirm it was real.
The skin was warm.
Solid.
He hesitated — then gently tried to lift the arm away.
The reaction was immediate.
Carlson's grip loosened at once, but his eyes opened just as quickly — sharp, alert, not clouded by sleep.
For half a second, they stared at each other.
Eline still half-turned in his hold.
Carlson already fully awake.
Carlson withdrew his arm without comment and sat up on the edge of the bed.
"You should rest a little longer," he said, voice calm. Controlled. As if nothing about the night had lingered with him.
"I have to leave."
No explanation.
Just distance restored.
He stood and walked toward the bathroom without looking back.
The door closed softly.
Eline remained sitting there.
Still.
It already happened.
The thought settled heavily in his chest.
He had slept with a man he barely knew.
A man who had made his intentions clear from the beginning.
There had been no affection in the arrangement.
No romance.
Just purpose.
Heat crept up his neck.
(Did I not protest enough?)
The question pricked at him — quiet, uncomfortable.
He replayed the night in fragments.
(Could he have resisted harder?
Would it have changed anything?)
His fingers tightened in the sheets.
No.
If he had fought, things would have become harder. Tighter. More guarded.
He had spent the last five days observing. Listening. Measuring the walls around him.
Escape would not come through force.
Force would only make them close ranks.
He exhaled slowly.
Perhaps this is better.
If they believe that I am compliant… if they think that i have accepted his place… their guard will lower.
That would be his
advantage.
But one thought stopped him cold.
In the past five days once he considered that he would accept the situation quietly because after that he would get whatever he wants and life he wouldn't be able to afford even if he worked his whole life. but he dismissed the idea the next minute because he couldn't give on his blood and flesh,something that would stay inside him for nine months.
His child
The word felt heavier than the night before.
Sleeping with a man was one thing.
Carrying his child was another.
If I ever give birth, I will not leave that child.
He knew that with certainty.
And they would never allow him to keep it.
That meant one thing.
Before that happens, I have to leave.
His expression steadied.
Outwardly — he would remain soft. Quiet. Unthreatening.
Let them believe he is confused.
Let them believe he is harmless.
Inside — he would prepare.
He would watch.
Learn schedules.
Memorize doors.
Study weaknesses.
Trying to fight now would be foolish.
But lowering his guard — strategically — that was not weakness.
That was survival.
The bathroom door opened.
Eline's posture softened instantly.
(I won't get pregnant, I will leave before that happens because I will never let my own flesh became my own weakness )
The blankness returned to his face.
Carlson stepped out, already composed, and distant.
"Sleep some more and eat something after you feel better"
He said the words looking at Eline's face which looked rather determined than tired.