Claire

Claire hadn’t left her room for two weeks.

She was having a baby.

The thought alone was enough to unravel her whenever it surfaced. She was carrying Caleb’s child—a man she could hardly stand to look at most days. Her heart hurt, not just from the waves of nausea and the exhaustion of early pregnancy, but from the weight of everything her life had become. Her cultivation was suffering too, slipping further into disarray as her body adapted to the demands of carrying new life.

Claire had tried to cultivate every morning, forcing herself through breathing cycles, but the mana refused to settle. It rebelled, surging toward the tiny presence in her belly as if the child were a new dantian competing with her own. Every time she faltered, nausea rolled through her body, leaving her doubled over with bile on her tongue. She hated the weakness of it. Hated the thought that her worth, in this world of bloodlines and strength, would be measured not by her cultivation but by the child she carried.

She knew she couldn’t keep it hidden forever. Eventually, she would have to tell someone—Caleb, her family, someone. But every time she imagined the words leaving her mouth, she froze. Instead, she sat by the window in silence, staring out at the courtyards and gardens below, wondering how everything had twisted itself into this. Haunted by dreams that felt too vivid to dismiss. By visions of destruction—whether to come or already past, she couldn’t say.

A knock at the door pulled her back from her haze.

“Enter,” Claire called.

One of her attendants slipped in, a tray balanced carefully in her hands. Abby was young—seventeen at most—one of the mousy girls from a northern branch family of the Wang House. Her pale skin was dusted with freckles, her hair an unruly copper-red, her accent unmistakably provincial compared to the polished tones of the inner Empire. The contrast only made her stand out more.

She set the tray down and curtsied with a shy smile. “Mistress Claire.”

The title tugged a faint smile from Claire’s lips. Everyone else called her Lady Wang or Madam Zhou. Not Abby. To Abby she was still Mistress Claire, soft and familiar, flavored with that lilting northern accent. Claire found herself listening just for the sound of it sometimes.

Abby poured tea—citrus and floral, meant to calm nerves—and handed her a steaming cup. She hesitated, biting her lip. “Mistress… may I speak freely?”

Claire gave her a gentle look. “Go ahead, Abby.”

“It’s just…” Abby’s brows furrowed, her voice faltering. “My lady, are you well? You’ve seemed… very much out of sorts. The Patriarch and his wife are worried. And so is your husband.”

Claire snorted into her cup. “My husband? As if he cares.”

Abby’s eyes flicked up, earnest. “Mistress, Master Caleb walks the halls restless every night. He frets. He paces. I think your absence—and his own uncertainty—has shaken him.”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Claire turned, pinning Abby with a sharper look. “Is he worried about me, or about how it looks?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Abby shook her head. “I don’t know what it’s like to be married, and I certainly don’t know what it’s like to marry into a Tiered House. But…” her voice softened, “he looks like a man lost. And I think he won’t find himself until you tell him what’s truly troubling you.”

Claire sipped her tea, letting the warmth anchor her. She dismissed Abby with a nod. “Thank you. You may go.”

Left alone, her thoughts churned again. What was really bothering Caleb? It wasn’t just her silence. It was that he wasn’t the center of attention anymore. That she wasn’t fawning over him, worshipping his every word. That his younger brother—the one he had dismissed and disrespected—was somehow rising higher than he ever could.

Her hand drifted to her stomach. The future heir to the Wang household—and possibly the Zhou—rested there. Politics tangled around unborn children like spiderwebs. Bella, her sister, still held succession rights to Wang, but now? With Claire’s child, inheritance would knot itself between two Houses. Two patriarchs. Two lines of succession. It was exactly the kind of thing that destabilized families for generations if not handled properly ususally with agreements understood well in advanced.

There were no such agreements now and that fact had the potential to cause disaster.

The Zhou were climbing. The Wangs had risen a generation ago but had stagnated since. Marrying Caleb had been practical, even if her heart had once leaned toward Ethan. Ethan—who had been brilliant but cautious, forever afraid to act. She had once mistaken that hesitation for weakness. And yet now, watching him shine in the Li household, his intellect turning him into a name everyone spoke… she saw just how wrong she had been.

Still, Caleb was her husband. The father of her child. She couldn’t keep this secret forever. Maybe if she told him—about the baby, about the dreams—they could start fresh. Not the heady, doomed, selfish passion she’d once carried for Ethan, but something steadier. Something honest.

Claire stood, finally stirring from her long retreat. She changed into a conservative dress, setting aside the silk robe she had worn like a shroud. Then she strapped her sword across her back. She wasn’t the finest fighter—barely average for a Tier/level 3—but still formidable enough that few dared to challenge her. At her level, sheer difference in mana and speed made any Tier/level 2 or below nearly irrelevant in a fight. She might not have the raw adaptability of the gifted, but cultivation itself made her dangerous enough.

It was evening when she left the manor. The nausea in her belly made every step heavier, but she forced herself on, head held high.

The streets were busy despite the late hour. Merchants hawked charms and spirit lamps from roadside stalls, their eyes flicking toward her sword and then away again. She thoughts she heard whispers trailing in her wake—her name paired with Vivian’s, with Ethan’s, with words like “fortunate” and “undeserving.”

It made her skin crawl.

Everywhere she turned, her ex-boyfriend turned brother-in-law’s shadow stretched long. Ethan the miracle-worker. Ethan the rising star of the Li family. Ethan the heartthrob. It seemed he got a new title or nickname everytime she turned around. And Caleb? Caleb’s reputation was starting to taste of sour wine and squandered hours.

She found Caleb in The Blushing Koi, a tavern infamous in the district. Its lantern-lit halls reeked of spilled wine and desperation, known for three things: crooked gambling tables, perfumed courtesans draped over the arms of men who couldn’t afford them, and backroom deals whispered in smoke-thick shadows. No one cared who you were or where you came from—merchant, beggar, noble heir—so long as your coin flowed freely.

Caleb was tucked away in the back, alone. He was slumped over the table, eyes glazed, surrounded by empty bottles. For a heartbeat she considered turning away. Let him rot here, drowning in bottles and self-pity. But memory betrayed her: Caleb laughing under lantern light the night he first wooed her, voice rich with promises she had once been foolish enough to believe. That man was gone, buried beneath bitterness. What remained was this husk. Still—he was her husband. The father of her child. She forced her hand forward.

She touched his shoulder.

Caleb stirred, blinking blearily up at her. His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Oh. Please. Come join me. You drunk too?”

Claire ignored the barb. “Come on, Caleb. Let’s go home. We need to talk.”