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“I know,” I cut her off, suddenly aware of how long I’ve been in the bathroom. “I… I don’t know what to do, Han. I’m confused. He’s been so caring, but knowing what he did…”

“Listen to me.” The agent in her takes over, voice clipped and professional. “He’s a monster, Stella. A killer. Get out while you can.”

A sound in the hallway outside my bedroom startles me. “I have to go,” I interrupt. “I’ll call you when I can.”

I end the call before she can protest, quickly wiping the number from the recent calls list. I flush the toilet to explain my extended bathroom visit, then wash my hands and face, trying to erase the evidence of tears.

By the time I return to the bedroom, hiding the phone once more beneath my clothes, my thoughts are racing faster than my heart.

Why did Aleksei have my father murdered and then pay for a fake report? Obviously, he never wanted the case to be investigated, but what is the whole truth behind this?

I lower myself carefully back onto the bed, arranging my body among the specialized pregnancy pillows Aleksei ordered from Sweden. The sheets are Egyptian cotton, the comforter filled with eiderdown. Even my prison is exquisite.

I stare at the ceiling again, but now with purpose. Pretending withdrawal buys me time— time to think, to plan, to understand.

My father was an obstetrician. Respected in his field. We fled Russia when I was seventeen, changing our name from Larkin to Fermont. My mother never explained why, only thatwe were in danger. Was it because of something that happened with Aleksei? Some connection I’ve yet to discover?

“But what?” I whisper into the silence of the room.

The baby shifts inside me, settling lower in my pelvis. The pressure increases, a reminder that my time is running out. Once she’s born, everything changes. I’ll be a mother. Aleksei will be a father. Our lives will be intertwined through her, regardless of what truths I uncover.

Each gentle touch from him now feels like a betrayal— both of my parents and of myself. Yet I can’t deny the care he’s shown me throughout this pregnancy. The genuine concern in his eyes whenever I’ve shown the slightest discomfort. The way he memorized every instruction from Dr. Malhotra. The nursery he had prepared, filled with everything our daughter might need.

Oh God, what a nightmare.

I rub my eyes, which are aching, a headache forming that settles like a dull, pounding throb in my overworked brain.

How can I love the man who destroyed my family? Yet how can I not love the father of my child?

The contradiction tears at me. In the silence of this beautiful room, surrounded by evidence of his wealth and power, I make a decision. I need the whole truth. Not just the fact of my father’s murder, but the reason behind it. Not just what Aleksei did, butwhyhe did it.

Only then can I decide what to do. Whether to run, as Hannah urges. Whether to confront him. Whether to find some impossible path forward that honors both my parents’ memory and my daughter’s future.

My hand rests on my belly, feeling the strong, steady life beneath my palm.

“We’ll figure this out,” I whisper to her. “I promise.”

For now, I’ll maintain this façade of withdrawal. I’ll watch. I’ll listen. I’ll gather whatever information I can from within these gilded walls.

And when the moment is right— when I have enough pieces to see the complete picture— then I’ll decide who Aleksei Tarasov truly is to me: protector or destroyer, lover or enemy, father of my child or murderer of my father.

Until then, I’ll keep staring at the ceiling, my mind clear and focused while he believes me lost.

It’s the only advantage I have.

Chapter Twenty

Stella

I don’t get a chance to come to any conclusions because later that day, the first contraction catches me mid-step.

A tightening band across my lower back, wrapping around to squeeze my belly with unexpected force. I freeze, one hand braced against the bedroom wall, the other instinctively cradling my belly.

It can’t be.

Not yet.

Not today.