Page 46 of Cruel Juliet

Sima’s gaze flickers to me. Her lips part, trembling, but she doesn’t speak. The tears in her eyes shine brighter now.

Whatever is between us—hatred, lies, control—this child is ours. And she loves her already. I can see it in her face.

I feel the weight of what I’ve done pressing down. Locking her in rooms, doubting every word. I treated her like a threat when she’s carrying the only piece of me that matters.

I grip her hand tighter. For once, she doesn’t pull away.

The doctor keeps narrating, voice calm. “Placenta looks good. The position is ideal. You’re both in excellent shape, Mama.”

The screen keeps showing my daughter’s heartbeat. I realize that, for the first time in months, I’m not thinking about wars or lies.

I’m just a man staring at his child, wondering how the hell he managed to turn the woman carrying her into a prisoner.

20

SIMA

The ride back from the hospital is quiet. I keep my face turned toward the window and watch the streets blur past, even though my mind is still in that room.

For a second there, bathed in the light of the ultrasound screen, it felt just like old times. Back when he cared about me and I thought he’d be with us every step of the way.

But that was a fairytale. A silly girl’s dream. This is real life, and Petyr’s warmth didn’t last a moment outside of the four walls of the examination room.

I can’t forget why I ended up there in the first place, either. He dragged me in to prove me a liar. Somehow, he’d convinced himself I was secretly carrying his heir—all of two seconds after he’d kissed me.

Pick a freaking lane.

One second he cares, and the next, he doesn’t. That confusion hurts more than anything else. Because if I knew he didn’t give ashit anymore, maybe I’d be able to get over him. Forget him for good.

But he does care. About our child, at least, if not about me.

And I can’t just ignore that.

When we reach the house, I’m no closer to finding an answer than I was in the car. She didn’t exactly say it, but I think distance is just what the doctor ordered, so I’m already walking back towards my cell when his voice stops me in my tracks. “You’re moving back into my bedroom.”

I turn my head. “What?”

“You heard me.” He doesn’t slow his steps. “Pack up. You’ll sleep in my room from now on.”

Say what now?

Petyr and I haven’t shared a bed since—well, since everything fell apart between us. And now, he wants me back in his room? Permanently?

But why?

It can’t be to get me pregnant. I may have joked about it, but I can’t actually get double-pregnant. Surely even a manly man like him has at least a rudimentary grasp on the limits of female biology.

Maybe he just wants to keep a closer eye on you. Make sure you don’t run off with the goods.

Right. He already thinks I’m capable of lying about our baby’s sex just to gain a strategic advantage on him. Who knows what else his paranoia is feeding him? Next thing I know, he’ll have a guillotine set up in the garden.

“Do I get a say in this?”

“No.” Petyr’s tone hardens. “It isn’t up for debate.”

“Of course it isn’t,” I mutter. “Not like I’m a human being with rights or anything.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. Just follows me down the hall, opens the door to my room, and starts pulling things from drawers.