Page 53 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva

I nodded too hard, too quickly. “I’m fine. I have a headache. Nothing serious.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t step inside. He just watched me for a moment longer, like he didn’t believe a word I’d said.

But he didn’t press.

He just nodded. “Be ready tonight. We’re going to a family gathering. It’s Damian and Elena’s anniversary.”

My heart leaped at the mention of Elena’s name. I hadn’t seen her in a while. I wasn’t certain if she could offer me comfort or advice on how to go about this, but I felt relief at the thought of seeing her.

“Okay,” was all I could mutter.

“Okay,” he echoed. Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

And I was left there on cold tile, still holding the test, still trying to remember how to breathe.

***

The afternoon dragged like an old wound.

Each tick of the clock ached in my chest.

I couldn’t stay still, couldn’t lie down or breathe deep without that old squeezing creeping back—that slow, crawling pressure behind my ribs that could never be shaken by pacing or distraction.

I roamed the house the entire day, trying not to kill myself with worry over being pregnant. Eventually, I found myself at the library.

The peaceful silence pulled me in instantly. I ran my fingers over the shelves of hardcovers, immersing myself in the smell of old paper and cracked leather.

My hand lingered as it landed on a spine near the bottom of the shelf. A pale gray cover with gold print barely visible in the faint light.

Motherhood: The First Year.

Something hollow thudded inside me at the title.

I pulled it out and sat on the couch, folding my legs and leaning back as I flipped through the pages.

It was all diagrams on taking care of an infant. Instructions on softness and attachment, and how to know if your baby is latched correctly.

I stared at the pages, but the words didn’t make any sense to me. I’d never dreamed of becoming a mother, not so soon.

Motherhood.

The word sounded foreign, unreal. Like it could only be appropriately used for someone else.

Someone who hadn’t been pushed into matrimony.

Someone who didn’t sleep with a man who made his money through bloodshed and being a criminal.

I was already scared enough being Matvey’s wife; now I was going to be the mother of his child as well.

I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I should’ve been more careful.

My body didn’t change. My skin didn’t glow with that brilliant, holy magic I read most pregnant women experienced. I just felt…scared.

As if I were standing at a cliff edge with no going back.

My palm involuntarily dropped to my belly, and I found myself rubbing a hand over it. There was no bump yet, no sign of the life growing inside me.

But it was real. False positives weren’t possible.