Page 19

19

Alina

I return to my room, closing the door behind me with a soft click. The silence inside feels suffocating.

I walk toward the large window that overlooks the endless acres of well-manicured lawn. Through the pane, my reflection stares back at me—a perfectly poised Makarov princess in a fitted black dress and heels. My dark hair cascades down my back in soft waves. My face is composed and cold, but beneath the polished surface, my chest feels hollow.

I let out a shaky breath and press my forehead against the cool glass. The idea of marrying a stranger from the cartel makes my skin crawl. I picture it—a man’s hands on me, his mouth claiming mine.

Lev’s face rises behind my eyes. His hands. His mouth. The way he had looked at me that night in this room—like he wanted to consume me whole, and my heart twists painfully.

I close my eyes, breathing hard through my nose. Lev left. He made his choice. I can’t hold on to the idea of him anymore. Heaven knows I have tried; I have given this feeling all I’ve got, and now I have to let go.

A sharp knock at the door startles me. I hesitate, swallowing hard before I open it.

Scarlett stands in the doorway. Her glistening eyes sweep over me before she wraps me in a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

I force a thin smile. “Fine.”

Scarlett’s expression softens. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

I breathe out slowly. “Yes, I do.”

“Maybe with your brother, but certainly not with me.”

I nod and move to close my door. “I am in no mood for company right now.”

She tries to hide the hurt from my words. “If you need anything—”

“I won’t,” I say quickly.

She presses her lips together, then steps back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I nod once and close the door. The room that has always been my sanctuary now feels empty and quiet. Silent tears roll down my cheeks as I make my way to my bed through blurry eyes. I sit down slowly on the edge of my bed, take a shaky breath, and close my eyes. I know I’ve been unnecessarily harsh with Scarlett, but at this point, I need to learn how to act from my head and not my heart.

It’s been three weeks since that night with Lev at the hotel and a week before I meet my potential husband.

Three weeks since he last touched me. Since his mouth was on mine, his hands in my hair, his body pressed into me, making me feel like I was the only thing that mattered in the world.

Three weeks since he walked away.

I stand in the middle of my bedroom, arms crossed tightly over my chest. My gaze flicks toward the large window where the early evening light filters through sheer curtains, casting dull shadows across the floor. My heart races beneath my ribs because I’m late.

Seven days late.

It’s not unusual—stress can throw things off. And I’ve had enough stress in the last three weeks to last me several lifetimes.

I pace toward the window and back again, my bare feet cool against the floor. My hand brushes my stomach as a wave of unease slithers through me. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of my mind—a persistent, sharp ache—that refuses to go away.

No.

I stop in front of the mirror above the dresser and stare at myself.

I look……wrong.

My face appears pale, and my skin is nearly translucent under the soft light. Dark circles hollow the area beneath my eyes, contrasting starkly with the electric blue of my irises. My mouth is pinched, and my cheeks are thinner.

I know my body, and I can tell it feels different. Thanks to the internet, I now understand that the cramping in my stomach may be due to implantation rather than my period.

I know what I have to do.

I sit on the closed lid of the toilet, the small white stick resting on my knee.

My hand is shaking.

I force myself to breathe, dragging a hand down my face as the test lies cold and ominous beneath my fingers. I should just take it and get it over with. If it’s negative, I can stop worrying and breathe again. If it’s positive…

My breath quickens.

I’m just being dramatic. It’s stress- that’s all. My body is simply reacting to the trauma of everything that’s happened: Lev leaving, Viktor’s cold and harsh attitude, and my impending marriage.

My hand tightens around the test.

Just take it.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, then I uncap the test and press it between my thighs. My chest tightens painfully as I wait.

Two minutes.

I grip the counter with both hands, the cool marble biting into my palms. The phone timer ticks down, each second loud and violent in my ears. The timer dings, but I don’t want to look.

After a few more minutes, I reach for the test with trembling hands. Slowly, I lift it. My vision blurs at the edges as my gaze focuses on the small window.

Two pink lines.

Positive.

My breath leaves me in a rush. My hands shake so hard the test nearly falls from my grip.

“No.” I blink and look at it again.

Two pink lines. Still positive. My stomach flips violently. My heart races painfully beneath my ribs. My hand presses flat against my stomach as the reality crashes over me. I stare at the test again, my fingers trembling.

“Lev…” I whisper into the silence. But he’s gone.

“What the fuck have I done?” My breath hitches painfully. This can’t be happening.

I stagger toward the sink, gripping the counter as nausea crawls up my throat.

“What the hell am I going to do?”

Viktor will kill him. And me too. I know it because I’ve seen the hard, cold glint in Viktor’s eyes whenever Lev’s name comes up. My brother will surely start hunting him now. Not to force him to marry me, but to kill him.

If Viktor finds out Lev left me like this—if he finds out Lev put a child inside me—there won’t be a negotiation.

I clutch the edge of the sink, forcing down the surge of panic spiralling through my chest. I can’t tell Viktor. I can’t tell Lev. Yet I can’t keep it a secret. Not when I am preparing to meet a potential suitor in one week.

My hand goes to my stomach as I slide down the bathroom wall, knees pulled to my chest, the test still clenched in my hand. Tears burn beneath my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Tears are useless at this point.

I take the test and wrap it in tissues before shoving it into the bottom of my trash can. My hands linger on the edge of the counter.

How the hell am I going to come out of this?

I’ve been standing outside Viktor’s office for more than five minutes, but my feet refuse to move.

My heart slams against my ribcage, the sound loud in my ears. My palms are clammy, and my throat feels dry. The hallway is dimly lit, the heavy oak door looming in front of me like a wall I’m not sure I can break through.

I should turn around. Walk away. Pretend this isn’t happening.

But the weight in my stomach—the impossible truth that I’ve been carrying for two days—won’t let me.

My hand hovers over the brass doorknob. A trembling breath leaves my chest as I finally grip the cold metal and push the door open.

Viktor is seated behind his desk, his head bent over a stack of documents. The sharp lines of his suit cut against the dark leather chair. He doesn’t look up immediately—his focus is trained on the papers in front of him, his pen scratching against the surface with steady precision.

I step inside and close the door behind me. My heels barely make a sound against the hardwood floor.

Viktor’s gaze flicks up. His dark eyes narrow slightly when he sees me. “Alina.” His voice is calm but cool and detached. The usual warmth that always marked our conversation is no longer there. “Is something wrong?”

Yes! Everything.

I move toward his desk, my hands trembling at my sides. My throat works painfully as I struggle to find my voice.

“I need to talk to you.”

Viktor sets his pen down and leans back in his chair. His gaze sharpens on me, the cool steel in his eyes cutting through me. “Go on.”

I swallow hard. My heart pounds painfully. My hand slips toward my stomach almost unconsciously before I catch myself and drop it.

“I’m…” My voice catches. I force myself to breathe through it. “I’m pregnant.”

The words fall into the room like a gunshot.

Viktor’s expression doesn’t change at first. He just stares at me.

My chest tightens. My fingers curl into fists at my sides.

“Say that again,” Viktor says quietly.

“I’m pregnant.”

His gaze sharpens. His knuckles tighten over the armrests of his chair. The steady rise and fall of his chest slows, and the quiet sound of his breath becomes dangerously controlled.

Silence stretches out between us.

“How?” Viktor’s voice is cold, biting.

The tremor in my hands worsens. “You know how.”

Viktor’s mouth presses into a thin line. His eyes darken dangerously. He pushes back from the desk and stands, the height of him towering over me.

“How could you?” His voice is sharp enough to cut through steel.

I flinch, looking away. My gaze drops to the floor. My throat closes painfully. A tear slips down my cheek.

“I didn’t plan this,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

Viktor’s mouth hardens into a brutal line. His hands press flat against the edge of the desk as he leans toward me. “And who—” His tone is low and lethal. “Who is the father?”

I can’t breathe. I don’t say a word.

Viktor’s gaze darkens. His jaw ticks dangerously. “Lev.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. A shaky breath leaves my chest.

Viktor’s mouth tightens. His knuckles turn white against the dark wood of his desk. “How long?”

“Three weeks.” My voice is thin. Weak.

Viktor closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, they are cold and deadened.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I’m telling you now,” I say, my voice breaking. “And I’m prepared to face the consequences.”

Viktor’s gaze sharpens dangerously. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I know exactly what I’ve done.”

“You think this will go away?” His eyes burn into mine. “That it won’t be a problem?”

I take a shaky breath and lift my chin. My hands tremble at my sides.

“I’m willing to leave the family,” I whisper. “If that’s what it takes.”

Viktor’s gaze narrows dangerously. “What!”

“I’ll go,” I say, my voice barely steady. “I’ll leave. I know it’s a disgrace for a Bratva princess to become pregnant outside of marriage. I understand it brings shame to the family.”

Viktor’s mouth tightens dangerously, and his chest rises and falls sharply beneath the fabric of his suit.

“You think leaving solves this?” His tone is sharp and unforgiving. “You think running away will fix this?”

“I’m not running,” I say, my throat constricting. “I’m doing what I have to do to protect your image.”

Viktor’s eyes flash darkly. “You think I need protection?”

I take a shaky breath. “It’s not just about you anymore. It’s about me having a baby outside of wedlock while under your watch.”

Viktor’s gaze drops to my stomach. His jaw flexes, and for a moment, a flicker of something human flashes beneath the cold steel of his expression.

“Does he know?” Viktor asks quietly.

My chest tightens. “No.”

Viktor’s jaw tightens visibly, his mouth pressing into a thin line. He steps away from the desk, turning his back to me, and stands in front of the window with his hands curled into fists at his sides. His reflection in the glass appears sharp and jagged.

“You are sure about this pregnancy,” he says after a long moment.

“Yes.”

“And the Cartel is coming in a few days,” Viktor continues, his voice calm and detached. “To negotiate your marriage.”

“Yes.”

Viktor’s gaze hardens toward the window. His shoulders tense beneath the dark fabric of his suit.

“It’s off.”

My heart stops. “What?”

Viktor’s gaze flicks toward me, sharp and hard. “The marriage is off.”

I blink. My chest tightens painfully. “But—”

“I’m not marrying you off while you’re carrying his child,” Viktor says coldly. “It would be an insult.”

Relief and panic crash into me all at once.

“What will you tell them?” I whisper.

Viktor’s mouth hardens. “They’ll understand.”

“And if they don’t?”

Viktor’s gaze sharpens. “Then we’ll handle it.”

I exhale shakily.

Viktor turns toward me. His gaze sharpens dangerously. “You’ll birth the child in Russia,” he says coldly. “Away from this base. Away from the prying eyes on my headquarters.”

My breath catches. “What?”

“You’ll stay there until the child is born,” Viktor says. “And you’ll raise it there. Quietly. Alone.”

Panic crushes my chest. “Viktor—”

His eyes darken. “You made this choice. You live with the consequences.”

A tear slips down my cheek. My hands press protectively against my stomach.

“And Lev?” My voice trembles. “What happens to him?”

Viktor’s gaze sharpens. The steel in his expression returns.

“I’ll find him,” Viktor says quietly. His tone is calm—too calm. “And I’ll deal with him accordingly.”

My breath stops.

“And the baby?” I whisper.

Viktor’s gaze doesn’t soften. “It’s your responsibility now.”

A tear slips down my cheek. My heart pounds painfully beneath my ribs.

Viktor steps closer, his gaze hard. His hand lifts—just barely—and for a moment, I think he might touch my shoulder.

But then his hand drops back to his side.

“This changes everything,” Viktor says quietly.

His gaze sharpens one last time before he turns away.

“Pack your things,” Viktor says coldly. “You’ll leave for Russia after the Cartel’s visit.”

My chest tightens painfully.

“Viktor—”

“This conversation is over.”

He strides toward the door, his back straight, his movements cold and precise.

I feel the weight of his decision crushing me as the door shuts behind him.

My hand slides protectively over my stomach. My chest trembles with the weight of everything I can’t say.

This truly changes everything. And I don’t know if I’ll survive it.