Page 23

22

Viktor

The sleek black sedan pulls into the private hospital's gated entrance. This isn’t an ordinary hospital—it’s a fortress hidden behind walls of privilege and power. I step out first, scanning our surroundings, and then extend a hand to Scarlett. She hesitates briefly before accepting, her palm warm and trembling in mine. Her belly is still small, but the weight of what it carries is monumental.

Inside, the hospital's polished marble floors gleam under the soft glow of chandelier lights. The staff, clad in crisp white uniforms, bow their heads slightly as we pass. They don’t just work here—they belong to us. Subtle nods of recognition and unspoken loyalty surround us. Scarlett clutches my arm tighter, her eyes darting around.

“Does everything in this city belong to you?” she whispers, her voice tinged with disbelief.

I glance at her and smirk. “Everything that matters.”

She exhales sharply, shaking her head as if trying to process it all.

The head doctor rushes to greet us before we even make it to the reception desk. He’s a middle-aged man with silver hair and an air of calm authority. “ Dobro pozhalovat' , Miss Wood,” he says warmly, his Russian accent thick. Scarlett offers a nervous smile, her hands resting protectively on her belly.

Her gaze shifts to me, her eyebrows lifting slightly. “Is there any door you can’t open?”

I chuckle, low and deep. “No.”

The doctor gestures for us to follow, leading us down a hallway lined with private rooms and guarded by silent men in suits. I keep my hand on the small of Scarlett’s back, steering her protectively. Her steps are hesitant but steady, and her eyes flicker between curiosity and caution.

The examination room is pristine, the fain noise of the ultrasound machine breaking the quiet. Scarlett lies back on the cushioned table, her shirt lifted just enough to expose her midriff. I stand at her side, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

“Do you know how far gone you are?”

“About ten weeks or so, I was told by the last doctor that pregnancy is often dated two weeks before the actual conception.”

“That’s true.”

The doctor spreads the gel across her skin and places the wand against her belly. The screen flickers to life, and a grainy black-and-white image begins to form. Scarlett's fingers clutch the edge of the table, her breathing shallow.

“Everything looks good,” the doctor says, his voice steady.

Scarlett lets out a shaky breath, her tension easing slightly.

“Hold on. I think I see a second gestational sac.” He probes harder with the wand, and I watch Scarlett flinch, but her eyes never leave the screen.

“There’s definitely a second sac.”

“What?” Scarlett’s voice breaks, her eyes wide with shock.

“Twins,” the doctor confirms, smiling.

Scarlett's hand flies to her mouth, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Twins?” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

“And according to both fetuses' crown to rump length, you are eleven weeks pregnant.”

I freeze, the weight of the news slamming into me like a freight train. My chest tightens, and without thinking, my hand moves to cover hers. I can feel her pulse racing beneath my palm.

“We’re having twins,” she says again, her gaze locking onto mine. There’s awe in her voice—a wonder that I can’t ignore.

“Yes,” I say simply, my voice steady but my mind a whirlwind. I keep my hand over hers, grounding us both in this moment.

The drive home is quiet, the weight of the news settling between us like a tangible presence. Scarlett stares out the window, her hands protectively cradling her belly. I steal glances at her, noting the way her brows knit together, lost in thought.

“Are you all right?” I finally ask, breaking the silence.

She turns to me, her expression unreadable. “I don’t know,” she admits. “It’s a lot to process.”

I nod, understanding her sentiment even as I wrestle with my thoughts. The road stretches ahead, but my focus remains on the woman beside me and the future we now share.

The tension in the car thickens as Scarlett finally speaks, her voice cutting through the quiet. “I’ve been thinking,” she begins, her tone measured yet determined. “About the future … and the twins.”

I glance at her briefly, my hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Go on.”

“I think it’s best if I move out after they’re born,” she says. “We can co-parent. You’ll have access to them anytime, and I won’t stand in the way of your involvement.” Her words come out steady, but there’s a faint tremor beneath her calm exterior.

The suggestion is like a slap, but I keep my gaze fixed on the road. “Over my dead body will my children grow outside my home.”

“You do not expect me to live under your roof forever. And I am not leaving my children behind when I go.”

“You are not going anywhere.”

“Of course I am!” She fires back. “I am not going to play mistress to you. I am going to enjoy a normal life whenever you deem it fit to free me.”

“My children will grow up under my roof.”

“Is under my roof not good enough?”

This lady is trying my fucking patience.

“And how do you intend to protect them?”

“Well, I’ll certainly get married. I and my husband will keep them safe.”

She is fucking fucking joking.

The weight of her words is too much to ignore. I pull the car to the side of the road, cutting the engine. Scarlett looks at me with confusion in her eyes.

“What are you doing?” she asks her tone a mix of suspicion and unease.

I turn to face her fully, my eyes locking onto hers. “I’ll fucking kill any man that dares look at you. You are mine, and I do not share. Understand?”

Her jaw tightens, her defiance flickering to life. “No, I do not understand. I do not belong to anyone; I am not a piece of furniture to be owned. And I will fuck whoever I….”

I did not let her finish that stupid sentence. “Do not dare me.” I groan, pulling her to me. I cover her mouth with mine and instantly feel my cock rising.

The air in the car grows heavy and charged with unspoken emotions. When I release her lips, she doesn’t move or speak, as if caught in the moment's intensity. There is no way I can get enough of her soft lips, so I lean in again.

When my lips find hers again, it’s not calculated—it’s instinctive. The kiss is fierce and consuming, a collision of frustration and desire. Scarlett gasps against my mouth, her hands pressing against my chest as if to push me away, but then they curl into my shirt, pulling me closer instead.

She moans my name, and I lose myself in the taste of her, the feel of her. My hands move with purpose, sliding down her sides, finding the button of her jeans. She doesn’t stop me—if anything, she arches into my touch, her body responding to mine in a way that sets my blood on fire.

I undo her button and zipper in one move, and she wiggles the jeans down to her knees. My fingers find her already warm, swelling clit, and a groan tears through my throat. I deepen the kiss as I gently roll her the tiny bud between my thumb and forefinger. She sobs my name, and my body begins to burn at her cry of pleasure.

The world outside the car ceases to exist. It’s just us, tangled in this storm of passion and tension, each touch igniting a fire that threatens to consume us both.

I dip a finger into her moist slit and rub the wetness on her clit.

“Viktor, please fuck me.” She pleads with a voice I can barely recognize. So I introduce a second finger and start pumping in and out, gradually increasing my speed.

Scarlett’s breath comes in shallow gasps as my hands explore her, her body yielding to me in ways that leave no room for doubt. The tension that’s been building between us for weeks erupts, her moans soft but urgent, her movements deliberate.

I take my time, savoring every reaction, every sound. She’s intoxicating, and for a moment, all the chaos and danger of our world fade away, replaced by the sheer intensity of this connection.

When she comes beneath my touch, her breath hitching, her body trembling, I can’t look away. She slumps against the chair, trying to catch her breath as her gaze meets my eyes. It’s a moment that’s both raw and profound, and I know I’ll kill any man who would so much as think of seeing her like this.

“You’re mine,” I repeat, my voice low and possessive. The words come unbidden but feel undeniably true. “You and the twins—you belong to me.”

Scarlett’s eyes widen, her lips parting as if to protest, but no words come. The weight of my declaration hangs in the air, undeniable and inescapable.

She looks away, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “You can’t just claim me, Viktor,” she whispers, her voice shaky.

“Watch me,” I reply, leaning back in my seat but keeping my gaze fixed on her. “This isn’t up for debate, moya koroleva. ”

“What does that even mean?”

“My queen.”

The silence that follows is heavy, filled with tension and unspoken words. As I start the car and pull back onto the road, I glance at her, noting the conflict in her expression. She may not agree with me now, but she will.

For now, we drive in silence, the unspoken promise of what’s to come lingering between us.