Page 41 of Nine Months to Love

A knock interrupts my spiral.

“Olivia.” Stefan’s voice, muffled through wood. “Can I come in?”

I don’t answer, but he enters anyway. Boundaries are just suggestions to Stefan Safonov.

He looks immaculate despite the early hour—charcoal suit, no tie, top button undone. His eyes sweep over me, cataloging: messy hair, yesterday’s clothes, the half-eaten sleeve of saltines on my nightstand.

“You didn’t come down for breakfast.”

“Wasn’t hungry.” I pull my knees to my chest, making myself smaller. “Saltines are very filling.”

His jaw ticks. “You need real food.”

“Or what? You’ll lock me in the basement, too?”

His whole body goes rigid, that careful control slipping for just a second before he locks it down again. “There are some things you really don’t need to know, Olivia.”

“That’s not your decision to make.” I meet his eyes, refusing to back down. “Tell me, have you found Natalia yet?”

“No.” Zero hesitation. Either he’s telling the truth or he’s gotten very good at lying to me. Both options make me sick.

“And when you do?”

“I’ll inform you the moment we find her.”

“That’s a pretty weak promise, Stefan.”

He moves closer, and I hate how my body responds—pulse jumping, skin heating. Even now, even with everything between us, I want him. It’s pathological. No—it’s depraved.

“What do you want from me?” he snarls. “A detailed report of every move I make? Every minute decision?”

“I want honesty. But as you have made quite clear, that’s too much to ask.” I stand, needing to be on equal footing. “Did you ever stop to think that it’s you I care about? That asking you not to kill your mother isn’t about her—it’s about savingyoursoul?”

He laughs, dark and bitter. “My soul was lost long before you came along,lisichka.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Then you’re naive.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I see something in you that you refuse to see in yourself.” I step closer, close enough to smell his cologne, like if sex and lies had a scent. “So here’s my question: When you find her—and we both know you will—what happens?”

His eyes search mine. “What do you want to happen?”

“I want you to not become the monster she says you are.”

“And if I already am?”

“Then prove her wrong.” I reach up, my fingers barely grazing his jaw. “Don’t kill her, Stefan. Whatever she’s done, whatever you think she deserves—don’t do it.”

He catches my wrist. “You’re asking me to spare the woman who destroyed my family.”

“I’m asking you to be better than her.”

We stand there, frozen, his hand around my wrist, my fingers against his skin. The air between us crackles with everything we’re not saying.

“I can promise you that I won’t kill her,” he says finally. “But that’s the best I can do.”

“What does that mean?”