Page 9 of Nine Months to Love

“So he has a sibling?”

She just shakes her head.

Horror grows in the pit of my belly. “What happened?”

“Stefan’s father happened.” She sits in the chair by the window, her posture perfect even in grief. “Because of him, I lost my baby.”

I don’t want to ask, but the words come anyway. “How?”

“The usual way with Matvey. Violence.” She looks out the window. “I was five months along. Starting to show. He didn’t like that I was happy about it.”

My hand goes to my own stomach instinctively.

“He pushed me down the stairs.” Her voice is flat, emotionless. “Said it was an accident. Everyone believed him, of course. Why wouldn’t they? Pregnant women fall all the time.”

“Jesus.”

“The doctors couldn’t save her. Yes, it was a girl. I’d already picked out a name—Katya.”

I sit on the bed, a saltine cracker in my hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. I don’t think about it very often anymore.” But her eyes say otherwise when she turns them on me. “I tell you this not for sympathy, but so you understand. I know what it’s like to carry a child in a dangerous situation. To wonder if you can protect them. To fear what their father might do.”

“Stefan isn’t like that.”

“If you say so, darling. If you say so.” She stands. “Eat something. Rest. We’ll talk more later.”

She heads for the door.

“Wait!” I set down the cracker. “If you’re not keeping me prisoner, if this is really about my safety, then let me call someone. My assistant, Camille. Just to let her know I’m okay.”

Natalia pauses at the door. “Soon. Once we’ve secured all the communication channels. Stefan has eyes and ears everywhere. One wrong word and he’ll find you before we’re ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“For him to hear the truth.” She opens the door. “The crackers really will help with the nausea. And the pickles... well, those are just because pregnant women love pickles.”

She leaves, and this time, I hear the lock engage. “Guest,” my ass. I’m as much a prisoner here as I was at Stefan’s estate. The difference is, here I’m a prisoner of someone I don’t know.

But she’s right about one thing: The crackers do help. I nibble on them slowly and sip the lemonade between bites. The pickle sits untouched—I’m not there yet in this pregnancy.

I think about what Natalia said. Did Stefan really plant bugs on my phone? Did his father push her down the stairs? How many lives has this family’s madness claimed? How many more is it still hungry for?

If it’s true, it explains so much about Stefan. Growing up in that house, with that violence, watching his mother’s pain… No wonder he learned to control everything. I wouldn’t be able to trust anyone, either.

But if it’s not true, if this is all manipulation, then I’m sitting here eating crackers with a psychopath who faked her own death and has God knows what planned for her son.

There’s no in-between to be found in this war. There’s black and white, but I don’t know which is which and there’s no way of getting close enough to either one to find out. Not without losing my head, my heart, my baby, or all of the above.

Which means one thing: The only way is to refuse to play the game entirely. I want away from all of them, all of this, all of here.

I finish the crackers and lie back on the bed. The nausea has faded, replaced by exhaustion. This pregnancy, this situation, Stefan—it’s all too much.

I close my eyes and try to imagine what Stefan is doing right now. Is he looking for me? Is he worried? Or is he just angry that his investment got away?

No. That’s Natalia talking, getting in my head. IknowStefan, don’t I? I’ve seen him vulnerable, seen him care. The way he looked at me when he found out about the baby was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. That wasn’t fake. Youcan’tfake that.

… Can you?