Page 26 of Pregnant Bratva Wife (Vadim Bratva #13)

“Since about a month ago,” she shrugged. “The transfers never stopped. In fact, last month he increased it—added car insurance, even a monthly allowance for books and supplies, and, believe it or not, the occasional night out in town.”

I stared at her, stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew.” She looked confused. “He told me you knew.”

I shook my head, trying to process this. “I didn’t. Why would he do that?”

“Maybe because he actually cares about you? About us?” Megan suggested.

“Look, I don’t know what you fought about.

But he’s still taking care of you. Of us.

He transferred next semester’s tuition this morning.

And he was so worried when he called, Autumn.

He said you needed me immediately. He bought me a seat on the first flight out. I mean…who does that?”

I didn’t know what to think. It didn’t make sense. If Federico had only married me as some twisted power play, why continue supporting Megan after I’d left?

Why call her? Because he thought I needed her?

What did he get out of it?

The next morning, I woke up feeling sick to my stomach. I barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up what little I’d eaten the night before.

“Are you okay?” Megan called through the door.

“Fine,” I groaned, rinsing my mouth. “Must have been something I ate.”

But the nausea persisted over the next few days. I blamed stress, lack of sleep, and the emotional toll of everything that had happened. Megan watched me with growing concern as I picked at my food, as waves of fatigue hit me at random hours.

“You don’t look so good,” she said on her third day, as I slumped on the couch after another bout of nausea.

“Thanks for the confidence boost.”

“I’m serious, Autumn.” She pressed her hand to my forehead. “No fever, but you’re definitely off. Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“It’s just stress.”

“Or a stomach bug.” She paused, then grinned slyly. “Or don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Why not? You’re married. You’ve been living with the guy for three months.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Unless you’ve been practicing abstinence?”

“Megan!” I threw a pillow at her. “I’m not pregnant. It’s impossible.”

Except... was it?

Federico and I had slept together more than once. We’d never used protection. I’d just assumed... what?

That fate wouldn’t be that cruel?

“Relax, I’m kidding,” Megan laughed. “Just take care of yourself, okay? I’m heading back to school in two days, and I don’t want to leave you sick.”

I pushed the thought away.

I wasn’t pregnant.

Couldn’t be.

The universe wouldn’t be that sadistic.

The night before Megan left, Federico called. I stared at his name on my phone screen, heart hammering. For a moment, I considered not answering. But something—curiosity, maybe, or that traitorous part of me that still missed him—made me accept.

“Hello?” My voice was steadier than I felt.

“Autumn.” Just my name, the way he said it, made my chest tighten. “How are you?”

“Fine,” I said automatically. “Megan’s here.”

“I know.” A pause. “Is she... has it been good to have her there?”

“Yes.” I hesitated. “Thank you. For arranging it.”

“It was the least I could do.”

The conversation was stilted, awkward in a way we’d never been before. Even in the beginning, when we barely knew each other, words had flowed more easily than this.

“Autumn, I—” he sighed. “I miss you.”

Three simple words. They shouldn’t have had the power to make tears spring to my eyes, but they did.

“Don’t,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry. I just... I needed you to know.” His voice was rough. “I understand if you’re not ready to see me. I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

“I’m not,” I confirmed, though part of me wasn’t sure if that was still true. “Not ready, I mean.”

“I understand.” He paused again. “I’m ready to wait however long you need. If there’s anything—”

“I know,” I cut him off, not wanting to hear more, afraid of what it might do to my restraint. “I have to go.”

I hung up before he could say anything else, before I did something foolish like tell him I missed him, too.

***

After Megan left, the apartment felt too quiet. Beatrice was working more hours, and I found myself alone with my thoughts—never a good place to be.

The nausea and fatigue hadn’t subsided. If anything, it was getting worse.

Megan’s joke kept echoing in my head. Don’t tell me you’re pregnant .

Five days after she had returned to school, I finally gave in and checked my period tracker app. The date of my last period glared back at me, accusatory in its distance. I was over two weeks late.

Fuck. I had been so stressed out with everything, so caught up in Federico first, then the pain he caused me, that I completely forgot I hadn’t gotten my period.

“No,” I whispered to the empty room. “No, no, no.”

I rushed to the nearest pharmacy, bought a test with shaking hands, and returned to Beatrice’s apartment. The three minutes I waited for the result were the longest of my life.

I watched as a second pink line slowly appeared.

My breath caught.

The air shifted.

The world went very, very quiet.

Pregnant.

I was carrying Federico Lebedev’s child.