Page 24 of The Russian's Arranged Pregnant Bride

He paused. So did I.

We stood there in the middle of his kitchen, close enough that I could smell his soap and feel the warmth radiating off his skin, and the air between us felt charged. Dangerous.

“Cassandra,” he said quietly, and there was something in the way he said my name that made my breath catch.

“Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t say whatever you’re about to say.”

Because I knew—instinctively, viscerally—that whatever he was thinking would crack me open again. Would make me vulnerable in ways I couldn’t afford.

His jaw tightened, but he stepped back, creating space between us. “Eggs are done.”

We ate in silence. Well, mostly silence. Drew asked if I wanted coffee. I said yes. He poured two cups and added cream to mine without asking, which meant he’d been paying attention to details I didn’t even realize I’d revealed.

The food helped. Settled my stomach, cleared some of the fog from my head. By the time I’d finished, I felt almost human again.

Almost.

“Thank you,” I said finally, pushing my plate away. “For not letting me drive. For bringing me here. For not being an asshole about it.”

“You don’t have to thank me for basic decency.”

“In my experience, basic decency is pretty fucking rare.”

Drew studied me over the rim of his coffee cup, and I could see him weighing his words. Deciding how much to say. How far to push.

“What happened last night?” he asked finally. “In the car. What were you running from?”

Everything. Nothing. The weight of my own lies crushing me from the inside out.

“Does it matter?” I deflected.

“Yes.”

The certainty in his voice made something twist in my chest. Like he actually cared. Like the answer mattered to him beyond professional curiosity or familial obligation.

I wanted to tell him. Wanted to unload every secret I’d been carrying, every piece of truth I’d been hiding, and let him decide whether I was worth saving or worth destroying.

But I couldn’t. Because telling him would put him in danger. Would make him complicit. Would force him to choose between me and the family he’d known his entire life.

And I already knew how that choice would end.

“I was just drunk,” I said, keeping my voice light. Dismissive. “Stressed about work. Rafael noticed I made mistakes, and it threw me off. That’s all.”

Drew’s eyes narrowed slightly, like he could see straight through the bullshit I was selling. But he didn’t call me on it. Just set his cup down and leaned back in his chair.

“If you’re in trouble,” he said carefully, “I can help.”

“I’m not.”

“If someone’s threatening you—”

“No one’s threatening me, Drew. I’m fine.”

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, but I kept my expression neutral. Bored, even. Like this entire conversation was tedious and unnecessary.

He watched me for a long moment, and I could see the frustration building behind his eyes. The desire to push harder, to break through my defenses and drag the truth out of me.

But he didn’t.