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MIA

My heart won’t stop pounding.

Three months we’ve been apart.

Three months since the night he broke my heart and I broke his.

Three months since I lied about the child in my belly.

To be fair, I hadn’t known then. When I told him I was pregnant, it was just to get him off my back—to get that horrible glint of gunmetal far, far away from my sleeping son’s head.

But I guess, deep inside, part of me must have felt the life growing inside me.

And now, he has no idea that life belongs to him, too.

As if reading my mind, Yulian’s stormy gray eyes travel downwards, settling uncomfortably on my midsection. I’m not showing much, not yet, but Yulian knows me. Knows my body inside and out. To him, the slightest swell of my stomach is a dead giveaway.

When his gaze returns to mine, I can feel his heart breaking all over again.

He tames it quickly, though. If there’s anything Yulian Lozhkin always excelled at, it was putting on a mask.

“Mia,” he greets without any emotion.

My heart hardens. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Clearly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just figured you’d have made an excuse the second you saw the guest list.” He pauses, just the tiniest bit, giving me just enough room to brace before the inevitable dagger to the gut that’s going to come as soon as he says… “You were always good at running away, after all.”

Fuck. I feel that in a way I didn’t know things could hurt. It’s guilt, shame, anger, a hundred other things all wrapped up into one searing, head-to-toe pain.

Before I can answer that—though I don’t have any idea what exactly I should say—an arm slides across my shoulders. “I see you’ve found my surprise.”

Brad.

Cold sweat breaks at the back of my neck. “‘Surprise’?” I echo.

“Of course.” He smiles sweetly down at me—the sweetness of poison. Then, turning to Yulian: “Good of you to show up, partner. I was starting to worry you’d come down with something.”

“You needn’t have concerned yourself.” Yulian’s reply is clipped but calm. “I always keep my word.”

“‘ Partner’ ?” My eyes bounce back and forth between them, trying to make sense of what they’re seeing. “You’re not—can’t be—no, you aren’t partners. No, no way.”

“Oh, sweet thing. How little you know of business.” Brad’s tone is as condescending as ever, with an undercurrent of victory that makes me want to break every oath I’ve ever given. “This is how gentlemen settle their, ah… small disagreements. Isn’t that right, Yul?”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say Yulian’s teeth were grinding behind sealed lips.

Unfortunately, I do know better. The truth is, I’ve known better for months.

I just didn’t want to believe it.

“So it’s true.” Every word turns bitter on my tongue. “You’re working together.”

“Every luxury complex needs top-notch security. Who better than the CEO of StarTech?”

Brad’s preening now, like a freaking peacock. I’ve never wanted to pluck someone and shove ‘em into the oven for Thanksgiving, but right now? I’m itching to get my hands on some fava beans and a bottle of Chianti.

Instead, I do the sensible thing. The adult thing. The only thing, really.

“Excuse me. I need the restroom.”

I get the fuck out of there.

You were always good at running away, after all.

My heels clack against the marble, a sharp tap-tap-tap that mimics the frantic beat of my heart. My vision is swimming, breaths coming in quick and short and painful.

You were always good at running away, after all.

If he’s wrong, if he’s wrong, I don’t give a damn. I couldn’t care less what Yulian thinks of me.

Because I can’t believe I ever thought anything good of him.

I wash my face in the sink. The tiny presence in my belly makes itself known, a light kick like a question mark.

I wish I had an answer to give it.

“Two for two,” I mutter to myself as I dry off. “Great job, Mia. You’ve landed yourself a one hundred percent rate of shitty baby daddies. Your mom will be proud.”

“Who are you talking to?”

I swirl around, heart in my throat.

Yulian stands in the doorway. His perfect suit hasn’t got a wrinkle on it.

It’s black and sleek as midnight. His shirt is black, too, slightly unbuttoned where a tie should go, revealing the sculpted lines of his neck and collarbone.

I can’t see them, of course, but I know without having to look that abs like marble lie just underneath there.

I know his body as well as he knows mine, after all.

And those abs, those hard, tattooed lines of his, they’re all waiting to be touched and felt in ways that are most definitely not in the Bible.

Goddammit.

It’s so fucking unfair. He shouldn’t get to look this good—not after all he’s done to me. Once Brad revealed his true colors, I could never find him attractive again. So why hasn’t my body gotten the memo about Yulian?

“You can’t be here,” I say stupidly. “This is the ladies’ room!”

He makes a show of glancing around as if in mock surprise. “And yet here I am.”

“You—you know what I mean!” My face goes up in flames. “You can’t just—follow people into— How long have you even been standing there?!”

“Long enough.”

But that’s a lie, too. It’s written all over his face—he didn’t hear me whispering to myself. Not the part that matters, anyway. He has no idea whose baby I’m growing inside me. No idea he’s got a claim to it.

And that’s exactly how things will stay.

If this experience has taught me anything, it’s that my kids are better off without their fathers.

At the rate you’re going, they might be better off without their mothers, too, says a sickening, sneering voice in my head.

“Excuse me,” I mutter. “I need to go back to?—”

Yulian’s hand is swift. In a single motion, he’s got my arm trapped against the wall, a painless but unbreakable hold.

He’s everywhere, he’s everything. His palm, hot on my skin. His eyes, scanning every inch of me. It’s too much, all of it, bringing back memories that are best kept buried six feet under.

Then he slides his fingers into my wrist cuff and yanks.

“What are you?—!”

But it’s too late: the lace tears clean in half.

Then Yulian’s eyes widen, pupils reduced to pinpricks.

I don’t need to follow his gaze to know what he’s seeing: bruises. Black, purple, blue—a kaleidoscope of pain shimmering up and down my arm. Some fresh, some old, all painful.

“He’s hurting you,” he growls. “Again.”

I rip my arm free of his grasp, ignoring the pain that blooms with the motion. “It’s none of your concern.”

“Like hell it isn’t.”

“You did this, Yulian. What exactly did you expect? Roses and chocolates?”

His face turns dark at my words. Hurt appears there, too, like he wasn’t expecting to be called out on it. “I came for you, that night. To get you back.”

“And it was too damn late.”

“From what you told me, it was already too late.”

Right. My lie. It’s becoming such a mess—keeping track of who said what, what’s true and what isn’t.

But I can’t back down now. If I do, Yulian will never let this go. And he has to let this go.

“Let me through,” I whisper.

Yulian’s face is a mask of barely-concealed fury. His fists are balled up at his sides, white-knuckled, like he could go off at any moment.

Somehow, I’m still not scared of him.

I don’t know why that is. By all rights, I should be. But there’s something about the time we spent together—something that I can’t bring myself to call a lie. Something that still lingers between us.

It boils down to this: He’d never hurt me. Not in the way Brad hurts me.

But what he did might just be worse.

“Why are you still with him?” he demands, like it’s his God-given right to know. “Why won’t you just leave him?”

Because, if I did, he’d kill my son.

Once, I would have trusted Yulian with that truth.

Once, I would have asked him for help.

But that was another lifetime.

And in this world, there’s no such thing as turning back.

“Is it because of the baby?” he insists. “Because I don’t give a shit it’s his. You’re trapped in this, Mia, whether you realize it or not. Fuck, he’s?—”

“Family.” I spit the word, no matter how much it hurts me to do so. “He’s family. That’s why I’m staying. Not that you’d know what that means.”

That finally does it. Yulian’s fists go slack. His face falls. His jaw, which was working furiously moments before, stills.

“No,” he says. For once, he sounds more disappointed than angry. “Guess I never did.”

Then he’s striding out of the ladies’ room.

I let myself fall back against the sink. Try to catch my breath, or whatever’s left of it.

He left. He actually left.

I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I was horrible to him. I hit him exactly where I knew it’d hurt the most, stabbed that knife in the only chink of his perfect armor. I watched it draw blood.

So why am I so fucking disappointed?

Because you wish he’d fought harder for you.

I splash water on my face again, colder this time. My makeup must be all but gone, but right now, I don’t give a shit if Brad’s perfect doll won’t look quite so perfect today.

Without thinking, I put a hand to my belly, soothing the growing thing inside me. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “We’ll be okay. We always are.”

Only, this time, I’m not so sure I believe it.