I push the laptop farther back on the desk and rub at the bridge of my nose. Coffee sits cold at my elbow. I take a swig anyway and hate the taste.
The screens on the wall show feeds from the gates, the drive, the side yard. Guards swap shifts. A car rolls past the south fence and keeps going.
Everything looks normal. None of it feels that way.
I promised myself I would treat her like I should have from the start: as a means to an end.
She gives me an heir. I make sure the child is safe. Then she leaves my house and my life. Clean—simple.
Last night proved I’m a fucking liar.
I pull up the shipping schedules. Misha’s first drop sits circled on the calendar. I type the same note twice before I admit I’m not focused. My mind keeps drifting back to her in that chair by the fire.
I shouldn’t have kissed her.
I tell myself that again, slower this time.I. Shouldn’t. Have. Kissed. Her.Fucking hell, I know better. She runs when I give her an inch. She looks me in the eye and tells me I’m a monster. Then she presses my hand to her stomach and I forget what air is.
I stand and cross to the window. Frost laces the glass. The lawn sits quiet. A crow lands on the fence and flaps off. I press my palm to the cold pane until the ache in my skin crowds out the ache in my chest.
It’s more of the same for the whole morning. I try to work and fail, I try to breathe and fail, I try to purge my head of anything but what matters and I fail absolutely miserably.
At some point, a knock comes on my door. Kira sticks her head in. When I wave her in, she slinks inside. She sets her bag down on the chair near the wall, her face pale from the cold outside.
“You’re back early,” I note.
“Traffic was light.” She unbuttons her coat and drapes it over the chair. “I came from the rehab facility.”
My stomach twists. “How is he?”
She hesitates. That alone tells me more than I want to hear.
“The same. Maybe a little stronger in his legs. But it’s slow, Petyr. Slower than the doctors hoped.”
I nod, jaw tight. Guilt burns under my skin. I should have been there myself. But seeing him like that—weak, confused, not himself—it fucking guts me.
“You haven’t been by,” she says quietly. “He keeps asking for you.”
I press my palms flat on the desk. “I know.”
Her eyes flick to the folder I pushed aside, then back to me. “How’s Sima?”
“She’s fine,” I say, surprised by the abrupt left turn in the conversation.
“The pregnancy is going okay?”
“She’s healthy. As is our daughter.”
Kira frowns. She studies me for a long moment. “She told you it’s a girl.”
“Yes. Why?”
Her eyes narrow. “And you believe her? Just like that? How can you know she isn’t lying to you? Hoping you’ll let her go if you don’t think she can give you an heir?”
My jaw tightens. “She wouldn’t?—”
I cut myself off. I know that’s not true. If lying gave her a chance to escape me, she’d do it without hesitation.
“She would,” Kira insists when she sees my face. “You know she would. Don’t play dumb with me.”
