A fresh wave of nausea curls through me, gnawing and insistent, leaving me gripping the edge of the tile for support.
“Great,” I mutter to myself. “Exactly what I need. A mysterious stomach plague and body aches.” I let out a humorless laugh, then cough when another wave of sickness rolls through.
But even as I joke, unease slips under my skin. Tender breasts. Nausea. Fatigue. A memory sparks: every article I ever skimmed, every half-whispered story from women I knew.
My mind doesn’t want to go there yet, but the possibility plants itself firmly anyway. I chew my lip, blinking water from my eyes.
Pregnant. Maybe. Possibly.
I press my forehead against the cool tile, breathing through the swirl in my stomach, trying not to spiral. It’s too early to know for sure. Maybe it’s stress. Maybe it’s just a bug. But the thought won’t leave me alone.
I start counting, mentally flipping through weeks, days, scraps of memory.When was my last period?
I’ve been so busy with school, with Petyr, with keeping my head above water, that I haven’t kept track. The realization makes my pulse spike and my stomach turn over again.
I shut off the shower, wrap myself in a towel, and pad barefoot into the bedroom. My hands are shaking when I grab my phone off the nightstand and open the calendar app. I scroll back, scanning for the last little red mark I made.
When I see it, my stomach drops.
I’m late. Not just a few days. Twoweekslate.
The towel suddenly feels too tight, the room too small. Could I really be pregnant? The thought leaves me dizzy, caught between panic and something dangerously close to hope.
After I pull myself together, I get dressed quickly—jeans and a loose sweater, something to make me feel grounded. My nerves are buzzing so badly that my hands won’t stay still. I keep losing track of what I’m doing, checking my bag twice, then forgetting what I meant to grab.
When I head downstairs, Luka is waiting by the door as always. He raises a brow at me, clearly clocking how pale I look. I avoid his eyes.
“Can you take me to the nearest drug store?” I ask, trying to sound casual. “I need to pick up a few things.” My voice wavers at the end and I hate myself for it.
He studies me for a beat, then nods. “Of course.” I can feel his suspicion. Luckily, his stress-induced ulcer must win out again, because he doesn’t push.
The drive is short. I keep my gaze glued to the window, praying his stomach is too busy self-digesting for him tobother asking what exactly I’m buying. My leg bounces restlessly the whole ride.
Inside the store, I walk fast, head down, until I’m in the aisle I need. My hand hovers over the rows of pink and blue boxes before I grab one, then another—better safe than sorry—and carry them to the counter with trembling fingers. The cashier barely looks at me, thank fuck, but I still feel exposed, like everyone can see right through me.
Back at the penthouse, I lock the bathroom door and rip the box open. The test feels impossibly small in my hand for something that might change everything.
I follow the instructions with clumsy hands, then set it down on the counter and start pacing as the seconds crawl by like hours. My throat is dry. I watch the timer tick down.
When the result appears, I freeze.
Positive.
The two pink lines might as well be carved into stone. I grip the sink and stare at the little stick like it’s mocking me. My throat is dry, my pulse wild. My knees feel weak.
I’m pregnant.
Strangely, my feelings are mixed. Part of me is excited—giddy, even—at the thought of having a child, of finally starting a family that’s mine, not controlled by anyone else’s rules. I imagine holding a baby. A future that isn’t just running and hiding.
But the excitement twists into a hollow ache almost instantly. Because now, there’s no reason for Petyr and me to keep this up. Our deal was an heir. Once I’m carrying his child, the clock on us runs out.
And I don’t want it to.
The thought hollows me out so badly I have to sit on the edge of the tub. My chest feels tight, my hands cold, and I press the stick against my palm like I need proof it’s real.
Just like that, I remember how thoroughly fucked I am.
Maksim found me. He saw me. That means sooner or later, everything I’ve been hiding will come crashing down. I’ll have to come clean to Petyr about who I really am. About the family I left behind. About the blood on their hands—and mine, by association. The test in my hand suddenly feels heavier than it should, like it’s chained to all those secrets.
