The next thing I know, I’m coughing, the acrid smoke filling my lungs. My head throbs, and I feel blood dripping from my temple, sticky and warm. My vision swims as I crawl out of the car scraping my knees against the rough pavement. My legs feel like jelly, shaking beneath me, but I force myself to move. I don’t know how much time I have before—
Before I see him.
Lukin.
He’s standing a few feet away, like he’s been waiting all along, his presence just as suffocating as it always is. His suit is untouched, pristine, like nothing’s happened, like he wasn’t just a step ahead of me the entire time. His eyes gleam with something dark and possessive, and a cigarette hangs from his lips, smoke curling lazily into the air.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. I can’t move. The world feels too small, too heavy, and he’s the center of it, drawing me in without lifting a finger.
He walks forward, slow and controlled, like he’s savoring every step. He kneels down beside me with an eerie calm, his fingers brushing my face, the touch so soft it makes my skin crawl. I flinch, but he doesn’t seem to notice—or care.
“I told you,” he murmurs, his voice low, laced with dark satisfaction, “there’s no escape now.”
I want to say something, to push him away, to tell him to leave me alone, but my throat feels tight, my body too weak to fight. I try to speak, but nothing comes out.
And then, to my surprise, my phone buzzes loudly in my clutch, cutting through the tension. I can hardly believe it still works after the crash, but I don’t care about that right now. I just need to get away from him.
But before I can react, he raises an eyebrow, his grin curling at the edges.
“Go on,” he says, his voice taunting, “Answer it.”
I hesitate, but I know he’s not going to let me get away with ignoring it. With a shaky hand, I pick up my phone, surprised to see the time. It’s only 8:00 p.m. Why does the street feel so desolate, so empty? Where are the people?
And then I see it—Dr. Martin’s name on the screen. My heart skips a beat.
After the pregnancy test in my bathroom, I’d taken myself to the clinic yesterday, trying to get a more definitive result. Dr. Martin is a good friend of mine, and I told him to call me as soon as the results were ready. He promised he’d let me know right away.
I don’t want to take the call so I try stuffing it back in my clutch.
Lukin frowns as he watches me, the amusement in his eyes fading. His lips curl slightly.
“Doctor?” he asks, his voice calm, though there’s an edge to it now. “Are you okay? Are you sick?”
I push his hand away, trying to pocket the phone, but he snatches it out of my grasp before I can stop him. He holds it up to his ear, taking the call without hesitation.
“Zoe?” Dr. Martin’s voice crackles through the speaker, cheerful and clear. “I wanted to confirm the test—congratulations, you’re definitely pregnant,” he chuckles. “I won’t be at the clinic tomorrow, but how about we meet for drinks? Maybe we can talk about all the available options and—”
I can’t hear the rest of the words, because the second Dr. Martin finishes his sentence, Lukin’s grin vanishes. His eyessnap to mine, dark and unreadable. The temperature in the air shifts—heavy, suffocating, charged with something dangerous.
Without another word, Lukin hangs up, his hand still holding my phone like a lifeline.
His gaze locks with mine, and everything changes.
The silence between us thickens, but this time, it’s different. There’s no smugness. No arrogance. It’s just pure, unfiltered anger.
And for the first time, I’m not sure how to escape it.
Chapter Eighteen - Lukin
I watch her in silence, my gaze locked on to Zoe as the doctor finishes tending to the wound on her head. The soft rustle of the bandages, the quiet murmurs of the doctor as he works—everything else feels distant. My focus is on her, on the way she flinches every time his hands come near her, and the way she’s keeping her eyes closed, as if pretending I’m not here.
She’s silent, exhausted, her face pale from the shock of the crash. She’s too dazed to argue, but I know she’s still thinking about how she ended up in this mess. Her refusal to speak, to acknowledge me, only sharpens my resolve.
The phone call confirmed what I’d already suspected. I knew before it was said aloud. She’s pregnant. My child.
But I need more than just the call. I need proof—hard, irrefutable proof. That’s why, as soon as I brought her back here, I had my private doctor come take her blood for testing. It’s been a few hours, and the results should come through any minute now.
I don’t take my eyes off her as the other doctor finishes his work, adjusting the bandages one last time before bowing his head slightly and exiting the room. The door clicks shut behind him, and for a moment, the only sound in the room is her shallow breathing.
