“I did not mean to intrude,” she assures us. “I came for the ferns. I heard enough.”
My face heats. Luka doesn’t pull away from me, but his hand shifts to my hip.
Anya steps closer and sets the watering can on the floor beside a row of leafy plants. She reaches for me with both hands, taking mine in hers. Her fingers feel cool and firm.
“I am very happy for you,” she tells us, looking between my face and Luka’s. “For both of you. This house has needed new life for a long time. It has needed you, Sage.”
Her words make the knot in my chest ease. I don’t know how to respond, so I squeeze her hands instead. She blinks away tears and gives Luka a look that is equal parts warning and affection.
“You protect them,” she instructs him. “Both of them. Or you will answer to me.”
A low, surprised sound that might be a laugh escapes him. “Understood,” he replies.
The moment settles around us like a fragile glass dome, filled with hope yet delicate. For now, the outside world feels far away. No Ray. No Isaak. No threats.
But it doesn’t last. The rest of the day unspools in a blur of small adjustments. Security meetings happen somewhere deeper in the house. Phone calls. Quiet discussions I only hear pieces of when I pass by open doors. At dinner, the table feels too big. Isaak sits at the head, Luka on his right, and I on Luka’s other side. Staff move in and out with platters and dishes.
Isaak’s gaze lands on me more than once. His eyes dip to my flat stomach and return to my face. He lifts his wineglass at one point, a faint smile touching his mouth, and offers a toast to “new beginnings.” The words leave a strange taste in my mouth.
After the plates are cleared and the tension in my shoulders has settled into a dull ache, Isaak pushes back from the table and wipes his mouth with his napkin. He looks almost relaxed.
“Sage,” he addresses, folding the linen with care. “I would like to speak with you. Alone.”
My spine goes rigid before I can stop it. Luka’s hand moves under the table until his fingers wrap around my knee. His grip is firm, not painful, but his message is clear. I look at him, and he gives a slight shake of his head.
“If you have something to discuss with her, you can do it here,” Luka responds, his voice calm but cool.
Isaak’s gaze slides to his son, then back to me. “This is between Sage and myself,” he insists. “I assure you, I have no intention of harming the mother of your child.”
The casual way he phrases it makes my stomach twist.
A muscle along Luka’s cheek tugs tight. “You will forgive me if I do not find that reassuring.”
I place my hand over his on my knee. “It’s alright,” I murmur to him. “If I don’t like where it goes, I’ll leave.”
He searches my face, considering the risk. Finally, with visible reluctance, he releases a slow breath and nods.
“I will be right outside the door,” he tells me.
Isaak’s study feels like a different kind of cage from Luka’s office. Darker wood. Heavier curtains. Shelves of old books line the walls, and a large painting of a stormy sea hangs behind his desk. He motions toward a leather chair in front of it.
“Please,” he invites. “Sit.”
I remain standing for a moment, then lower myself into the chair, keeping my hands flat on my thighs so he won’t see them tremble. He rolls his wheelchair to the sideboard, pours an amber liquid into a glass, then turns back in my direction.
“I will not offer you any,” he notes. “In your condition, that would be irresponsible.”
The comment feels both considerate and invasive. “You knew,” I observe.
“Of course,” he responds. “My son may try to keep things from me, but I have eyes. And Anya is not as discreet as she believes.” He lifts his glass. “Congratulations, Sage. This child will secure a great deal. For Luka. For this family. And for you, if you allow it.”
My fingers curl slightly against the leather. “I didn’t ask for any of that,” I reply.
“Very few of us ask for the roles we are given,” he counters, taking a sip. “We adapt. Or we are crushed.”
“Is that what happened with my father?” I question. “Was he crushed?”
Isaak’s mouth curves into what might be called a smile if there were any warmth in it. He sets the glass down and leans back in his wheelchair as if settling in for a performance.
