If this nausea isn’t just stress.
If there’s a baby growing inside me that belongs to Blade.
My chest tightens until it’s hard to breathe.
Alexei hates the Iron Reapers. Hates what they represent. Hates Blade most of all. Blade is everything he wants destroyed, everything he wants erased, and the idea of me carrying his child feels like a fuse waiting to be lit.
I don’t know what he would do.
I don’t want to find out.
My hand drifts to my stomach again, instinctive and protective, and this time I don’t pull it away right away.
I can’t stay here.
Not for me.
For my baby.
I don’t know how yet. I don’t have a plan. I don’t even have a direction. All I know is that I need to get away, to disappear from this gilded cage before it closes completely.
I take another careful breath and straighten my shoulders, schooling my face into calm before he comes back into the room. I will survive this. And I will find a way out.
Alexei is on the phone when I come out of the bathroom, and I know immediately what that means.
Quiet.
Invisible.
I move carefully, each step measured, and sit on the edge of the bed with my hands folded in my lap like I belong here and I’m not listening to every word. My stomach still rolls, but I keep my face calm. Neutral. He glances at me once, just to make sure I understand the assignment, then turns back to the window.
He’s speaking Russian. Low. Controlled. The kind of tone that says he’s in charge even when he isn’t raising his voice.
I don’t understand every word, but I understand enough.
My name comes up.
Not Bri. Not even my full name. Just something possessive. Casual. Like an object everyone in the room already knows belongs to him.
There’s laughter on the other end of the line.
Actual laughter.
It makes my skin prickle.
They know he took me. They all know. No one sounds shocked or concerned or even curious. It’s treated like a joke. Like a prize. Like something impressive he pulled off and now gets credit for.
I stare at the carpet and focus on breathing through my nose while my chest tightens.
He turns slightly, pacing now, and I catch pieces. Iron Reapers. Blade. Damage. Pressure. I hear Blade’s name clearly, followed by something sharp and ugly that makes my stomach drop.
More laughter.
I feel small. Exposed. Like I’m standing naked in the middle of a room full of men who don’t see me as human.
The call finally ends. Alexei lowers the phone and looks at me, studying my face like he’s checking for cracks.
“Time to go,” he says calmly.
