Guilty for wanting this baby even though bringing a child into this world—his world—is the most selfish thing I could do.
But the guilt clings to me like the steam in the bathroom. It’s impossible to scrub away no matter how hard I try.
By the time I emerge from the shower, my skin is pink and sensitive, but I don't feel any cleaner.
I dress carefully, choosing clothes that don't cling to my changing body, and make my way downstairs.
The house feels different this morning—quieter, more tense somehow. I notice additional security personnel at their posts, and everyone seems more alert than usual.
Something happened last night.
Dante had left in the afternoon and hadn’t returned by the time I went to bed. And for some stupid reason, I was actually worried about the asshole.
The kitchen is empty when I arrive except for Maria who's been nothing but kind to me since I arrived. She looks up from the stove when I enter, and her dark eyes take in my pale face with the kind of knowing look that makes my blood run cold.
"Good morning, Miss Hannah," she says. "I’ll make your tea."
I want to protest that I can make my own tea, but my legs feel shaky, and the kitchen smells like bacon and coffee and other things that make my stomach churn. I sink onto a stool at thebreakfast bar and watch as Maria moves efficiently around the kitchen.
She sets a cup of ginger tea in front of me without being asked, the steam carrying that blessed scent that settles my nauseous stomach. Then she adds two slices of dry toast to a plate and places that beside the tea.
I stare at her, my heart pounding. Ginger tea and dry toast—the classic remedy for morning sickness. She knows. Somehow, she knows.
"Mr. Sokolov had to leave early this morning," Maria says conversationally, like she didn't just reveal my deepest secret with breakfast foods. "Business meeting. He said to tell you he'll be back this afternoon."
I nod, not trusting my voice. The tea is helping already, the ginger working its magic on my rebelling stomach.
Maria bustles around the kitchen, cleaning things that are already clean, humming softly under her breath. She doesn't say anything else about my condition, doesn't ask questions or offer advice. But I can feel her awareness like a presence in the room.
It should terrify me that someone else knows. Should make me panic about how I'm going to handle this secret spreading through the household staff.
But somehow, Maria's quiet understanding feels more like support than threat.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
She pauses in her cleaning to look at me. Her smile is warm with the kind of maternal kindness I haven't experienced since my own mother died.
"It’s nothing.”
Like providing exactly what a pregnant woman needs is the most natural thing in the world.
After breakfast, I wander through the house like a restless spirit. The beautiful rooms that once felt like a luxury prison now feel like a trap closing in around me. Every piece of expensive furniture, every priceless work of art, every perfectly arranged flower reminds me that this world operates by rules I don't understand.
What happens to women who get pregnant by Bratva leaders? Do they become permanent fixtures and kept like expensive pets for the sake of their children? Do they disappear quietly, sent away to some distant location where they can raise their babies in exile?
Or do they simply... disappear?
The thought makes me sick all over again.
I find myself in the garden, pacing the winding paths like a caged animal. The flowers are beautiful, the landscaping perfect, but all I can see are the fences that keep me trapped and the guards who watch my every move.
"Hannah!"
Mila's voice carries across the garden. I look up to see her running toward me with a book clutched in her hands. Her face is bright with excitement, dark hair flying behind her like silk ribbons.
"I finished the story you started yesterday," she announces, throwing herself against my legs for a hug. "The princess escapes from the tower and finds her own kingdom!"
Despite everything, I smile. "Did she now? What kind of kingdom?"
