“You look...” I catch myself before I say something stupid. “Wet.”
A shadow of a smile flickers across his face. “Can we talk?”
I step aside, not sure if it’s instinct or stupidity. “Come in.”
He walks past me, not quite brushing my arm but close enough. I shut the door and follow him into the living room.
“You okay?” I ask, folding my arms as I sit on the edge of my couch.
“I’m fine.” His tone is clipped but neutral as he settles in the armchair across from me. “We were released earlier. No charges.”
“So Spalding’s bluffing.”
“He’s probing. Testing limits. He wouldn’t make a move that public if he didn’t have anything. He thinks he’s close.”
“Is he?” I ask quietly.
Yuri looks at me with a blank expression on his face. “That’s what I’m trying to find out. I’m going into the office tomorrow to take an inventory of what’s been taken. What’s been touched.”
My mind flashes to the USB drives tucked away in my desk drawer. The ones I took before everything fell apart. I want to tell him, but a strange voice in me whispersnot yet. Not until I know what he wants. What this is. If I’m a person to him, or a pawn.
After a long silence, he clears his throat.
“Spalding showed me photos,” he says quietly.
I freeze.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Of you. Coming out of a clinic.”
Shit.
“Women’s health,” he adds, slower this time, like he wants me to say it first.
My fingers curl into my palms, my nails digging into flesh. “So what?” I say, trying to hold my voice steady.
His jaw works like he’s biting back a dozen things at once. “You asked me for the truth, and I gave it to you. Now I need the same.”
I want to lie. I want to tell him it’s none of his business, that I’m handling it and don’t owe him a damn thing.
But I do.
I stand. My legs are shaking, but I steady them. I tilt my chin upward, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m pregnant.”
Silence. An exhale he doesn’t know I saw. His shoulders square, his mouth parts slightly. There’s surprise but something else.
Joy.
It’s small, almost buried, but I still see it. Ifeelit.
“I didn’t tell you,” I continue, “because I didn’t want to become a burden. An obligation. I didn’t want to be reduced to a tactical risk or someone you feel you have to manage.”
His eyes snap to mine, the flash of warmth buried again under ice. “I would never?—”
“You are,” I cut in. “Even now. You’re talking about the office, and Spalding, and damage control. But what about us?” My voice breaks at the word. “Was that ever real, or was I just convenient?”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t deny it. For a moment, he doesn’t speak at all. Just stares at me. Then, slowly, he stands and reaches out. His fingers hover near my cheek, like he means to touch me, to reassure me. Maybe to connect in some small, human way.
I flinch back. Not dramatically but just enough. His hand freezes mid-air, then falls.
