It didn't have to be pregnancy.
But even as I told myself that, some deeper part of me knew. Some instinct I couldn't name, some awareness that had nothing to do with logic or evidence.
I knew.
***
Finding Yelena was easy. She was in the kitchen, discussing dinner plans with Despina. When she saw my face, her expression shifted—concern replacing the warm efficiency she usually wore.
"Mrs. Chernov? Is something wrong?"
"I need—" I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. "I need something from the medical supplies."
"Of course. Are you feeling unwell?"
"I'm fine. I just need—" I couldn't say it. Couldn't form the words with Despina standing right there, her dark eyes curious. "Can we speak privately?"
Yelena nodded and led me to a small office off the main hallway. She closed the door and waited, her hands folded, her expression patient.
"I need a pregnancy test."
The words came out flat, emotionless. I watched her face for a reaction—shock, judgment, knowing amusement—but she gave nothing away.
"Of course," she said simply. "I'll bring one to your room."
"Do you have—I mean, is that something you keep here?"
"The medical supplies are comprehensive. Mr. Chernov insisted on it when he prepared the estate." A pause. "He wanted to be ready for any eventuality."
Any eventuality. Had he imagined this one? Had he thought about the possibility of a child when he'd stocked his island fortress with everything a person might need?
"Thank you," I managed. "And Yelena—please don't tell anyone. Not until I know for sure."
"Of course, Mrs. Chernov." Her expression softened slightly. "Whatever the result, you're not alone. I hope you know that."
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and fled back to my room.
The test was simple. Two lines for positive, one line for negative. The instructions said to wait three minutes.
Three minutes had never felt so long.
I sat on the edge of the bathtub, the test lying face down on the counter, and tried to imagine both outcomes. Negative: relief, a return to the uncertain but manageable situation I'd been navigating. Positive: chaos. A child. His child. A tie that could never be severed, a complication that would reshape everything.
Which did I want?
A month ago, the answer would have been obvious. A month ago, I would have been horrified at the thought of carrying my kidnapper's baby, of being bound to him by something more permanent than a ring or a certificate.
But that was before the library conversations. Before the pool, the kiss, the night in his bed that had changed everything. Before I'd started seeing the man beneath the monster.
I didn't know what I wanted. Didn't know who I was anymore, or what kind of future I was capable of imagining.
The three minutes passed. I took a breath. Turned over the test.
Two lines.
I stared at them, waiting for the panic to hit. Waiting for the terror, the denial, the desperate wish that this wasn't happening.
Instead, I felt something else. Something unexpected.
