Hadn’t suspected.
Ruslan and I had been reckless — desperate for comfort in the chaos of everything collapsing around us. But I had blamed my missed cycle on stress, on trauma, on exhaustion from running and hiding.
Not this.
Not now.
Harris straightened slowly — then without warning, his fist drove straight into my exposed abdomen.
The impact was calculated.
Precise.
Crushing.
I screamed again as the blow forced my body to convulse violently. My muscles contracted involuntarily, trying to shield what lay inside — but there was no protection from his strength.
He leaned closer, eyes dark with resentment.
“Remember three years ago?” he hissed. “We came here. We offered you stability. Protection. Power. All you had to do was divorce that Greek bastard and marry me.”
His jaw tightened.
“Finish the alliance. Secure my inheritance.”
I shook my head weakly — or tried to.
“You refused.”
Another fist slammed into my abdomen.
Pain radiated through my core, sharp and nauseating.
“And now,” he continued coldly, “you dare carry another one of his whelps?”
He turned his head slightly and gestured to two of the larger men standing nearby.
Their faces were emotionless.
“Punch her,” he ordered calmly. “Until the pregnancy ends.”
My blood turned to ice.
“No—” The scream ripped from my throat. “Please! I’ll marry you. I swear — I’ll do whatever you want!”
Tears streamed down my face.
“If I’m pregnant... it’s a blessing. It’s not a threat to you!”
Harris laughed softly.
“Everything about you is a threat to control.”
He stood upright. “You don’t get to negotiate anymore.”
He pointed toward the hallway.
“We’ll take you from here. Marry you immediately. Invalidate your marriage to Baranov through legal channels — our lawyers are excellent at dismantling inconvenient unions.”
