She's pregnant, and she hasn't told me.
The fury that follows the possessive satisfaction is cold and sharp. She's trying to hide it. Trying to handle it alone, probably planning to exclude me from my own child's life. The thought makes my jaw clench so hard, my teeth ache.
I force myself to wait. To watch. To gather more evidence before I confront her, because Eva is stubborn and she'll deny it if I don't have proof. Over the next week, I catalog every tell. The way she turns green when Natasha microwaves fish in the break room. How she's started keeping crackers in her desk drawer, eating them with mechanical precision when she thinks no one's watching. The exhaustion that shadows her brown eyes despite her careful makeup.
By the end of the week, I can't wait any longer.
"Miss Markova." I press the intercom button, my voice harder than I intend. "My office."
Through the glass, I watch her stiffen. She gathers her notepad with hands that tremble slightly, then walks toward my office with her spine straight and her professional armor firmly in place. She's so fucking beautiful it makes my chest ache. The mother of my child, even if she doesn't know I know yet.
She enters, closing the door behind her. "Yes, Mr. Sokolov?"
I stand, moving around my desk with deliberate slowness. "Close the blinds."
Her brown eyes widen slightly, but she obeys, pulling the cords that shut us off from the rest of the office. When she turns back to face me, I'm standing close enough to see her pulse flutter at her throat.
"Are you pregnant?" The question comes out blunt, brutal.
Eva's face goes pale. "I… what? No. Why would you?—"
"Don't lie to me." I step closer, crowding her against the door. "I've been watching you for a week. The morning sickness. The exhaustion. The way you won't drink coffee anymore. You're pregnant with my child."
She presses back against the door, her hands flat against the wood. "I don't know what you're talking about."
The denial ignites something dark in my chest. I plant my hands on either side of her head, caging her in. "I said don't lie to me, Eva. I can see it. I know."
Her composure cracks. Tears well in her brown eyes, and she looks away, her jaw tight. "Fine. Yes. I'm pregnant. But you don't need to worry about it. I'll handle it. I won't cause you problems with Daria or your organization. You can just… forget about it."
The words hit me like bullets. Forget about it. Forget about my child. My heir. The woman carrying my blood.
"Handle it?" My voice drops to that low register that makes grown men step back. "What the fuck does that mean?"
"It means I'll figure it out." Her chin lifts with that stubborn pride I both love and want to crush. "I don't need your help. I don't need your money. I'll manage on my own."
The fury that's been building explodes. I grab her wrists, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to make my point. "You think I'm going to let you raise my child in that sixth-floor walk-up? Let you work yourself to death while you're pregnant? Let my heir be born a bastard?"
"It's not your decision." But her voice quavers, betraying her fear.
"The hell it isn't." I release her wrists and step back, forcing myself to breathe, to think strategically rather than react emotionally. "You're moving into my estate. Immediately. You'll have round-the-clock security, the best prenatal care money can buy, everything you need."
Eva's eyes flash with anger. "I'm not moving in with you. I'm not some… some kept woman you can lock away."
"You're the mother of my child." I move to my desk, pouring vodka with hands that are steadier than they should be. "That makes you mine to protect. And you will marry me. A proper wedding that legitimizes our child."
The laugh that escapes her is bitter, almost hysterical. "Marry you? Are you insane? I barely know you. You're… you're dangerous. A criminal. I can't…"
"You can, and you will." I drain the vodka, feeling the burn settle in my chest. "This isn't a negotiation, Eva. This is how it's going to be."
She stares at me, her brown eyes wide with disbelief and fury. "You can't force me to marry you."
"Can't I?" I lean against my desk, crossing my arms. "Let me make this very clear. You will move into my estate. You will marry me. You will give our child my name and the protection of my organization. Or…"
"Or what?" Her voice shakes. "You'll kill me? Take the baby?"
The accusation stings more than it should. "Or I'll stop paying for Babushka Sasha's surgery."
Eva's face goes white. "What?"
