I dress in a navy sheath dress that accommodates my growing belly, the fabric stretching across my fuller breasts in ways that make Roman's blue eyes darken with hunger when he sees me. I catch him adjusting himself discreetly.
Downstairs, Roman kisses me one more time before heading to his SUV where Lev waits. I watch him go, memorizing the way his suit stretches across his broad shoulders, the controlled power in his movements. He turns back once, his blue eyes finding mine across the distance, and the intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch.
Then he's gone, and I'm left standing in the circular drive with a security guard I've never seen before.
He's maybe thirty, with sandy brown hair and sharp green eyes that assess me with professional detachment. His suit is expensive but not quite as tailored as Roman's men usually wear, and something about him makes my skin prickle with unease I can't quite identify.
"Mrs. Sokolov." His voice is flat, revealing nothing. "I'm Marcus. I'll be your driver today."
"Where's Viktor?" I ask, referring to the guard who usually drives me when Roman isn't available.
"Reassigned." Marcus opens the back door of the black SUV, gesturing for me to enter. "Mr. Sokolov wanted additional security today, given the circumstances."
The explanation makes sense, but something about his tone feels off. I settle into the back seat anyway, clutching my purse against my chest, trying to shake the anxiety coiling in my stomach. It's just nerves about the delegates' meeting, I tell myself. Nothing more.
The regular driver, a man named James who I've gotten to know over the past weeks, nods at me from the front seat. His presence eases some of my tension. At least he's familiar, even if Marcus isn't.
We pull away from the estate, and I try to focus on anything except the meeting happening this afternoon. I pull out my phone, needing the distraction of normal conversation, of connection to the people I love.
My first text goes to Megan.
How are things? Miss you.
Her response comes quickly.
Good! Tyler's doing better. Still heartbroken but healing. Coffee this weekend?
The mention of Tyler makes my chest ache with guilt I have no right to feel. He loved me, and I broke his heart by choosing Roman. But there was never really a choice, not from the moment Roman walked into my life and changed everything.
Definitely. I'll text you.
Next, I message Alexei, my brilliant sixteen-year-old brother.
How's Babushka? Is she eating enough?
His response takes longer.
She's good. Stronger every day. The surgery really helped. Don't worry, sestrichka. I'll take care of her.
I know he will. Alexei has always been responsible beyond his years, forced to grow up too fast by circumstances neither of us could control. But I hate that he's sacrificing his education, his future, to care for our grandmother. Even though I know it's the right thing, even though I understand his reasoning, it feels like another failure on my part.
I'm composing a response when I notice Marcus watching me in the rearview mirror. His green eyes are cold, calculating, and when our gazes meet, he doesn't look away. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, primitive instinct screaming that something is wrong.
"Is everything okay?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
"Fine." He returns his attention to the road, but I catch him glancing at James, some silent communication passing between them that makes my stomach clench with dread.
I force myself to look out the window, to pay attention to where we're going. We should be heading toward the financial district, toward the gleaming glass tower that houses Roman's office. But the buildings passing by don't look familiar. The streets are narrower here, more industrial, with fewer people visible on the sidewalks.
"Where are we going?" My hand drifts to my stomach, that protective gesture I've developed, and I see Marcus notice in the mirror.
"Shortcut," he says, his voice flat. "Traffic's bad on the main route."
The explanation should satisfy me, but it doesn't. Every instinct I possess is screaming danger, telling me to get out of this car, to call Roman, to do something. But we're moving too fast, and I'm trapped in the back seat with child locks that won't open from the inside.
My phone is still in my hand. I could call Roman, could text Lev, could do something to alert them that something's wrong. But what would I say? That I have a bad feeling? That the new security guard makes me uncomfortable? It sounds paranoid even in my own mind.
The car suddenly stops.
