I'm halfway through the container when I hear movement behind me.
"Finally decided to eat?"
I freeze, the spoon halfway to my mouth.
Kazimir's voice is rough with sleep, but there's something else in it too. Satisfaction, Smugness—like he won.
I set the spoon down carefully and turn to face him.
He’s not wearing a shirt. Just a pair of black sweatpants, his bare chest dusted with dark hair and covered in black ink that I can’t make out the patterns of in the dimly lit kitchen. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he’s looking at me with the faintest smirk on his lips.
"I was hungry," I say flatly. "Don't read anything into it."
"Wouldn't dream of it." But the corner of his mouth twitches, and I want to throw the soup at his face.
"You're an asshole."
"So you've mentioned." He shrugs, and I try not to notice the way the muscles in his shoulders move. "Multiple times, actually."
I grit my teeth. "Because it's true."
"Maybe." He moves further into the kitchen, and I instinctively step back. He notices, and something flickers across his face—hurt, maybe, or frustration. "I'm just getting water. Relax."
"Don't tell me to relax."
"Fine. Be tense. Whatever makes you happy." He fills a glass from the tap and drinks it in one long swallow, his throat working. "You should eat more. The soup's not enough."
"I'll eat what I want, when I want."
He lets out a sharp breath. “Stop being stubborn.”
"Fuck you."
He sets the glass down with a soft click. "You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you sure spend a lot of energy talking back to me."
"What else am I supposed to do? You won't let me leave."
"Because you're carrying my child and there are people who would hurt you to get you back." His voice is hard now, all traces of amusement gone. "Whether you believe that or not doesn't change the facts."
"The facts." I laugh sharply. "The facts are that you kidnapped me after stalking me for weeks. That you think you have some kind of claim on me because we fucked once." I press a hand to my stomach without thinking, then immediately regret it when his eyes track the movement.
"I'm going to take care of you," he says quietly. "Both of you. Whether you like it or not."
"I don't like it. I don't want your help. I don't want anything from you."
"Too bad." He moves closer, and I shift back against the counter. "You're stuck with me now, Svetlana. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."
"Easier for who? You?" My voice rises despite my best efforts to stay calm. "This isn't easy for me. None of this is easy. You took away my choice."
"Call it whatever you want." His jaw is tight, his eyes dark. "You're keeping the baby. That's not negotiable."
The words hit me like a slap. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"You don't get to?—"
"It's my child, too." He's right in front of me now, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. "And I'm not letting you?—"
