I reach for the test.
One look. That’s all it takes.
Positive.
Not a faint line. Not a maybe. Not a “wait three more minutes to confirm.” No. Just a clear-as-day, digitalYES+like the stick is thrilled to break the news.
The air leaves my lungs in a soundless exhale.
I grab the edge of the sink. Hard. My fingers go white.
Holy shit.
This baby—this tiny thing—survived a car crash. Me being zip-tied. Whatever hell cocktail of stress and trauma I’ve been living in.
Also—the pill. I took the damn pill.
It’s still here.
Alive.
Fighting.
Tears sting, but I don’t let them fall. If I cry now, I won’t stop. I’ll dissolve. Slide down the bathroom tile and just—melt.
What do I do?
55
Konstantin
The city rolls past in a blur of light and glass, but I’m not looking at any of it. My phone is pressed to my ear, Oleg’s voice crisp over the line.
Eight days. It’s been eight fucking days since I left for New York, and I haven’t stopped thinking about her once. Not in meetings, not in the hours I spent sitting across from men who’d slit each other’s throats over a bad deal, not even when that Italian prick tried to pull leverage on our contract with Belmont Tower. She’s been in my head like a damn splinter.
“Everything is ready,” he says. “The two rooms will be situated on the west wing, across from Alya’s. I had the team redecorate to match what you sent. Posters, the beanbag, the gaming console—done. The girl’s room has a canopy bed and a skylight. No pink.”
I nod even though he can’t see me. “Good.”
There’s a pause, then, “She’s going to lose her mind when she sees this.”
Yeah. That’s the point.
“I want the hallway cameras repositioned,” I tell Oleg. “Angle them slightly downward. I don’t want the kids catching a lens straight to the face every time they walk to the bathroom.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And make sure the garden sensors are on a separate alert loop. Lila likes to sneak out. I want a heads-up, not a full perimeter lockdown.”
“Understood.”
I pause. “How’s my father?”
“He’s fine. Spends most mornings with Alya. She makes him play tea party. He pretends it’s strategy training.”
A small flicker hits the corner of my mouth. Barely.
“Let him.”
