He doesn’t notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t care.
It’s not like I can tell him:“Hey, remember that moment you shut down like a well-oiled machine and made it very clear this marriage is temporary? Well, plot twist: I might be permanently pregnant.”
Yeah. That’ll go over great.
I press my hand against my stomach. Not protectively. Just… grounding. A desperate kind of hope that the tight cramp I just felt is all in my head.
It’s not.
And now that the thought’s there, it’s all I can think about. The missed period. The way smells are too strong. The crying I did two days ago over an insurance commercial.
The tests.
It’s all waiting for me.
God. I want Elena. I want her voice. Her swearing. Her hand to squeeze while I pace around the room like a feral cat. She’d tell me what to do. Or at least lie and say it’ll be fine.
The car rolls through the Belov gates, and my chest tightens. The mansion used to feel like the safest bad decision I’d ever made. Now it feels like a gilded cage. Like I’m walking back into something I can’t undo.
Viktor parks without a word.
Konstantin steps out first. Doesn’t wait for me. Doesn’t offer a hand. Just walks up the steps like I’m not limping behind him with a baby in my uterus and my pride in a blender.
I climb out slower. My hip throbs. The pain flares hot, then settles into a dull roar. I make it to my room by sheer will, my fingers fumbling with the doorknob, my eyes burning from effort I won’t let show.
Inside, I shut the door and press my back against it. Close my eyes.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
I limp to the dresser, heart pounding like it already knows what I don’t want to confirm. The top drawer creaks open, and I shove past the clutter.
The plastic bag should be there.
It’s always there.
I lift the socks. Dig deeper. My fingers find nothing but cotton and wood.
I pause. Blink. Check again.
No plastic. No box. No test.
I crouch down, tearing through the drawer like maybe I hid it deeper than I thought. Like maybe exhaustion and adrenaline made me sloppy.
But I know this drawer. I knowmymess.
And it’s been touched.
The receipt pile’s been shifted. The hairbrush is sideways instead of tucked. Someone was in here. Not rummaging. Not frantic. No. This was quiet. Careful. Intentional.
I open the second drawer. Check the nightstand. The trash. The bottom of my bag. My panic starts to rise with every empty glance.
It’s gone.
My phone buzzes on the counter. I grab it instantly, heart leaping. Julian.
I let it ring.
