“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“I think you’re scared. Not of him, but of what happens when he knows. Because right now, this baby is just yours. Your secret. Your choice. But once you tell him—”
“It becomes real,” I finish softly. “And everything changes.”
She nods, her expression uncharacteristically gentle. “But Bella, it’s already real. And everything’s already changing. The question is whether you’re going to let him in on it or not.”
I’m already all in.
That’s the hardest part to accept. Despite the contract, despite everything, I’ve fallen for a man who might never feel the same way.
67
Bella
Two hours later, we step out of L’Étoile Privée, the sun blinding after hours of ridiculously overpriced lavender oil and manicures. Elena loops her arm through mine, sunglasses perched high on her head like a movie star. Lila and Alya skip ahead, giggling as they swing their little shopping bags from side to side.
“I think I just experienced what it’s like to be a Kardashian for a day,” Elena says, admiring her blood-red nails in the sunlight. “All I need now is a reality show and questionable fashion choices.”
I shake my head, smiling at her antics. Looking at Lila and Alya walking in front of us, I can’t help but feel a warm sense of contentment. Our entire security crew surrounds us like we’re royalty, Viktor and two others forming a human shield while still maintaining a respectful distance.
“My nails look like unicorn vomit,” Lila says, showing off a dazzling array of rainbow glitter polish.
“And mine look like sparkly stars,” Alya adds, holding her hands out for inspection.
Elena makes a grand show of examining them. “Wow. So chic. So sophisticated. You two could be influencers.”
My phone rings, the vibration humming through my purse. Before I can dig it out, the security team suddenly tenses, their casual stances transforming into alert vigilance. Viktor steps closer to Alya while Dimitri moves to my side, hand discreetly reaching inside his jacket. Two black SUVs idle at the curb, engines humming softly, drivers alert and waiting.
A silver Bentley glides to a stop directly in front of us, cutting off our path to the vehicles. The door opens, and like some villain making a perfectly timed entrance, Tatiana Belov emerges.
She looks like she’s stepped out of a fashion magazine—cream Chanel suit, pearl earrings, not a single platinum blonde hair out of place. Her face is eerily smooth, stretched into what I assume is her version of a pleasant expression, though it doesn’t reach her ice-blue eyes. Like a queen surveying her subjects, she takes in our little group with calculated disinterest.
“Oh. What a coincidence,devotchka,” she says, her eyes landing on Alya. Her tone makes it clear this is anything but random.
My stomach drops. I’ve only met Konstantin’s stepmother once, at some charity event where she spent the evening looking at me like I was something stuck to her shoe. She was politely venomous then. Today, she’s not bothering with the polite part.
Elena’s arm tenses against mine, a silent question. I give her the tiniest shake of my head—a warning not to provoke. She ignores it, of course.
Slowly, with a saccharine smile that makes my skin crawl, Tatiana ignores me completely and holds out her arms. Hervoice shifts to something artificially warm as she pretends to squat down a little.
“Come give me a hug,devotchka,” she coos to Alya.
Dimitri steps forward. “Mrs. Belov, we weren’t expecting—”
“Don’t be disrespectful,” Tatiana snaps, straightening to her full height. “I am still thePakhan’swife.” Her gaze slides to me, cold and assessing. “The original one, at least.”
My spine stiffens, but I keep my expression neutral. Inside, though, my heart is pounding. This woman is dangerous—not in the same way Konstantin is, with his controlled power, but in the way a venomous spider is. Small, seemingly innocuous, until the poison hits.
She crouches to Alya’s level, fingers brushing a lock of her hair. “Look at you, Alya. Still the prettiest girl in the family. Just like your mama was.”
Alya’s eyes dart to me, uncertain and suddenly afraid. Her small fingers clutch at the hem of her dress. Without thinking—pure instinct—I step forward, my body sliding between them, blocking Tatiana’s hand.
“Alya, why don’t you and Lila go show Elena your nails again?” My voice is calm, but my pulse is racing.
Alya’s face crumples with relief as she nods, retreating back to Elena, who raises an eyebrow at me over her sunglasses. I can see the question in her eyes:“What the hell is happening?”
Lila moves closer to Alya, one arm protectively around Alya’s shoulders.
