"Say it." I pour myself another vodka, the crystal glass cold against my palm. "Whatever you're thinking, just say it."
Cyril turns from the window, his gray eyes holding mine with the brutal honesty of a man who's earned the right to speak truth to power. "How can you be certain the child is yours?"
The question lands like a blade between my ribs, precise and devastating. I drain the vodka in one swallow, the burn doing nothing to ease the ice spreading through my chest.
"The watch data?—"
"Shows she's pregnant." Cyril's voice remains carefully neutral. "It doesn't prove paternity. She could have been pregnant before the yacht party. Before the storm. Before the island."
My hands curl into fists against the table's edge. The possibility has been circling in my mind like a vulture since I first saw that data, a thought I've been refusing to examine too closely because acknowledging it means admitting I might be wrong. That I might be claiming another man's child out of desperate hope and sentiment.
"I know what you're thinking," Cyril continues, moving closer. "That demanding proof would destroy whatever trust exists between you. That it would prove the island changed nothing fundamental about who you are."
"Then why suggest it?" The words come out rougher than intended.
"Because your empire is built on control and calculated risk. On never trusting blindly. On verifying everything." He leans against the table, his posture deceptively casual. "A paternity test would answer the question definitively. Would silence the whispers and restore your captains' confidence."
I think of Aria's face when I demanded she come to my home, the betrayal in her dark eyes when she realized I'd been monitoring her body without consent. Asking for a paternity test would be the final nail in the coffin of whatever fragile connection we've managed to maintain.
"She'll never forgive me if I ask for proof."
"Perhaps." Cyril's expression doesn't change. "But if you don't and the child isn't yours, your enemies will use that weakness to destroy everything you've built."
The truth of his words settles over me like a weight. This is the price of power in my world. Trust is a luxury I can't afford, sentiment a weakness that gets you killed. The rational part of my brain knows Cyril is right. A simple test would answer every question.
But the part of me that Aria awakened, the man who whispered promises against her skin while the ocean whispered around us, recoils from the idea. Demanding proof would prove that Ilearned nothing from those three weeks. That I'm still the same cold bastard who kept us stranded for his own selfish reasons.
My phone vibrates against the table, the sound cutting through the tension like a knife. I glance at the screen and scowl.
Matvey Ignatyev's name glows in the darkness.
I open the message with hands that have started to tremble, and the words on the screen make the room tilt sideways.
Congratulations on your miracle, Alekseev. I look forward to meeting the child. If it's yours.
23
ARIA
Istand in Nikolai's foyer with my arms crossed over my chest, trying to project a confidence I don't feel. The marble floor beneath my feet probably costs more than my entire apartment, and the chandelier overhead throws prismatic light across walls that seem designed to remind visitors of their insignificance. Everything about this house screams power and control, and I refuse to be just another possession cataloged and displayed.
"I need to go to my apartment," I say, keeping my voice level despite the tremor threatening to break through. "I need clothes, my laptop, my knives."
Nikolai emerges from his study, and my breath catches despite my determination not to react. He's changed into dark jeans and a charcoal sweater that clings to his frame in ways that make my traitorous body respond with heat I can't suppress. Those ice-blue eyes study me with that infuriating calm, like he's assessing a chess board rather than looking at the woman carrying his child.
"Of course." He steps closer, and I force myself not to retreat. "I'll take you personally."
"That's not necessary." The words come out sharper than I intend. "Just have one of your men drive me."
His jaw tightens fractionally, the only sign that my rejection affects him. "I don't delegate when it comes to your safety."
When it comes to his possessions, I think bitterly, but I don't say it aloud.Pick your battles, Aria. Save your energy for the fights that matter.
"Fine." I turn toward the door before he can see the flush creeping up my neck. "Let's get this over with."
The sedan's interior smells of leather and something distinctly masculine that I recognize as Nikolai's cologne. The scent wraps around me like a physical presence, making it impossible to forget who's sitting inches away. He settles into the seat beside me, his thigh so close to mine that I can feel the heat radiating through the space between us. Not touching, but close enough that every nerve ending in my body screams awareness.
I fix my gaze on the window, watching the city slide past in a blur of buildings and traffic. The silence stretches between us, heavy with things neither of us knows how to say. I catalog my anger like I'm planning a menu, each ingredient measured and precise. The GPS watch that tracked me without consent. The three weeks he kept us stranded while I thought we might die. The arrogant assumption that I belong to him now, that my life is his to control.
