"No." The word tears from my throat, raw and jagged.
He rises from the water like some ancient god, droplets streaming down the tattooed landscape of his body, and I force myself to look away. I can't think when I'm looking at him, can't hold onto my fury when my traitorous body still remembers the feel of his hands on my skin.
"Aria." His voice carries that rough edge that does things to my pulse I refuse to acknowledge. "Listen to me."
"I did listen." I spin to face him, my hands curling into fists at my sides. "I listened to you ask for proof that this baby is yours.After everything. After I've given up everything to be here, you still don't trust me."
"It's not about trust." He takes a step toward me, water pooling at his feet.
"Don't." I hold up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. "Don't you dare tell me this isn't about trust. That's exactly what it's about. You're asking me to prove I didn't betray you. That I'm not some gold digger who got pregnant by someone else and decided to trap a billionaire."
His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath his skin. "That's not what I think."
"Then why?" My voice cracks on the question, and I hate myself for the weakness. "Why do you need a test if you believe me?"
He moves closer, ignoring my earlier command, and I find myself backing up until my spine hits the cool tile wall. He cages me in with his body, his hands braced on either side of my head, and the heat radiating from his skin makes my breath come faster.
"Because my captains whisper," he says, his accent thickening with emotion he's trying to suppress. "Because the Bratva council questions how a man they know was left sterile suddenly has a woman pregnant. Because Matvey Ignatyev is using that doubt as a weapon to undermine my authority."
"So this is aboutyourreputation." The accusation hangs between us like smoke. "About maintaining your image as the all-powerful Pakhan."
"This is about protecting our child." His thumb brushes my cheekbone, the touch so gentle it makes my chest ache. "Aboutlegitimizing the heir so no one can question their right to what I've built. About silencing enemies who would use uncertainty to destroy everything."
I search his face for deception, for the cold calculation I've seen him use on others, but all I find is exhaustion that mirrors the bone-deep weariness pulling at my own limbs. His eyes hold mine with an intensity that steals what little breath I have left.
"If I refuse?" My voice comes out barely above a whisper.
Something flickers across his features, too quick to identify before his mask slams back into place. "Then I'll respect your decision. But the whispers won't stop. The doubt will fester. And when our child is born, there will always be questions about whether they're truly mine."
The brutal honesty in his words cuts deeper than any lie could. I think about the Bratva wives I've met, the way they assessed me with calculating precision, measuring whether I'm worthy of being in their world. I think about the captains who congratulated Nikolai with carefully neutral expressions that couldn't quite hide their skepticism. I think about Matvey's text, the venom in those words about looking forward to meeting the child "if it's yours."
This is the price of his world. Privacy and trust are luxuries we can't afford, not when enemies circle like sharks scenting blood in the water.
"I hate this." The admission costs me something, strips away another layer of the independence I've fought so hard to maintain. "I hate that we can't just be two people having a baby. That everything has to be calculated and strategic and weaponized."
"I know." His forehead drops to rest against mine, and I feel the tremor that runs through his body. "I hate it too."
The confession surprises me. The Pakhan admitting weakness, admitting he hates the rules of his own world. I close my eyes and let myself lean into him for just a moment, let myself take comfort from the solid warmth of his body despite the fury still simmering in my veins.
"One test," I say finally, my chin lifting with defiant pride even as the word tastes like surrender. "One time. And then this conversation never happens again."
His breath releases in a rush that might be relief. "Agreed."
"And when it comes back proving you're the father, you're going to apologize." I poke a finger into his chest, right over his heart. "Properly. On your knees, if necessary."
His lips curve into something that might be a smile. "On my knees, huh? I can think of other things I'd rather do on my knees."
Heat floods my cheeks despite everything, and I shove at his chest with both hands. "Don't. Don't try to charm your way out of this with sex."
"Is it working?" He catches my wrists, his thumbs brushing across my pulse points where my heart hammers visibly against my skin.
"No." But the word comes out breathier than I intend, and we both hear the lie underneath.
He pulls me closer, his mouth finding the sensitive spot just below my ear that makes my knees weak. "Liar."
I should push him away. Should maintain the distance that might protect what's left of my dignity. Instead, I find my hands sliding up his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath my palms, the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
"I'm still angry at you," I manage, even as my body melts against his.
