Finally, I can't take it anymore. I cross to where Aria stands near the windows, her hand resting protectively on her stomach, her gaze fixed on something outside I can't see.
"Dance with me," I say, extending my hand.
She turns slowly, and the exhaustion etched into her features makes guilt twist like a knife between my ribs. "I'm tired, Nikolai."
"Please." The word comes out rougher than intended. "One dance. Then I'll take you home."
Home. The word feels wrong, like I'm claiming something that isn't mine to claim. But she places her hand in mine anyway, and I lead her to the small cleared space that serves as a dance floor.
The music shifts to something slower, and I pull her against me, one hand at the small of her back, the other cradling her against my chest. She's stiff in my arms, her body held at a careful distance, and I feel the space between us like a physical wound.
"I'm sorry," I murmur against her temple, my accent thickening with emotion I can't suppress.
Her breath hitches, but she doesn't respond, just sways with me in silence while the music plays and our guests watch with varying degrees of interest.
"I want to fix this," I continue, my voice dropping to something only she can hear. "Tell me how to fix this."
"I don't know if you can." Her words are barely audible over the music.
The honesty cuts deeper than any blade. I tighten my hold on her, needing to feel her solid and real against me.
The song ends, and Aria steps back, putting distance between us that feels insurmountable. "I need some air."
I watch her walk toward the private courtyard, every instinct screaming at me to follow, but Cyril's hand on my shoulder stops me.
"Give her space," he says quietly. "She needs to process."
Ten minutes later, I spot Cyril at the bar. My second-in-command's expression is carefully neutral, but I see the question lurking beneath.
"I need you to do something," I say, my voice dropping to something cold and absolute.
"Anything, Boss."
"Cancel the paternity test."
Cyril's gray eyes widen with genuine shock, the first time I've seen him truly surprised in years. "Boss, the council expects?—"
"I don't care what the council expects." The words come out harsher than intended. "The child is mine. Anyone who questions it answers to me personally. Make sure that message is clear."
He studies me for a long moment, and I see him cataloging the implications of this decision.
"You're sure about this?" His voice is carefully neutral.
"Yes." No hesitation. No doubt. "She saved my life, Cyril. She jumped into the ocean when she could have let me drown. She's carrying my child, my miracle. I won't insult her by demanding proof of what is obvious."
Something shifts in his expression, something that might be approval or might be concern. "The captains will talk."
"Let them talk." I straighten my shoulders, feeling the weight of this decision settle into my bones. "If they have a problem with that, they can challenge me directly."
Cyril nods once, sharp and final. "I'll handle it."
I leave him at the bar and make my way through the crowd toward the courtyard where Aria disappeared. I need to tell her, need to see her face when she realizes I'm choosing her over the empire's doubts. My hand is on the door when Cyril appears at my elbow, his phone extended, his expression grim.
"We have a problem."
I take the phone, my jaw tightening as I read the message on the screen. My tech specialist's words are brief and devastating.
Identified the blackmailer. Name: Marcus Webb. Former photojournalist, wanted by Interpol for fraud and extortion. Currently hiding from international law enforcement. He's demanding two million dollars or the remaining photos go public.
