‘U’ translates to ‘R.’
‘R’ translates to ‘O…’
“Shit,” I curse aloud.
The words spell out a name. Ronan Aslanov. The transactions he made. Father made a deal of some kind with this guy. It’s the third time I’m coming across his name.
Who the hell is this Ronan Aslanov guy?
I navigate to the top of the page, looking for the date of the largest transaction. Two million dollars. The walls of the bedroom begin to close in, my appetite for Thai suddenly vanishing.
No.
He transferred the money the day before Mom was killed.
I can barely believe what I’m seeing. The evidence is there in black and white—my father authorizing the payment of two million dollars literally the day before my mother was killed. Why? Does this mean that he is responsible for Mom’s death? Or did he simply let it happen? Is it the direct consequence of something my father did?
My hands shake against the keypad, my vision blurring with tears of rage.
But who is this Ronan Aslanov?
As Vice President of Father’s company, I should know who he has dealings with, but he hasn’t mentioned the name to me once. Except when this Aslanov guy called him in his office.
Anger courses through my veins as I snap down the lid of the laptop and clench my fists. Even though I half-believed it to be true, it hurts even more knowing that my sneaking suspicions were right.
There’s no doubt that my father is dirty.
And he’s been lying to me this entire time.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nikolai
I make a right at the intersection, turning the vehicle as we make our way to Lauren’s doctor appointment.
She’s quiet this morning, her head turned away from the windshield like she can’t even look out of the same window as me. Something is bothering her.
I press on the gas. She’s twelve weeks along today. They’re going to tell us the gender of the baby. It should be a good day, but her face has been pale all morning. Maybe another wave of nausea has hit her, or maybe she’s starting to realize just how real this whole thing is.
Her and me having a child together.
Aside from me being a part of her life since she fell pregnant, we haven’t spoken about what the future holds for us. All I know is that there is no chance I’m letting them out of my sight.
I pull into the parking lot, kill the engine, and help her out of the car. She’s slow in stepping out, her jaw hardening as she nervously surveys the surroundings. Her eyes anxiously flick between the cars, searching for any shadows.
“I’m with you. Come on. It’s okay.”
I grab her hand and we walk in together. She advances to the reception desk, checking herself in. This morning, she wears her hair in a low ponytail, and it sweeps long across her back every time she moves her head. Even in this vulnerable state, she still presents herself well, putting on the same confident face to the world.
The receptionist makes a comment about her nails. She smiles and thanks them, causing me to smile to myself. For amoment, my chest swells knowing that this charismatic woman is mine.
Calm the fuck down, mudak.
She’s not yours just because she’s carrying your child.
It’s true. No boundaries have been established between us. We’re having sex and we’re about to become parents, but we’re still not a couple. We’ve had too much going on to talk about it. And even though I don’t know what the fuck we are, I’m not going to pressure her into a conversation until she’s ready.
When the nurse calls her name, we head in. She lies down on the exam table, rolling back her shirt just enough to expose her stomach. Now, at twelve weeks, a small bump has formed. It dawns on me just how real all of this is.
