And failing. Failing at all of it.
Because I couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not until I understood what was happening. If I told him about the call, he’d tear the city apart looking for answers. He’d mobilize hisentire army, follow every lead with the ruthless efficiency that made him so dangerous. People would die. Maybe innocent people. Maybe people I cared about.
Maybe whoever had called me, if I was right about who it was.
My hand drifted to my stomach, to the small swell that was growing more noticeable every day. The baby fluttered under my palm, a gentle reminder that this wasn’t just about me anymore. I was carrying Alexei’s child. Our child. I owed them both honesty, safety, and stability.
Instead, I was keeping secrets that could get us all killed.
The textbook blurred in front of me. I blinked hard, refusing to cry. I’d done enough crying over the past few weeks to last a lifetime. I didn’t have tears left for this new nightmare.
But the fear wouldn’t leave. It sat coiled in my stomach alongside the baby, a constant presence that made food taste like ash and sleep feel impossible. Someone was playing games with us, leaving cryptic warnings and making mysterious phone calls. And I was caught in the middle, drowning in questions I couldn’t answer and information I couldn’t share.
The virtual classes had been a relief, actually. It was easier to hide behind a screen than sit in a classroom trying to focus while my world crumbled around me. Anya had complained, of course, but she’d adapted quickly, decorating her study space and treating the whole thing like an adventure. I envied her resilience, her ability to find lightness even in dark situations.
I used to be like that. I used to have everything under control. But that was a lifetime ago. Before everything fell apart. Before I’d learned that nothing in my life was what it seemed.
The light was fading outside, and the sun was sinking toward the horizon. I should go inside. Eat something. Pretend to be normal for a few more hours before I could escape tobed and lie awake in Alexei’s arms, counting his heartbeats and wondering how long I could keep this up.
But I didn’t move. I couldn’t seem to make myself stand or walk back to that house full of guards, cameras, and my husband’s penetrating gaze that saw through every lie I told.
“Mila.”
I jumped so violently that the textbook went flying. Strong hands caught it, caught me, and steadied my shoulder with a touch that was both gentle and immovable.
Alexei. Of course. He moved like a ghost when he wanted to, silent and sudden.
“God, you scared me.” My heart hammered against my ribs, pulse racing with more than just surprise. Guilt tasting metallic on my tongue.
“Sorry.” He set my book aside and crouched in front of me, putting us at eye level. Those hazel eyes studied my face with an intensity that made me want to look away. I didn’t let myself. “You’ve been out here for hours. It’s getting cold.”
Time moved strangely lately, either crawling or racing depending on whether I was alone with my thoughts or trying to act normal around people who knew me too well.
“I’m fine.” The words came automatically, accompanied by a smile I didn’t feel. “Just lost track of time.”
His jaw tightened slightly. He knew I was lying. Of course he knew.
“Have you eaten?”
“I had lunch.” True, technically. A few bites of a sandwich that I’d forced down before my stomach rebelled.
“That was six hours ago.” His voice stayed gentle, but I heard the concern underneath, the frustration he was trying to control. “Come inside. Anna made that soup you like.”
The thought of food made my stomach turn. “I’m not really hungry.”
“Mila.” He caught my chin, tilting my face up so I couldn’t avoid his gaze. The touch was tender, but his eyes were steel. “The baby needs you to eat. You need to eat. Please.”
Guilt crashed over me in a fresh wave. He was right. I was being selfish, letting my fear and confusion control me when I had a child to think about. Our child, who deserved better than a mother who was falling apart.
“Okay.” I nodded, felt the exhaustion pulling at me. “You’re right. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He stood, pulling me up with him, and I swayed slightly on feet that had gone numb from sitting too long. His hand settled at the small of my back, steady and warm. “Just take care of yourself. Both of you.”
We walked back to the house in silence. I was hyper-aware of his presence beside me, the weight of his hand on my back, the way he watched me from the corner of his eye like I might bolt at any moment. The distance between us felt vast despite the physical closeness, a chasm that grew wider every time I opened my mouth to tell him the truth and chose silence instead.
I loved him. The realization had crept up on me slowly over the past months—undeniable and terrifying. I loved my husband, this man who’d forced me into marriage but had somehow become my safety, my shelter, my home. I loved him, and I was lying to him, and it was eating me alive.
In the kitchen, he watched while I forced down a spoonful of soup that tasted like nothing. My stomach protested with each bite, anxiety making it nearly impossible to swallow.
