“I want you alive.” He turns away, his hands gripping the edge of the desk. “I can’t protect you and hunt Lorenzo at the same time. Every moment I spend worrying about your safety is a moment he uses to plan his next move.”
“I’m not leaving you.” I move around the desk to face him, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin. “We’re supposed to be in this together, remember? You and me against the world.”
“Look at what I’ve become.” His voice cracks, the first real emotion I’ve heard from him in days, and a sliver of tension finally releases from my shoulders. “You said it yourself. You don’t recognize me anymore.”
I cup his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Then come back to me. The man I fell for is still in there. I know he is.”
For a moment, I see a flicker of the Mikhail I know.
The one who held me after nightmares, who made love to me with unexpected tenderness, who looked at me like I was his salvation.
But then his expression hardens again, and he pulls away.
“That man is a liability. He gets people killed.” He moves to the window, staring out at the grounds. “I need to be what I was before you. Cold. Calculating. Ruthless.”
“You mean alone.” I wrap my arms around myself, a chill running through me despite the warm room. “You want to push everyone away so you don’t have to feel anything when they die.”
He doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.
I leave him there, my vision blurred with tears I refuse to let fall until I’m back in our bedroom.
The bed is cold, the sheets untouched on his side.
How many nights has it been since he slept beside me?
Since he held me?
Since he was anything more than a ghost haunting these halls?
Far more than three days.
A soft knock interrupts my spiral. “Come in.”
Elena enters, carrying a tray with tea and toast. “You need to eat, Mrs. Artyomov.”
“I’m not hungry.” But my stomach betrays me with a growl.
She sets the tray on the nightstand and sits beside me on the bed. “He’s not himself right now.”
“I know.” I pick at the toast, forcing myself to take a bite. “But I don’t know how to reach him. Every time I try, he pushes me further away.”
“Give him time. He’ll come back to you.”
“What if he doesn’t?” The question I’ve been afraid to ask hangs between us.
Elena’s expression is sad but understanding. “Then you’ll have to decide if you can live with the man he’s become, or if you need to save yourself.”
After she leaves, I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My hand drifts to my stomach, a gesture that’s become almost unconscious lately.
The nausea that’s plagued me for weeks, the exhaustion, the way certain smells make me want to vomit.
I’ve been attributing it to stress, to the constant fear and violence that’s become our daily life.
But deep down, I know.
The pregnancy test sits in the back of my bathroom drawer, unopened and hidden. I bought it days ago, before everything fell apart, but I haven’t had the courage to use it.
Because once I know for sure, everything changes.
