Page 98 of Cruel Obsession

Shit, shit, shit!

A child. In this world of violence and secrets.

My mind races, spiraling out of control. I can’t tell Arkady. I know how much he’s against having kids. He said it himself; I overheard it before the wedding when Rosanna said she was pregnant, and he threw a complete fit. And then he told me himself. I can’t say I never knew.

If he finds out about this pregnancy, I’m fired. Or worse. Men like Arkady Laurov don’t tolerate complications, and I’ve seen firsthand how ruthlessly he eliminates problems from his life. The fact that I’ve warmed his bed doesn’t guarantee my safety—it might even make me more of a liability.

Oh fuck!

Would he kill me?

Surely not.

But who knows with that man? He’s an enigma. We’ve barely spoken since the last time we were together, apart fromwhat’s been necessary to get my job done. If I’m honest with myself, it’s been bugging the hell out of me.

I press a hand against my still-flat stomach, calculating my next move. How much time do I have before my body betrays me? Three months? Four? The extra pounds I’ve put on recently—hence the torn dress at the wedding—might buy me a little time. My slightly curvier body will hide the early changes longer.

But eventually, Arkady will notice my growing stomach. He notices everything.

What the hell do I do?

I wrap the tests in toilet paper and bury them deep in the bathroom trash, washing my hands under scalding water afterward as if I could erase the truth they revealed.

In the mirror, I practice my expression, smoothing away the panic, the fear. I can do this. I can keep this secret, at least until I figure out a plan. At least until I know what I want.

Yet part of me—the foolish, reckless part—already feels protective of this tiny secret growing inside me. Arkady’s child. The heir to whatever empire he’s building in blood and shadow.

Because beneath the panic and practicalities, there’s that whisper again—faint but persistent. A possibility I’m not ready to name, but can’t entirely ignore:

Part of me wants this baby.

Hisbaby.

And that terrifies me most of all.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Arkady

I’m fucking fuming.

The warehouse was just a diversion. That much is clear now as I drive through the elaborate wrought-iron gates of my father’s estate. The old fucker knew I’d get wind of his little trafficking operation so he decided to deceive me by renting out one of my warehouses. Except he never even considered using it.

Blyad!

The wheels of my Range Rover crunch over perfect gravel, disturbing the manicured perfection that Gavriil Laurov demands in all things—including his criminal enterprises.

Stefan wanted to come with me. The look in his eyes when I told him to stay behind was something between betrayal and murder.

“She’s my daughter,” he’d said, voice raw in a way I’d never heard from my stone-faced second. But bringing him would be a mistake. Stefan would tear my father apart with his bare hands before we got any useful information, and right now, information is what we need.

I park haphazardly, blocking the circular driveway. A small rebellion, but it’s the least of what I plan to do to the old man today.

The mansion rises before me—all Italian marble and neoclassical pretension. My father always did have expensive tastes, especially after he sold our childhood home. He couldn’t bear to live where Mishka and mother had died, though that didn’t stop him from building another monument to his own ego. Twelve thousand square feet of opulence that never quite manages to mask the rot beneath.

Dimitri, my father’s butler, opens the door before I reach it. His face betrays nothing, but his eyes flick to my holster, partially visible beneath my jacket.

“Your father is in his study,” he says, stepping aside.