Page 28 of Cruel Submission

“I’ll arrange visits. Supervised. Secure.” His hand comes up, cups my face. “You almost got taken, Mirabel. Almost disappeared. Do you understand what that means? What they would have done to you?”

Yes. I understand. I heard them say Gavriil’s name. Heard them talking about a destination like it was already decided.

“This isn’t fair,” I whisper.

“No. It’s not.” His other hand finds my hip, steadies me when I sway. “But it’s how it’s going to be.”

He kisses my forehead. Once. Gentle. Then he’s pulling back, moving toward the door.

“Arkady, wait—”

But he’s already gone. The door closes behind him with quiet finality.

I stand there staring at it. Part of me wants to throw it open, chase after him, slap him and demand he listen. But I know better. I’ve seen the security cameras, the guards who patrol every inch of this estate. Even if I walked out that door right now, I wouldn’t make it past the gates.

He doesn’t need to lock me in. The whole house is a goddamn cage.

I sink down onto the bed, rage spiking first—hot and immediate. But it burns itself out quickly, leaving something colder behind.

Fear.

Not of him. Never of him. But of the men who grabbed me. My hand drifts to my stomach. The baby underneath. Arkady’s baby.

Safe. I’m safe here. Behind guards and security cameras, and a man who’d burn the city down to protect what’s his.

But does he really think of me as his?

I shake my head to clear it, refusing to let myself ask that question. The baby inside me deserves that protection. Deserves walls between it and monsters who traffic girls to sick perverts. Between it and whatever darkness runs in the Laurov blood.

As long as I’m working, I can pay for Dad’s hospital bills. As long as Arkady wants me here, I have value. Purpose. A reason to stay even when every instinct screams to run.

I curl up on my side, tears sliding down my cheeks—silent, hot, shameful.

The house feels like both a prison and a fortress.

“What would you do if you were here, Debra?” I whisper to the empty room.

But Debra can’t answer. I have no idea if she’s even still alive. If she’s suffering somewhere while I hide in luxury, pregnant with the child of the man who has consumed my life completely.

And I’m here. Trapped. Protected.

Hating how much I need it.

Chapter Ten

Arkady

The hospital discharge papers crinkle in my jacket pocket as I push through the automatic doors.

Cold air stings my face—sharp enough to make my eyes water. I blink it away and adjust my grip on the baby carrier.

Aleks. Three kilograms of someone else’s problem that’s now mine.

The plastic handle bites into my palm. Good. I need the reminder that this is real, that I just signed papers claiming a dead woman’s infant, that there’s a nanny trailing three steps behind me with luggage and a diaper bag like we’re leaving on vacation instead of smuggling a baby into my house like contraband.

Stefan’s SUV sits at the curb, engine running. He’s out of the driver’s seat before I reach it, opening the rear door without a word. His tattooed skull catches weak sunlight, and I watch him clock the carrier, the nanny, the situation, then file it away without comment.

I clip the carrier into the base—check it once, twice, three times. The clicks sound solid, but I tug anyway, making sure it’s locked. Can’t be too careful. One wrong move and—