Page 81 of The Pakhan’s Debt by Leona White

His mouth tightens. “Permission for what?”

“Everything,” I say, and my hand cuts across the table. “More guards. Fewer outings. Food watched. Staff cut down. Doors checked. Doctors called. Me sitting here under lamps while you decide which parts of my body affect the empire.”

His jaw locks hard enough to ache. “You hid my child while men were trying to take you.”

“And that ends every one of your arguments.”

“It begins them.”

“It also proves my point.” I shove the registry copy toward him. “This is what my father did. He made every personal thing structural. My name. My signature. Now the baby. You hate him for it, then you use the same language.”

Maksim steps closer, slow enough to let me hold my ground. “Don’t compare me to Sergei.”

“Then stop helping him.”

That hits. His hand comes down on the table, hard enough that the nearest paper jumps. “You think I want this?” he says. “You think I enjoy asking a doctor what your body can handle because my house failed to keep you safe?”

“My body can handle a question.”

“You hid the pregnancy from me.”

“My body isn’t part of your paperwork.”

His mouth moves once, grim and almost amused. “You’re impossible.”

“You knew that before you slept with me.”

His eyes drop to my mouth, then lower, then back again, and my breath catches before I can stop it. My fingers tighten on the edge of the table, my shoulders pull back, and I feel the heat rise through my chest and up my neck. I don’t step away, and I don’t break his stare. He sees every part of it. I grip the edge of the table to steady myself and stay still.

“Look at you,” he says, and his voice stays controlled, his hands by his side. “Furious at me, and still standing there like one touch from me could ruin your whole argument.”

He takes a step toward me.

I step back until my hips hit the table. “Don’t.”

“I’m not touching you.”

“That’s not the same as behaving.”

A rough breath leaves him, close enough that I feel it against my cheek.

For a moment, neither of us moves. The files sit open. Sergei’s handwriting watches from three pages at once.

I sit again because my knees don’t feel as loyal as my mouth.

“Elena.”

I pick up the page and force myself to read because work is safer than his face right now. “This clause matters. If I die, the inheritance routes through my child, but without recognized protective authority, outside claims can freeze the assets during a fight.”

He stops, and his face goes very still. “Elena.”

I hate that my voice stays steady, and I hold his gaze while I say it. “If Sergei stops needing me alive, the baby becomes the cleaner future inheritor.”

Maksim says nothing. His hand closes around the back of the chair.

I push the rest out. “My pregnancy is both a shield and a threat.”

He comes around the table, takes the page, and reads it once. His face gives me nothing, but his fingers tighten at the corner.