It’s amazing how quickly happiness becomes your new normal. Like you’ve been there all along.
Three weeks of bliss with Vince, and suddenly, I can’t remember what it felt like to be lonely.
To be afraid.
To wonder if the man I loved would ever truly love me back.
We’ve settled into a routine that feels both surreal and somehow perfectly right. Mornings at his penthouse, where the kitchen staff makes me whatever pregnancy-friendly breakfast I can keep down. Nights spent tangled in black silk sheets, his hands always finding their way to my stomach, his voice whispering plans for our future against my womb (and then doing other things with his mouth a little bit lower).
Even my mother is responding well to treatment. The “anonymous benefactor” continues to fund everything she needs. When I told her about the engagement, she cried happy tears, then immediately started planning a wedding that would make even the Akopovs raise their eyebrows.
“Nothing too extravagant,” I’d told her, which made both her and Vince laugh like I’d said something ridiculous.
But the best part? The best part is watching the man I love gradually shed the armor he’s worn his entire life.
Like right now.
The sound of the shower running fills the penthouse as Vince takes his predictably precise twelve-minute morning routine. I’m still in bed, one hand resting on my barely-there bump, scrolling through baby name websites on my phone.
“Nothing Russian,” Vince had insisted last night, surprising me. “Nothing that ties the baby to the Bratva.”
“So no little Vladimirs or Viktoriyas?” I’d teased.
“No.” His face had gone serious. “I want our child to have choices I never had.”
God, how is it possible to fall more in love every day?
I stretch, feeling deliciously lazy. The notification sound on Vince’s laptop makes me glance over to his side of the bed. He left it open, something he never used to do around me. Another small gesture of trust that makes my heart swell.
The notification pings again. Probably work. Always work, even on Saturdays.
I hesitate for a moment, then reach over. If it’s important, I should let him know.
The screen springs to life, already open to a folder labeled with one simple word.
ROWAN
My fingers freeze over the keyboard.
That’s… weird.
I shouldn’t look. I know I shouldn’t.
But it’s my name. So surely I’m entitled to a peek…?
Curiosity wins. I click on the folder.
And my world implodes.
There are dozens of files. Hundreds of documents. Years of surveillance photos. Hospital records. School transcripts. Financial histories.
My hands start to shake as I open file after file, horror mounting with each click.
SUBJECT: ROWAN ST. CLAIR (BORN: ROWAN NIKOLAEVNA PETROVA)
Petrova?
Petrova?
That can’t be right.
I click on a document titled “Lineage Confirmation.”
DNA ANALYSIS CONFIRMS SUBJECT IS BIOLOGICAL DAUGHTER OF GRIGOR PETROV AND MARGARET ST. CLAIR. SUBJECT UNAWARE OF PATERNAL IDENTITY.
My heart is pounding so hard I can hardly breathe. This has to be a mistake. My father left when I was a little girl. He was just some deadbeat who couldn’t handle my mom’s illness.
… Wasn’t he?
I keep reading, unable to stop myself, each document more devastating than the last.
SURVEILLANCE INITIATED: 2019 (SUBJECT’S INTERNSHIP APPLICATION TO AKOPOV INDUSTRIES)
Five years ago. He’s been watching me for five years.
There are psychological profiles. Detailed reports on my routines, my vulnerabilities, my financial struggles.
Then I see a document that makes me physically ill.
ASSET: NATALIE WINTERS (FRIEND/CONFIDANTE)
PAYMENT HISTORY ATTACHED
PRIMARY TASK: MONITOR SUBJECT’S PERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS, REPORT ANY CONTACT WITH GRIGOR PETROV OR KNOWN ASSOCIATES
Natalie. My best friend. The person I’ve told everything to.
Every secret.
Every hope.
Every fear.
She’s been working for Vince all along.
I slam the laptop closed as the bathroom door opens. Vince emerges in a cloud of steam, towel wrapped around his waist, hair damp against his forehead.
“Morning, beautiful,” he says, smiling that rare, genuine smile that I thought was just for me. “Sleep well?”
I stare at him, this stranger I thought I knew.
“Who am I?” My voice doesn’t sound like my own.
His smile falters. “What?”
I point to the laptop. “Who am I, Vince? Or should I be asking, who do you think I am?”
All the color drains from his face. For once, Vincent Akopov looks genuinely caught off-guard.
“Rowan—”
“Don’t.” I stand, backing away from him. “Don’t you dare ‘Rowan’ me right now. Not until you explain why you have five years of surveillance on me. Not until you explain why your laptop thinks I’m Grigor Petrov’s daughter.”
He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even look surprised by what I’ve found.
And that’s when I know it’s all true.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” I whisper.
“Yes.” He takes a step toward me. I take a step back. “… Eventually.”
“When? After we were married? After the baby was born? When you finally figured out how to use me in whatever sick game you’re playing with the Petrovs?”
“It’s not like that.” His voice takes on that edge of control I used to find so sexy. Now, it just sounds cruel. “Let me explain.”
“Please do.” I wrap my arms protectively around myself. Around our baby. “Explain why you’ve been stalking me since I applied for an internship. You paid my best friend to spy on me, Vince. It didn’t occur to you to mention that, oh, by the way, you think I’m the daughter of your family’s biggest enemy!”
He moves to the bed, sitting on the edge, running a hand through his wet hair. “I don’t think, Rowan. I know. The DNA doesn’t lie.”
“And I’m just supposed to believe that? My entire life is a lie, but I should believe you? The man who’s clearly been manipulating me from the start?”
“I never manipulated you.”
I laugh, the sound sharp and painful on its way out of me. “Right. You just happened to hire the daughter of your enemy, sleep with her, get her pregnant, and propose marriage. Total coincidence.”
“It wasn’t like that.” For the first time, I hear frustration creeping into his voice. “Yes, I knew who you were when you applied. And yes, I had you investigated. I had to know if you were a plant. If Grigor sent you to infiltrate Akopov Industries.”
“And did he? Because this is all news to me, Vince.” My voice breaks. “I thought my father was some nobody asshole who abandoned us. I thought… You know what? I don’t even know what I thought anymore.”
I trail off. I don’t know how to go on.
Vince looks pained. “We keep tabs on all our enemies, Rowan. Especially the Petrovs.” He meets my eyes. “When your application crossed my desk—the right age, the right background—I had my people look into it. The DNA match was conclusive.”
“So you knew from the beginning.” I try to ignore the tears welling in my eyes. “Every moment between us—the first time I walked in on you, the promotion, all of it—you knew.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“And what was the plan, exactly? Seduce me? Use me to get to Grigor somehow?”
“No.” He stands again, suddenly agitated. “There was no plan, not at first. Just surveillance. Standard procedure.”
“And Natalie? Was that standard procedure, too?”
He has the decency to look uncomfortable. “We needed someone close to you. To monitor any potential contact with the Petrovs.”
“My best friend,” I whisper, the betrayal cutting deeper than I thought possible. “The person I told everything to. My pregnancy. My feelings for you. All of it.”
“She was already on payroll before I even met you,” he admits. “It was… precautionary.”
“Precautionary.” I repeat the word like it’s poison. It might as well be, given what it’s doing to our relationship. “And what about us? What about everything that’s happened between us? Was that precautionary, too?”
“No.” He steps toward me again, and this time, I’m too numb to back away. “What happened between us wasn’t planned. It wasn’t strategic. It was real.”
“How can I possibly believe that?” My voice is barely audible now. “How can I believe anything you say?”
“Because I never lied about loving you.” His eyes—those impossible blue eyes that once made my heart race—now fill me with nothing but venom and doubt. “Everything else, yes. Your identity. The surveillance. But not how I feel.”
“And when exactly did the great Vincent Akopov develop feelings for his enemy’s daughter? When did I go from being a security risk to being the love of your life?” The bitterness in my voice surprises even me.
“I don’t know.” He growls low in his throat with frustration. “It wasn’t a single moment. It was everything. You stood up to me. You refused to be intimidated. You looked at me like you saw past all the bullshit.”
“Or maybe that’s just what you wanted to see,” I say quietly. “In reality, it sounds like you saw an opportunity. The perfect revenge against Grigor Petrov—seduce his daughter, knock her up, bind her to you forever.”
“Can you really think that of me?”
“I don’t know what the hell to think anymore, Vince.” I move toward the closet, tearing out clothes at random. “I don’t know what’s real and what’s part of whatever game you’re playing. And you know what? I’ve decided I don’t care to stick around and figure it out.”
“Where are you going?” He watches me dress with growing alarm.
“Away from you, for starters.” I pull on jeans and a sweater, not giving a damn that they don’t match.
“Rowan, please.” He reaches for me, but I jerk away. “It’s not safe for you out there. Especially now that you know the truth.”
“Worried I’ll run to Daddy Petrov with Akopov secrets?”
“Worried Grigor will find out about you and the baby,” Vince corrects, his face grave. “If he learns who you are—what you mean to me—he’ll use you against both of us.”
“So I’m a liability to everyone.” I laugh mirthlessly. “The Akopovs, the Petrovs… Does anyone in this fucked-up world see me as a person and not a chess piece?”
I grab my purse, shoving my phone and wallet inside.
“Don’t go.” His voice drops, almost pleading. “Let me explain everything. All of it.”
“I think you’ve explained quite enough.” My hand goes instinctively to my stomach, where our child grows, oblivious to the chaos surrounding it. “I need to see my mother. My real mother—not whatever spy or plant you’ve arranged to pose as her.”
“Margaret is your real mother,” he says quietly. “That part was never a lie. And she doesn’t know I’m aware of your identity. She doesn’t know much herself.”
“How generous of you to allow her that illusion.” I head for the door, then pause, a horrible thought occurring to me. “Is her treatment even real? Or was that just another way to control me?”
“The cancer is real.” His face darkens. “I would never use that against you.”
“But you’d use everything else,” I whisper. “Gotcha.”
I open the door, unable to look at him any longer.
“Rowan.” His voice follows me into the hallway. “Please don’t run from me. Not like this. Not now.”
I turn back one last time, taking in the sight of him—still in his towel, hair damp, looking more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen him.
“You know what’s funny? I actually do believe you love me.” The tears finally break free, pouring down my cheeks in twin torrents. “But I don’t think you know how to love someone without controlling them.”
His face contorts with something like pain. “Let me fix this.”
“I don’t think you can,” I say softly. “Some things, once broken, can’t be put back together.”
I step into the elevator, pressing the button for the lobby before he can follow me.
As the doors slide closed, I catch one last glimpse of his face—a man who’s lost something he never expected to care about.
Then it disappears behind cold, impersonal chrome.
The elevator descends, and with each floor, the weight in my chest grows heavier. I trusted him. I gave him everything—my body, my heart, my future. I believed we were building something real, something that transcended the darkness of his world.
But it was all a lie. Or at least, it began as one.
Maybe he does love me now. It’s not inconceivable that, somewhere along the way, his surveillance turned to fascination, and fascination to love.
But does that matter?
No. It doesn’t.
You can’t grow a garden if the soil is poison.
