My eyes flicker between Roman and Leo, all of us seated at the dining table. They look like they just stepped out of a wrestling ring, with the victor being painfully obvious.
Wearing a gloating smile, Leo slides a forkful of eggs into his mouth. Roman glares at him while stabbing the eggs.
I shouldn’t have asked them to join me for breakfast. I just thought it was a nice gesture—repaying Leo for being a chauffeur and Roman for not killing me last night.
“Okay.” I slam my fist on the table, earning their attention. “Are you two going to be cordial, or do I have to stage an intervention?”
“Depends on what cordial is,” Leo says.
“No,” says Roman.
“Fine.” I shrug. “But if you’re going to keep looking at him like that, Roman, and if you’re going to keep gloating, Leo, then I think I should look for somewhere else to eat.”
As I grab my plate, Roman stops me. “I’ll leave,” he says roughly.
My hand stills on the plate as Roman pushes back his chair with a harsh scrape against the floor. The muscles in his jaw twitch, and his eyes don’t meet mine, not once, as he stands.
Just that low, clipped voice: “I have things to do anyway.”
I stare at him as he walks away, puzzled. My intention was to de-escalate the tension, not turn him into a storm cloud with legs.
My gaze trails back to Leo, but he’s already watching me. “What?” I snap, more defensive than I mean to be.
He lifts a shoulder, chewing another bite of eggs. “Nothing,” he says with maddening nonchalance. “Just wondering how long it’ll take you to go after him.”
I scoff. “I’m not going after him.”
“Mhm.” He sets his fork down, folding his arms. “You sure? Because you were staring like he left carrying your soul with him. And you slept in his bed.”
“I was drunk,” I argue.
He grins. “Exactly my point. You were drunk, and you went for what felt the most comfortable. What felt right. It turned out to be his room. That says something, doesn’t it?”
I didn’t think of it like that. It was muscle memory that walked me down the hallway and into Roman’s room, but I never thought it was because it felt right. Much like when I almost died from the rain, and he brought me to his bedroom. I felt warmth, like I never knew I needed, in his personal space.
Still, hearing it from Leo is infuriating. I toss my napkin on the table, irritation pricking my skin. “You’re annoying.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair and resting my elbows on the table. I didn’t mean to push Roman away. I just wanted breakfast to not feel like a war zone.
“Go,” Leo says suddenly, softer this time. “Before he broods himself into another vendetta.”
“I wasn’t the one who got him worked up, was I?” I retort, narrowing my eyes. “He was in a mood when I woke up. If anything, you should be the one going after him. After all, he is your best friend.”
Leo clicks his tongue. “Nope. I only pointed out that he’s in denial. He might’ve cheered up if I left, but you asked me to breakfast. It’s on you.”
Denial? What the hell is he talking about? The eggs in my stomach suddenly veer off, making a U-turn to my throat. I push against the table, scrambling to my feet and away from the dining area.
“Tell him you invited me because of my amazing sense of humor!” Leo calls out as I run, dashing up the stairs.
I barely make it into my bathroom before hurling my entire breakfast and the contents of last night into the toilet bowl, along with everything else I’ve eaten over the past week. My knees weaken, and I fall to the floor, gripping the toilet seat as I dry heave until I can barely breathe.
Then I pull myself up, turn on the tap and splash water on my face. When I look up in the mirror, my reflection is a pale ghost. Pale skin, scary white eyes, and darker lips.
“Food poisoning?” I mutter.
It’s impossible. Unless the bartender slipped something into my drink last night, I’ve been eating the same food from Polina for the last couple months.
Maybe stress.
I glance at myself in the mirror, catching the pallor in my cheeks and the faint smudges beneath my eyes. “That could be it,” I say aloud, though the words don’t comfort me. I haven’t slept in days. My appetite’s been nonexistent.
All because I let a certain someone get into my head.
The worry I felt at breakfast vanishes as I walk out of my bathroom, perching at the edge of the bed. I shouldn’t have felt grateful—he never even offered an explanation for his absence.
He didn’t think he owed me one, either.
So, if something did happen to him while he was away, I don’t care.
My stomach growls, reminding me I left a half-empty plate at the table. But as I get up, nausea rushes to my throat again, forcing me into the bathroom for another spell of dry heaving. There’s nothing left in my stomach, but my body doesn’t seem to know that. Each retch burns my throat, leaving a bitter taste of bile and frustration behind.
When it finally passes, I press my forehead to the cool porcelain, breathing heavily through my nose.
This isn’t just stress.
It feels…wrong. Like my body is trying to tell me something I’m not ready to hear.
I stare at the envelope in my hand as if staring hard will change the contents of the paper inside. My palms are sweaty as I stand outside the hospital, and my heart feels like it might give out at any moment.
Pregnant.
That’s what the paper says. That’s what the doctor repeated when he smiled at me and proceeded to assume my silence was out of happiness. Like I was too happy to process the news, and the ring on my finger was proof of a happy family.
I’m pregnant with Roman Volkov’s baby. It feels like a cosmic joke, something the universe concocted after hearing me say I would rather do unsavory things than give him a child.
Ahead of me, parked right where I can see the car, is Leo. I couldn’t tell him why I had to leave the house so quickly, but I needed someone to take me—so I lied about having food poisoning.
Even then, I knew it was something else.
Turning in the other direction, I wonder how far I’d get if I decide to make a run for it. Something tells me it wouldn’t be very far.
“Isabella?” Leo steps out of the car, waving at me. “Are you ready to go?”
No. I can feel bile at the back of my throat, and my head is spinning. I’m pretty sure if I take another step, I might faint from the shock.
“Isabella?” Leo repeats, this time with worry in his voice. Shutting the door, he makes his way toward me. I shove the envelope into my bag, pressing my fingers to my face and schooling my emotions before he reaches where I stand.
He tilts his head, observing for a moment. “You look pale,” he says softly. “Did you get to see a doctor? What did she say?”
“I—” My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. “I need to go home,” I mutter.
“Okay.” He nods. “Okay. Let’s go.”
My mind barely registers my steps, and the trip home passes like a blur. I hear Leo asking a question as I walk in, but I don’t answer. I can’t. I need to lie down. I need to lie down before my head explodes.
The walk to my room is the longest I’ve ever taken, and when I get there, my knees are an inch away from giving out. I crawl into bed, pulling the blanket over my head and closing my eyes, too tired to deal with anything else.
A soft knock on the door pulls me from my sleep, but I’m reluctant to respond, so I curl even tighter, placing a hand over my head.
“Bella?”
My eyes fly open. It’s Roman, and for some reason, he’s calling me Bella.
“Isabella?” he says, knocking again. “Can I come in? Leo said you had to go to the hospital for food poisoning.”
My fingers instinctively drift to my stomach, brushing over the place that feels like a fragile secret now. Not food poisoning. Something far worse. Marriage was already binding, but this…a baby? It ties me to Roman forever.
I’m not ready to face that reality yet.
“Isabella?” His voice grows more insistent, threaded with worry this time. There’s a tense pause, and then: “I’m coming in.”
Something about how he says it—low, steady, maybe even a little threatening—snaps me into motion.
My heart lurches, and I shoot upright, nearly tripping over the covers as I leap from the bed and sprint toward the door. I reach for the lock, only to remember that the door, tragically, doesn’t have one.
I never got around to fixing it.
“Shit,” I hiss under my breath, slamming my shoulder against the wood just as the doorknob begins to turn.
“I’m fine!” I say quickly, trying to sound calm, controlled, anything but what I actually am, which is terrified, disoriented, and fraying at the edges. “It was nothing.”
For a moment, there’s silence on the other side. A long, breathless beat where I almost convince myself he’s walked away.
Then the knob jiggles again, slower this time, like he’s testing my resistance. Or my resolve, I’m not sure which.
“I said I’m fine!” I snap, both hands pressed against the door, my entire weight anchoring it shut like that might somehow keep the truth from slipping through the cracks.
There’s another pause, quieter this time, and his voice returns, softer but steadier. “You don’t sound fine, Isabella.”
“I’m fine,” I repeat as my eyes tear up. “Leave me alone, Roman.” My words sound like defeat, and my shoulders sag. “Please.” I can tell he’s still there. “You’ve never cared about what I did. You took me from the cathedral. You forced me to marry you. You left without a word. I don’t think now’s the time to start caring.”
My words are harsh, but they’re the truth. To Roman, the baby is a conquest—another middle finger to my father.
To me, it’s more.
And I don’t think I could survive him not seeing it my way. Seconds pass, and I hear his footsteps retreating. My eyes snap to the doorknob, heart pounding, half expecting it to turn again, half hoping it will.
Because despite my fears, a part of me wants him to find out.
But that part of me also wants roses and love—two things I’ll never get from Roman.
A minute passes. Then another. And the weight in my chest presses harder.
Finally, my knees buckle, giving out beneath me, and I slide to the floor, back against the door, as the dam inside me breaks. I slap a trembling hand over my mouth, desperate to muffle the sob that claws its way up my throat, raw and violent and aching.
I drag myself to bed again, but the covers remain on the floor as I curl into a tight ball, my shirt wet with tears.
This time, it’s impossible to close my eyes. I stay awake for hours until my stomach begins to grumble. Food.
“No,” I sniff. “No, you don’t want food. You want a solution to your problem, Isabella. You want it to go away magically.”
My stomach rumbles again, louder this time. Right. I barely held down my breakfast, and I haven’t eaten for hours. If I’m going to really find a solution, I need some food first.
Summoning my last shreds of strength, I swing my legs, wobbling as I try to stand.
“One after the other, Isabella,” I murmur, offering myself a pep talk. It gets me to the door, and I open it, stepping into the corridor, only to find Roman leaning against the wall, one leg bent at the knee and his arms folded.
“What are you hiding?” he questions, pushing away from the wall.
“H-hiding?” I stutter as I take a step back.
“Yes.” His voice is calm—too calm. “Hiding, Bella. You’ve been cooped up behind that door for hours, and I could hear you muttering to yourself.” He takes a step closer. I take one back, glancing over my shoulder to see how far I’ve gotten from my room.
Only a couple of steps.
I shake my head. “I was tired. Is that so hard to believe?”
Roman tuts. “Have I ever told you that you have a tell?”
“Tell?” My brows scrunch.
“When you lie to me, Isabella, I can tell. It’s almost as if it’s written on your face.” He walks even closer, and I forget how to move as his eyes darken, pinning me to the spot. “What is it? Did you finally get in touch with your father? Are you planning on running away again?”
Why didn’t I think of that? Running away.
Oh, wait. I snort loudly, earning an arched eyebrow from him. I did think about it, when I stood outside the hospital, but I was too much of a coward to do it.
Perhaps I should’ve toughed it out on that farm. It was only a couple hours of heat and the worst rain I’d ever been caught in, but I might’ve survived.
“Isabella?”
My room. I turn, bolting as fast as I can, but Roman has his foot stuck in the doorway before I can close the door.
“Move your foot,” I hiss, leaning into the door with all my weight.
“I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me,” Roman says from the other side, his voice still maddeningly calm but edged with something intense. He’s not about to take no for an answer. “Leo said you were sick. Are you?”
Fuck. “I’m pregnant,” I blurt out. “I’m pregnant, okay? I felt nauseous at breakfast, and I had Leo drive me to the hospital to get a blood test because I suspected that it was something more than the food. So yeah…” I move away, letting the door swing open.
I face him, directing my anger straight to the source. “I am pregnant with your baby, Roman. Just like you wanted. Are you happy now?”
My chest heaves as the words leave my mouth, and I wait, crossing my arms, for his reply. “What?” I bite out. “You’ve got nothing?”
“My baby,” he breathes, taking me by surprise. “You’re pregnant.”
Where’s the victory declaration? The waving flag to let everyone know he’s won?
Roman walks into my room, his hands stuck firmly to his sides. “Solnyshko,” he whispers as he stops in front of me. Slowly, almost reverently, his hand cups my face. “You have no idea what this means.”
“I do,” I say tightly, though my voice wavers. “You wanted an heir. Proof that my father’s bloodline would end with him or me. You got what you wanted.”
“Revenge?” His voice deepens, rich and low, threaded with a hint of something tender. “You think that’s all this is?” He leans in closer. “You became mine the moment I took you. Don’t pretend I needed a child to keep you.”
“Then what is it?” I whisper, trying to hold his gaze even as it scorches me. “What is this?”
Love? I doubt it. He wouldn’t fall for a traitor’s daughter.
Roman doesn’t give me words. But when his lips touch mine, it feels like a promise. A lifeline that I cling to, wrapping my fingers around a fistful of his shirt as his mouth devours mine—ravenous, possessive, aching with a feeling deeper than lust.
When he finally breaks away, his lips don’t stray far. They trail down my jaw and across my throat, hot and commanding. “You’re mine,” he breathes against my skin, his voice rough, like gravel. “You’ve always been mine.”
I feel it vaguely when my back hits the wall because he’s right there with his arms around my waist, pulling me close.
“Moya,” he murmurs. Words I barely know the meaning to, but each one sends a flutter through my stomach. He pulls my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor before his lips capture mine again—his tongue thrusting into my mouth.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing into him as his hands slide lower, gripping beneath my thighs. With one swift motion, he lifts me, and I gasp, legs wrapping around his waist on instinct.
My back brushes the wall again before he turns, carrying me through the room like I weigh nothing. Each step is deliberate, his mouth never leaving mine, lips dragging across my jaw, my throat. The low sound in his chest vibrates against me, awakening something primal and hungry.
Then the bed catches me, soft and cold sheets against my back as he lays me down, moving over me in a blur of heat and strength.
“How long did you plan on hiding it?” he asks as his thumb strokes my cheek.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“Printsessa.” He shakes his head. “It’s not a good idea to hide things from me, you know. I’ll always find out.”
Whatever response I could’ve had to that vanishes as he slides down my body, his mouth traveling over my skin, leaving kisses on every inch…until it feels like my body belongs to him.
Truly.
And when he makes love to me—my arms wrapped around his chest and my legs curled up, pulling him closer, it feels gentle and firm, almost like a promise etched in my mind.
“Roman.” His name falls from my lips with a cry.
He kisses me fiercely, his hips bearing down on mine. “Come for me, my love.”
It feels so good, so intense that it brings me to stillness before I fall, feeling my body and mind shatter into a million pieces.
All of them belonging to him.
