Terrified of Lev's reaction. Of seeing anything but excitement in his eyes.
"I'll take a test," I say finally. "But I need time before I tell him. Just... a few days.”
Tash doesn't look convinced but nods. "A few days. But Val? Don't wait too long. Secrets have a way of coming out at the worst possible moments."
It’s been a week, and Tash is back for our usual visit, bringing along three pregnancy test strips.
I promise her I’d use them, and after she leaves, I keep to my word. Lock myself in my old bathroom, and pee on all three.
Then I wait.
Two minutes that feel like two hours.
When I finally look, my hands are shaking so badly I can barely read the results.
Positive.
All three.
I sink to the floor, tests clutched in my hands, and try to process this new reality.
I'm pregnant with Lev Volkov's baby.
The man who murdered people before breakfast. Who rules an empire built on violence. Who barely trusts me despite loving me.
Who lost his infant son to the same man now hunting us.
A sob tears from my throat before I can stop it.
This should be happy news. Joyful. A baby is supposed to be a blessing, something to celebrate.
But all I feel is terror.
Terror that Lev will reject us both. That this will be too much for him to handle. That I'll watch him shut down, pull away, retreat behind walls I'll never penetrate again.
Terror that Patrick will find out. Use this against us. Target me specifically because I'm carrying Lev's child.
Terror that I'll lose this baby the same way Lev lost Dmitri. That history will repeat and destroy us both.
I hide the tests in my purse. Clean my face. Try to compose myself before heading back upstairs.
But the nausea hits again, and I'm bent over the toilet for the fourth time today.
Lev notices something's wrong that night.
I'm picking at dinner—can't stomach the smell of the chicken Elena prepared—when he sets down his fork and studies me.
"You're not eating."
"Not very hungry." I push food around my plate.
"You haven't been hungry for three days." His eyes narrow. "Are you sick?"
"Just a stomach bug. It'll pass."
"You're sure?"
"Yes." The lie tastes like ash. "I'm sure."
