Chapter 17 - Anja
Two weeks later, after that charged night, morning sickness hits me like a freight train.
I wake up with my stomach heaving before the sun has fully risen. I barely make it to the bathroom in time, dropping to my knees in front of the toilet as everything I’d eaten the day before comes back up in violent waves.
When it finally stops, I sit back against the cool tile wall, sweat dampening my hairline, and my heart racing.
Stress, I tell myself. Bad takeout from the Chinese place we ordered last night. The lingering adrenaline from months of plotting Fadir’s downfall. Anything but the one possibility that makes my blood run cold.
But the nausea doesn’t pass. It lingers through the morning, turning every smell in the penthouse kitchen into an assault. Coffee makes my stomach roll. Even the ginger tea Alexey prepares for me tastes wrong.
By the third day, when my period, usually as reliable as clockwork, fails to arrive, panic sets in like ice water in my veins.
I can’t ignore it anymore.
At dawn the next morning, while Alexey is still asleep in his suite, I slip out of the penthouse. The city is just waking, gray light filtering through the streets as I walk three blocks to a quiet pharmacy that's open twenty-four hours. I buy three different tests, paying cash with shaking hands, then I hurry back before anyone notices I'm gone.
Back in the penthouse, I lock myself in the guest bathroom, the same one I have used since the first night hebrought me here. The marble floor feels freezing under my bare feet. I stare at the three boxes as if they are live grenades.
I take all three tests, lining them up on the counter like soldiers waiting for judgment. The minutes stretch into eternity. When the results appear, two pink lines stare back at me on every single one.
Positive.
My heart tries to beat out of my chest. The room tilts. I grip the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection. My eyes are wide and full of disbelief.
This baby belongs to Alexey Sokolov.
The man who dragged me out of Fadir’s warehouse at gunpoint. The Bratva enforcer I struck a deal with out of pure, burning fury.
Not Fadir. The relief that floods me at that realization is immediate and sharp. So fierce it nearly brings me to my knees again. It isn’t Fadir’s child. The man who has tried to trap me, gaslight me, and use me as leverage will have no claim on this life growing inside me.
But the relief is quickly swallowed by fresh, choking fear.
How am I supposed to tell the man who has promised this is purely strategic with no physical expectations, clean boundaries, business only, that one night of surrendered passion has rewritten everything?
I sit on the edge of the bathtub for a long time, hands pressed protectively over my still-flat stomach, trying to breathe through the panic. A baby. With Alexey. In the middle of a war against the man who has nearly destroyed me. The timing can’t be worse. Or more terrifying.
Eventually, I force myself to stand. I can’t hide in here forever.
I find Alexey in his study, exactly where I expect him to be. He is seated at his desk, reviewing papers by the soft morning light coming through the windows, brown hair slightly tousled, sleeves rolled up as usual. The picture of calm, methodical control.
He looks up when I enter, his brown eyes sharpening with immediate concern at whatever he sees on my face.
“Anja?” His voice is low, steady. “What’s wrong?”
My voice shakes as I hold up one of the tests, the two pink lines bright and undeniable. “I’m pregnant.”
The words hang in the air between us.
For a heartbeat, his sharp features freeze. Then something deeply protective softens his expression. It's an emotion I have never seen on any man before. Not Fadir’s possessive control. Not my father’s drunken indifference.
This is different. Real. Fierce.
He doesn’t hesitate.
Alexey rises from his chair and crosses the room in three strides, pulling me gently to his chest. One large hand splays carefully over my still-flat stomach, warm and steady, as if he could already feel the life growing there. His other arm wraps around my back, holding me close without crushing me.
“The child will be safe,” he says, voice rough with emotion but still direct. “And wanted. Nothing changes except that Fadir can never come near either of you again. I swear it.”
