Page 65 of Secret Heir

Her eyes are locked on my mouth, and I can see the war happening behind them. Want versus fear. Need versus self-preservation.

I start to lean down, giving her every chance to pull away, to stop this before it starts.

She tilts her face up, her eyes fluttering closed⁠—

Then she turns her head away, and the spell breaks.

“I can’t do this.” She ducks under my arm and steps away, putting distance between us. Her hands are shaking as she wraps her arms around herself. “I can’t pretend this is something it’s not.”

The loss of her warmth is like being doused with cold water. I’m left standing there, hands braced against the counter, my whole body tight with unfulfilled need and longing.

“Wait, Aria.”

“Goodnight, Maksim.” She’s already moving toward the door, not looking at me. “Thank you for dinner. For the fishing. For—” Her voice breaks. “For being good to Daniel.”

She leaves before I can respond, practically fleeing from the kitchen.

I stand there for a long moment, breathing hard, my body aching with want. I can still feel the ghost of her hands on my chest and smell her shampoo in the air, still see the way she looked at me with those desperate, longing eyes.

She wanted to kiss me. I know she did. I could see it in every line of her body, feel it in the way she trembled beneath my hands.

But she’s still too scared. She’s still holding on to whatever secret is eating her alive and convinced that I’m the monster she needs to protect herself from.

And I don’t know how to fight that. How do I prove to her that this—whatever this is between us—is worth fighting for?

All I know is that I’m in love with her. Still. Again. Maybe I never stopped.

And that terrifies me almost as much as her secrets do.

9

ARIA

My period is late.

At first, I tell myself it’s stress. Of course it’s stress. I was basically kidnapped and I’m sleeping with a man who holds all the power, terrified of a traitor who has access to my son. Stress delays periods. It’s normal. It’s fine.

Except it’s been six weeks since my last period. And I’ve been sleeping with Maksim regularly.

Fuck.

I order a pregnancy test online, burying it in an order of books so the delivery looks innocent. When it arrives three days later, I hide the box inside a hollowed-out art history textbook and wait until I’m alone.

I make sure I lock the door so I can’t be interrupted. My hands shake so badly I can barely open the package. The instructions blur in front of my eyes—pee on the stick, wait three minutes, and look for two lines.

This isn’t my first rodeo of pregnancy test taking. Unfortunately, I’m 1/1 of taking pregnancy tests and I’m hoping my odds aren’t the same this time.

I take the test and set it on the counter then pace the small bathroom while I wait. Three minutes feels like three hours. I count my breaths—one, two, three—but the numbers dissolve into static.

This can’t be happening. The timer on my phone goes off. I pick up the test with trembling hands.

There’s two lines. I’m pregnant.

The test slips from my fingers and clatters into the sink. I grip the edge of the counter and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look like a ghost, with a pale face, wide dark eyes, and horror written across every feature.

I’m…pregnant.

With Maksim Sokolov’s child.