Page 11 of The Pakhan’s Hidden Heir

Bastian leaves me standing there in shock, staring at his massive four-poster bed with my body still vibrating from his touch. I have to sleep in his bed with him? Be ready to spread my legs at any time?

My gut is screaming at me to see these things as red flags, but this is my fault, isn’t it?

I didn’t really read any fine print in that contract. I asked the questions that I felt were immediately relevant without thinking this through, and Lada did try to warn me.

My cheeks burn with embarrassment, feeling like maybe the wool was pulled over my eyes, but Bastian has a point. How will a child be conceived if we don’t have sex? And isn’t it easier to have sex with someone when I’m in closer proximity to him?

The thought of pushing back against this crosses my mind, that I could tell him I’m not comfortable with that level of proximity for that long, especially if this is supposed to remain cordial and is nothing more than an arrangement.

I’m using my body to incubate his child, which I will inevitably pass over to him when the child is old enough. In return I receive a million dollars. As it stands, fifty grand is probably being put into my account today sometime.

If I push back and protest this, he could refuse to continue with the contract. Then how do I get the money to pay off these debt collectors who’ve been hounding me?

I sink to the foot of the bed and rest my hand on the duffel bag next to me, sighing out my tension. That man really knows how to make a woman’s body light up. If that’s the way he’s going to treat me while I’m simply here to provide a service, I could get used to it. Besides, this is temporary. I have to keep reminding myself that I’m not signing my life away, just roughly two years, maybe less if the child weans early.

My brain won’t let me go beyond that to the mess that could happen if I settle in too much, or if like Lada warns, I bond with the child.

I force myself to start unpacking, taking my clothing out of the bag and stacking it on the foot of the bed. I find an empty dresser drawer where I assume Bastian would like me to put my meager belongings and I start organizing them.

When I have my books stacked on the night stand and my shoes lined under the edge of the bed neatly, I decide not to sit around in this room all day where I’ll be stuck in my head.

I don’t know my way around this massive place, and I don’t think I could even retrace my steps back to the front door, but I creep out of the bedroom into the dim hallway and before I’m ten steps away, a young woman with short blonde hair and a pointed nose stops me.

She smiles warmly as she approaches, holding a tray in her hands stacked with items.

“Ms. Volina?” She pauses, never breaking the smile she holds.

“Hello,” I say softly, not sure how to address her. She’s wearing a bright blue, button-down shirt with black slacks and ballet flats, and I notice her nails are manicured perfectly, which makes me curl my fingers into my palms to hide my own dirty, unkempt fingers.

“I’m Ingrid, the house maid. I’ve brought you some things Mr. Dravenko would like you to have.” She nods at the door and I get the point. I’m not going out to explore this massive house yet.

When she moves, I follow, trailing her back into the bedroom where she sets the tray on the side table next to my books with a small frown then turns to me. “You’ll want to move this to the other side,” she says carefully, gesturing toward my stack of books. “Mr. Dravenko sleeps here.”

My cheeks burn at my mistake, which was honest. How would I know which side of the bed he prefers? Besides the fact that as a single man, wouldn’t he sleep in the center?

“Sorry,” I mumble, moving quickly to pick them up and carry them around the bed.

“No worries.” Ingrid is patient while I reposition my belongings, including my phone’s charging wire which I plug in on the other side of the bed too, then she starts stacking things on the nightstand that belongs to me, along with inside the drawer of said night stand—pregnancy tests, a lot of them.

My throat constricts when I see the sheer number of how many small plastic wands she moves, individually wrapped in cellophane and lined up perfectly in the drawer.

I’m not sure what he thinks is going to happen here, but I’m having one baby—one. And I’m not sure I’d need more than one or two anyway. If my period is late, that’s all it would take.

“You’ll take a test every Monday, starting this week,” she explains when she sees the look of confusion on my face and I swallow around that twisted knot in my throat. “And Mr. Dravenko would like to see the results immediately when you do that, so you’ll be given access to his personal cell phone number so you can text him an image.” She keeps working while my gut churns. “Do you have questions about that?”

“No,” I mutter, realizing just how job-like this is going to be. If that’s the case, I should have no problem with sleeping in the same bed with him. He’s cold anyway. No harm, no foul. Right?

“And when you see the first positive home test, we’ll get you an appointment with Dr. Nikitin, Mr. Dravenko’s personal physician. He’ll handle the pregnancy from⁠—”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “I don’t get my own doctor?” Of course we didn’t discuss this—I was too starry eyed when it came to that million-dollar payout and those large, inquisitive brown eyes he used when he assessed me.

I think I got smitten by the dollar signs and his good looks and lost my brain. Maybe Lada was right and I should’ve thought this through more—or at least asked questions.

“It’s the only person he trusts, but the doctor has excellent nursing staff, and there is a midwife and a doula on his staff too. You will be well taken care of, and so will the child.” She smiles stiffly this time, obviously reading how uncomfortable I am. I don’t want a male doctor, but I guess a midwife or a doula would help with that.

“What else should I know?” Now I’m starting to feel nervous. I rushed right into this. I saw that ad a few months ago and sent my resume and headshot in. When I never heard back from them, I thought the opportunity had passed. When he called, I jumped at the chance and never looked back.

I’m trembling now, shaken right down to my core as I’ve slowly let this entire thing start to sink in. Reality helped that along a little when he instantly asked me to undress in front of him—which was a shock, but god did he make my body sing.