Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Mikhail’s eyes flicker at the mention of my father, then return to me. “Your father agreed because he understands the reality of power. He understands that love doesn’t keep people alive.”
My ribs ache when I breathe, but I keep my face neutral anyway. The nausea twists again, and I swallow hard. Mikhail notices it immediately. He notices everything that can be used as leverage.
“You’re sick,” he says.
“I got shot by one of your men,” I reply. “You already know that.”
His gaze drops toward my stomach, and I feel the nausea rearing its ugly head.
“I also know that you’re pregnant,” he says slowly.
His words have the subtle impact of an atomic bomb. I feel everything inside of me shatter that the one secret I promised to protect from him is now in the open.
My skin goes cold. My throat tightens. My hands stay relaxed at my sides because I refuse to show him even a fraction of the impact his words have on me. The last thing I want is for him to see me as vulnerable. He watches my face for a reaction. He doesn’t get one. He exhales like he’s mildly impressed.
“You hid it well,” he continues. “I wouldn’t have known what a whore you are if it weren’t for that chatty nurse. She’s very forthcoming with a gun to her head.”
I keep my voice steady. “She was lying,” I say as calmly as I can. “She’s just trying to save her own ass.”
Mikhail smiles slowly, as if he’s humoring a child. “You’ve never been a good liar, Anya. No matter. The only thing that matters is what you will do next.”
“I’m not marrying you,” I tell him firmly.
“You will,” he answers calmly, though he physically becomes more imposing.
I stare at him because my body wants to shake and I will not allow it. “You can’t force me into submission.”
Mikhail’s smile never changes, but something behind it does.
“You may have been right before, Anya,” he answers patiently. “That was before you were pregnant. Because now, you have something to lose.”
He takes a step closer, still not crowding me, and speaks like he’s being generous.
“How do you think it would look for me to raise Viktor Kovalev’s baby?” he asks. “It would make me look weak and disrespected. I would never recover from it.”
My jaw tightens. “What does that have to do with me?” I ask.
Mikhail’s gaze holds mine, calm and patient. “My life would be much easier if the baby were to simply disappear,” he says, eyes darkening. “These things happen all the time. Accidents, miscarriage. Who’s to say your pregnancy is going to come to full term?”
My hands instinctively wrap around my stomach, and an ice-cold fear runs down my spine.
Mikhail looks past me, toward the windows and the curtains and the staged luxury, as if he’s admiring his own work.
“Of course, if you don’t want to risk that, here is what will happen next,” he says. “You will come downstairs tonight. You will eat dinner with me. You will speak to me with respect. You will stop pretending you have any say in this.”
I don’t answer.
He turns his attention back to me. “And if you don’t comply, I’ll make sure Viktor gets a bullet to his head.”
My stomach roils again, and I keep my face composed.
“You’re going to kill him either way,” I say calmly. “No need to delay it on my account.”
Mikhail’s expression remains polite. “I already told you, Anya,” he answers quietly. “You’re a terrible liar. You care about him. I know you do. And you care about his demon spawn growing inside of you. So, either you do as I say, or my men will be digging a grave for Viktor and a grave for your child.”
My pulse is loud in my ears. I force it down. I force my breathing shallow enough that my ribs don’t spike again, because pain makes my eyes water and I refuse to let him see that either.
The words are delivered like a business decision, like he’s discussing inventory. The calmness in it is the cruelty. He is telling me he can murder a baby with the same detachment he uses to order a shipment reroute.
My throat tightens. My voice stays level anyway. “You don’t get to decide whether my child lives.”
Mikhail’s eyes sharpen slightly. “I decide everything in this house.”
He lifts his hand, not toward me, but toward the door. One of the guards steps out immediately. He returns seconds later with someone else.
It’s my nurse. She stumbles, then catches herself. Her hands are bound behind her back with plastic ties, tight enough that her fingers are already turning purple. She looks so scared and so vulnerable. A complete 180 from the stern, nonchalant woman I’ve come to know.
I don’t move. I don’t speak. I don’t give her false hope. Mikhail watches me watch her, then turns his attention to the bound woman like he’s bored.