Chapter 20 Naomi #2
Pregnant. The word echoes in my head, hollow and devastating.
My knees give out, and I sink to the floor, my hand pressing to my abdomen as though I can already feel the life growing inside me.
Nothing has changed in the past five minutes except my knowledge, but everything feels different.
My body feels different. The future feels different.
Daniil's child. The heir to his empire. A child conceived in the middle of chaos and lies, passion and violence. A child who will inherit a legacy of blood and power before they draw their first breath.
Tears burn my eyes, spilling before I can stop them.
This isn't how it was supposed to be. This isn't the life I imagined when I dreamed of having children someday. I wanted stability, purpose, and a career that meant something. A partner who chose me freely, not because circumstances bound us together. I wanted to plan for pregnancy, to prepare, and be ready. Instead, I am trapped with a man whose world terrifies and consumes me, and I’m carrying his child.
My phone feels like granite in my hand as I call Charlotte again. She answers before the first ring finishes, as though she's been waiting.
“Well?” she demands without preamble.
“It's positive,” I whisper. My voice is barely sound, just air and despair.
Her silence lasts too long. Then, “Oh, Nae.”
The sympathy in her tone breaks something inside me. Sobs tear from my throat, ugly and raw. “I never missed a pill,” I choke out between breaths. “Not once.”
“Then how?” she presses, her voice sharp with disbelief and growing alarm.
I squeeze my eyes shut, replaying every moment and every possibility. The answer lurks at the edges of my consciousness, too terrible to fully acknowledge. “I don't know,” I lie.
But I do know. Deep in my gut, where instinct lives, I know exactly how this happened.
I tell her about the faint imprint on the pills in the pack, that subtle unease I brushed off.
The way some of them looked slightly different from others, as though they'd been replaced with something else entirely.
“Irina's visit,” I continue, my voice growing stronger as the pieces align. “She walked into my room one morning, claiming she left a gift. Lavender oil and a silk mask. I thanked her, but now...”
Now the memory takes on sinister significance. How easy would it have been for Irina to switch out my birth control pills? But why?
“Jesus,” Charlotte breathes. “You think she sabotaged your pills? Why would she do that?”
“I don't know,” I repeat, though suspicion burns like acid in my gut. “But this isn't possible any other way.”
Charlotte's breath hisses across the line. “What the hell do you do now?”
The question hangs there. What do I do? Tell Daniil and watch him either claim this child as the ultimate prize or see it as the ultimate liability? Keep it secret and try to navigate this alone? Neither option feels remotely possible.
My voice is flat when I answer, “I don't know.”
“You need options,” Charlotte declares, her tone turning into problem-solving mode. “You need to think about what you want, separate from what anyone else wants.”
But that's the problem. I don't know what I want. I never planned for this scenario or prepared for the possibility that my life could be derailed so completely by something so small.
“What would you do?” I ask her.
There's a pause, then her voice hardens. “You run, Nae. You disappear. Before this gets worse. You have to give yourself time to figure out what you want to do about it.”
Run. The word echoes through my consciousness like a bell tolling. Run from Daniil, from the Bratva, from this pregnancy, from everything that's become my reality. Start over somewhere new and safe where I can think clearly without the constant pressure of violence and manipulation.
“Where would I go?” I whisper. “He'd find me anywhere.”
“Not if you do it right,” Charlotte insists. “Not if we plan it carefully. I have money saved. I can help you disappear completely, get a new identity, and start fresh.”
Her words settle in my mind, but I know the truth.
The walls around me are thick, and Daniil Zorin's reach stretches far beyond them.
His resources are infinite, and his connections global.
Running from him would mean running from the only world he's allowed me to inhabit, and he would never stop hunting.
More than that, would I even want to run?
The question surprises me with its complexity.
Yes, I'm trapped. Yes, I'm manipulated. But there are moments with Daniil when the masks fall away, and I see the man beneath the monster.
Moments when his touch feels like salvation instead of possession, and when his protection feels like love instead of control.
“I need time to think,” I tell Charlotte.
“Time is what you don't have,” she argues. “Every day you wait makes it harder to leave. Every day you stay gives them more chances to manipulate you further.”
She's right, and I know it. But knowing and being able to act are different things entirely. The thought of fleeing into the unknown, carrying Daniil's child, starting over with nothing but fear and uncertainty, feels almost as terrifying as staying.
“What if I told him?” I ask suddenly. “What if I just... told him the truth?”
“Nae.” Charlotte's voice turns gentle and sad. “You know what would happen. He'd use it to bind you to him forever. That baby would become another reason you could never leave. And if someone in his organization did sabotage your pills, telling him puts you in danger. What if it was his idea?”
Holy shit. What if Daniil orchestrated this himself? What if the marriage, the protection, and the moments of tenderness were all part of an elaborate plan to trap me completely? The man who admitted he'd bury people to keep me safe wouldn't hesitate to ensure I could never escape him.
But even as the thought forms, something in me rebels against it.
The Daniil I've come to know might be ruthless and possessive, but he's also honest about his darkness.
He doesn't hide behind manipulation when brutality serves him better.
If he wanted me pregnant, he would have simply taken my birth control pills away and dared me to object.
“I don't think it was him,” I murmur. “But I just need some time to think. Away from him. Away from here.”
“Call me tonight,” she demands. “Promise me you'll call.”
“I promise.”
The line goes dead just as a knock sounds on my door. I quickly wrap the test in toilet paper and stuff it deep into the trash. Splashing cold water on my face, I quickly blot it dry to hide the evidence of tears. When I open the door, Nadia stands there with a dinner tray.
“Mr. Zorin asked me to bring this to you,” she explains in her soft accent. “He said to tell you he'll be working late tonight.”
I thank her and take the tray, but my appetite has vanished completely. The thought of food makes my stomach revolt, though I can't tell if that's morning sickness or pure anxiety. I pick at the meal mechanically, forcing down enough to avoid questions while my mind continues its endless spiral.
Pregnant. It's not just a possibility anymore, but a reality I have to navigate.
In a few months, my body will change in ways I can't hide.
In less than a year, I'll be responsible for another life entirely.
And somewhere in this maze of power and violence, someone wanted this to happen.
Someone made sure it would happen. The question is whether that someone was trying to help me or destroy me.
As night falls outside my window, Charlotte's words echo through my consciousness. “You run, Nae. You disappear. Before this gets worse.” I realize I might have to choose not between love and freedom, but between survival and ruin.