Chapter 33 Sima
SIMA
The scream rips out of me before I even register what’s happening.
One second I’m reaching for the railing, and the next—
I’m falling.
No, no, no.
As I tumble into the darkness of the staircase, I don’t think about myself. I barely have a second to think at all.
But I do think about my baby.
Instinct takes over. I twist midair. My hand catches the thick, wooden banister, the grip harder than I thought I could ever make it.
The sudden stop jerks my arm hard. Pain explodes through my shoulder.
I bite down a cry and hang on with everything I have.
For a long, breathless second, all I can hear is the echo of my own pulse. The world seems to shrink down to that sound—the pounding against my ribs. A reminder that I’m still here, despite everything.
When I finally pull myself upright, my legs are shaking. My breath comes short and shallow.
I stare up the staircase, heart in my throat, and wait for movement. A shadow, a face. Anything.
But there’s nothing there.
No one.
The hall above is empty, still. Even the crying that dragged me out of bed in the first place has stopped. The silence now feels wrong, too heavy and forced.
I swallow hard. My arm throbs with each heartbeat, and my shoulder feels like it’s been wrenched out of its socket. I test my balance and shift my weight to my other leg, but the moment I do, a sharp pain shoots up my ankle.
Great. Perfect. Add that to the list.
I sink down on the nearest step and try to slow down my heart rate. My hand grips the banister tighter as I focus on breathing.
In through my nose. Out through my mouth.
It takes a few tries before I stop shaking long enough to think straight.
The worst didn’t happen. I didn’t fall all the way down. I’m fine. Shaken, but fine.
Most importantly, the baby is fine. That single thought is enough to fill me with relief.
But then I feel it: wet heat soaking through the fabric of my pajama pants.
My brain refuses to connect the dots. I didn’t pee myself, did I? I wasn’t that scared. Then the realization hits, cold and clear.
It’s not pee.
It’s my water.
And it just fucking broke.
“Shit.”
A sharp, nauseating panic surges through me. I press a hand to my belly, and right on cue, a cramp rolls through, deep and brutal.
My breath catches. The pain is different from the false alarms I’ve had before. It’s lower, heavier. Way too fucking final.
Too soon.
“No, no, no,” I whisper.
Another contraction grips me, stronger this time, and my knees buckle. I cling to the railing and force myself not to collapse.
My mind races. How far along am I? Thirty-four weeks. Maybe thirty-five. Not full term. It’s not safe yet.
I look around, disoriented. The house is silent. Petyr’s men are posted somewhere outside, maybe, but they won’t come unless he says so.
Or unless I scream really, really loud.
I squint through the pain. The intercom is on the far wall, just out of reach. If I yell, maybe someone will hear me. Maybe.
But my voice feels trapped in my chest. If someone did push me, then yelling might bring the wrong person instead.
My shoulder burns when I move. My ankle screams with every shift. The pain builds and fades, then comes again, closer now. I can’t tell how long it’s been—minutes, maybe—but the contractions are already too close together.
I press my palm harder against my belly. Try to will the baby to stay put just a little longer.
“Please,” I whisper. “Not yet. Just wait.”
Another wave hits, sharper than the last, and steals the breath right out of me.
Tears blur my vision, but I blink them away. I can’t afford to lose focus. Not now. She needs me.
I push myself up, one step at a time, and drag my bad leg behind me. Every movement feels impossible, but I keep going. Count under my breath, force myself not to give up.
Halfway up, I stop again. My chest is heaving. The pain isn’t letting up, not a bit. It’s steady now, a low pulse, and it feels like it’s growing stronger by the second. Even if my head refuses to accept it, my body knows what’s coming
I glance down the stairs. The drop looks steeper now. If I fall again, there won’t be a second chance.
Then I hear footsteps down the hall.
Please, I beg silently. Let it be Petyr. Let him find me.
But it’s not him.
Luka appears at the top of the stairs, eyes wide and hair a mess, like he sprinted here half-asleep. “What happened?” His voice is tight, alarmed.
“I—” My throat closes around the word. “I slipped.”
I can’t say I was pushed. Not yet. I don’t have any proof, and besides, why should Luka of all people believe me?
He hates my guts. He told me so. The Danilos killed his family, and he doesn’t trust me as far as he can throw me.
Which right now is pretty fucking far down the stairs, if he chose to do it. I’m not tempted to test my luck.
But for once, Luka doesn’t look mad at me. His eyes flick over me, down the steps, and back to my soaked pajama pants.
The color drains from his face. “You’re bleeding?”
I shake my head quickly. “No. It’s not blood.” I press a hand to my stomach. My breath itches with the motion. “My water broke. The baby’s coming.”
Luka just stands there, frozen. I’m half-expecting him to finish the job someone else started—an assassin or gravity or the Bent-Neck Lady herself.
Then something in his expression shifts.
He swears under his breath as he starts moving fast down the steps, taking them two at a time until he’s in front of me.
“Okay,” he says. “We’re going to the hospital.”
A contraction hits hard enough to bend me forward. I grab the railing and bite down a sound somewhere between a sob and a growl.
Luka’s hands hover close, like he’s not sure if he should touch me.
“It’s early,” I gasp. “Too early.”
“I know.” His tone softens. “But she’s coming, yeah? So we deal with it.”
I’m surprised at how calm he sounds. Last year, I would have expected to see him pop three antacids into his mouth just at the sight of baby water coming out of me.
But he’s changed. We all have.
I don’t know who this new Luka is, but right now, I’m grateful for him.
He calls out for someone down the hall. I can’t see who answers, but a door slams open somewhere, and hurried footsteps echo through the house.
“Get the car ready,” Luka orders. “Now. And find Petyr. Tell him his wife is in labor.”
The footsteps vanish as quickly as they came. Luka turns back to me. His jaw is tight, but his eyes are steady now. “I need you to hold on to me,” he says. “Can you walk?”
I give a tight nod. “Kind of.”
“Then we’ll go slow.”
He slips an arm around my waist, careful but firm. The moment I try to put weight on my ankle, pain flares up my leg. I wince, and Luka steadies me, his hold tighter now.
“Easy,” he mutters. “One step at a time.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “You don’t even like me. I was horrible to you. You shouldn’t have to—”
“I should and I will.” His tone grows firmer. “I serve the Gubarev family. That includes you now. I’m sorry I haven’t been acting like it.”
Something warm blooms in my chest. Despite the pain and the panic tangled inside me, I can’t help a small smile. “I’m sorry I got your nose smashed.”
“That obvious?”
“It’s leaning the opposite way now. Kinda hard to miss.”
The descent feels endless. Each stair creaks under us. I clutch the rail with my good hand, my breath reduced to shallow bursts.
Luka moves with me. He keeps muttering quiet reassurances under his breath. “You’re okay. You’re doing fine. Just breathe.”
I barely hear the words, but cling to them anyway.
By the time we reach the bottom, my entire body feels like it’s been wrung out. Luka guides me toward the door, and cold air hits my face the second it opens. The car waits at the curb, engine running, headlights bright.
Another contraction hits as we cross the threshold. I double over and grip Luka’s jacket hard. He braces me, his other hand against my back.
“Almost there,” he says. “Just get in the car. We’re good. We’ve got this.”
I want to believe him. I want to believe anyone who sounds that sure.
Luka helps me into the back seat and climbs in after me, then barks quick orders to the driver.
The SUV lurches forward. I press a hand to my belly and focus on breathing—or not screaming, which is pretty much the same now. I have to keep the fear from spilling out.
“Is Petyr…?”
“He’s coming. I already sent word.” Luka’s hand stays firm on my shoulder. “You’re going to be fine, Sima,” he says again, quieter this time. “I promise. Everything’s going to be okay.”
I close my eyes and force myself to believe it.