Chapter Twenty-Four
Stella
The bile rises before I can fully process being awake.
I barely make it to the bathroom, my knees hitting the cold tile as I heave into the toilet. This is the third morning in a row, but I keep blaming bad takeout or stress.
“Stell?” Hannah’s voice comes through the door, tinged with that mix of concern and knowing that makes my stomach clench for entirely different reasons. “You sure you’re okay? I can pick up a test on my way back if you—”
“No!” I rest my forehead against the porcelain, trying to steady my breathing. “It’s just a stomach bug.”
“Three days in a row? At exactly the same time each morning?” Her footsteps pace outside. “Come on, you’re usually the logical one here.”
Logical.
Right.
I’ve done some pretty irrational things these past weeks.
And now, I’m beginning to wonder… I think back, counting days, trying to remember…
The charity event. Aleksei. Then Gianni’s setup and that night at the manor.
My mind skitters away from the memories even as my body remembers with uncomfortable clarity.
“I can’t be,” I whisper, more to myself than Hannah. But even as I say it, I notice how tender my breasts feel, how certain smells have been making me queasy.
“There’s an easy way to find out.” Hannah’s voice is gentler now.
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the wave of panic rising in my chest. A baby. Aleksei’s baby. The thought is impossible.
“Just… give me a minute,” I manage to say, though my voice shakes.
“Wish I could, hon, but I got a presentation this morning, and I’m already running late.” Her voice is tinged with regret. “I don’t mean to bail on you, but we can talk about this later, okay?”
“Sure,” I mumble, standing and washing my face in the basin. I brush my teeth and then head to my room, dressing and getting ready for work in a daze.
My head still hasn’t cleared by the time I get into the flow of work for the day. Hours drag by with me barely getting anything done. My fingers hover over my keyboard, but the quarterly budget numbers blur into meaningless shapes.
A baby…
No. I can’t believe that could be true. I have too much else on my plate. Nick’s terrified face keeps flashing through my mind, followed by Aleksei’s dark, possessive stare. The memory of his hands on my body makes my skin tingle even now.
Focus.
These projections need to be done by noon.
I type a few numbers into the spreadsheet, but my mind drifts to Nick again. Is he safe? Has he actually left the city? The thought of him alone and scared twists my stomach into knots.
“Stella.” Jack’s sharp voice cuts through my spiral. “Those numbers were due an hour ago.”
I straighten in my chair, forcing myself to meet my supervisor’s irritated gaze. His perfectly pressed suit and judgmental frown remind me that I’m on thin ice after missing work for my parents’ funerals.
“Sorry, I’ll have them to you in fifteen minutes.”
“Make it ten.” He taps his watch. “The board meeting starts at one, and I need time to review your report.”
The criticism in his tone snaps me back to reality. I can’t afford to lose this job — it’s all I have left. Taking a deep breath, I focus on the screen and start entering data with renewed determination.
Ten minutes.
You can do this, Stels.
One number at a time.
The familiar rhythm of financial calculations finally pushes thoughts of dangerous Russian men and runaway brothers to the background. At least temporarily.
The scent hits me before I see Martin walking past with his afternoon coffee. Rich, dark roast that normally makes my mouth water — but today my stomach lurches violently.
I bolt from my cubicle, one hand clamped over my mouth. The bathroom seems miles away as I weave through the maze of desks. Sarah calls out something about the quarterly report, but I can’t stop.
I barely make it into a stall before losing my lunch. The tile is cold against my knees as I heave, tears streaming down my face. When the nausea finally subsides, I sit back against the stall wall, my hands trembling.
That’s when it hits me — I’m late. Really late. With everything that happened with Nick and Aleksei, I hadn’t even noticed. But now, counting back the weeks since my last period, the truth is impossible to deny because I’m always like clockwork.
Hannah was right.
My fingers press against my still-flat stomach. The morning sickness, the tender breasts, the missed period — it all adds up to one terrifying conclusion.
“You’re pregnant. With Aleksei Tarasov’s baby.”
“Shut up, Boyana!” I hiss.
I manage to get through the rest of the workday on autopilot, my mind racing with possibilities I’m not ready to face. The pharmacy near my apartment feels too close to home — someone might recognize me — so I drive across town.
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead as I stare at the rows of pregnancy tests. I grab three different brands, unable to trust just one result. The middle-aged cashier’s knowing look makes my cheeks burn.
“Paper or plastic?” she asks, and I nearly cry at the normalcy of the question.
“Plastic,” I croak, shoving cash across the counter. The rustling of the bag feels deafening in the quiet store.
The drive home takes forever, each red light an eternity. I keep checking my phone, hoping Hannah will be home early, but her text confirms she’s working late on a case.
Our apartment feels too quiet when I unlock the door. The bathroom light flickers as I set the tests on the counter, their cheerful pink packaging mocking me.
I pick up one box, reading the instructions three times before setting it back down. The thought of doing this alone makes my chest tight.
“I can’t,” I whisper to my reflection. “Not tonight.”
I leave the tests lined up on the bathroom counter like little soldiers and crawl into bed fully dressed. Sleep feels impossible, but I can’t face those plastic sticks right now. Morning will come soon enough.
But I’m wrong.
The ceiling becomes a movie screen for my racing thoughts as I lie there, each minute dragging by like molasses. Even Boyana stays quiet tonight, leaving me alone with my fears. Sleep takes forever to come.
The next morning, my pulse feels like it’s thundering as I stare at the plastic stick on the bathroom counter. Two lines. Clear as day. The second test shows the same result. So does the third.
“Breathe, Stell.” Hannah’s arm wraps around my shoulders, steadying me as my knees threaten to give out. “Just breathe.”
“I can’t be pregnant.” The words come out in a whisper. “This isn’t… I’m not…”
“Here, sit down before you fall down.” Hannah guides me to the closed toilet lid. She crouches in front of me, her bright red curls falling into her face as she takes my trembling hands in hers. “Talk to me.”
“What am I going to do?” My voice cracks. “I can’t have a baby. Not now. Not with everything that’s happened.”
“First, we’re going to make you an appointment with Dr. Reynolds to confirm.” Hannah’s practical tone anchors me. “Then we’ll figure out your options. You don’t have to decide anything right this second.” She squeezes my hand. “You’re sure it’s his?” Her lips pinch together. “This Tarasov guy?”
Hannah had flipped out when I’d told her that the guy I’d had the one-night-stand with was a notorious Russian mobster, but she seems to have recovered from the shock.
“I can’t tell him.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “He’s dangerous, Han. The things Nick told me about him…”
“Hey.” Hannah squeezes my hands. “One step at a time, okay? Right now, let’s just focus on getting you to a doctor.”
I nod, clinging to her steady presence like a lifeline. She’s right — I need medical confirmation before I spiral completely. But as I stare at those two pink lines, I know in my gut that the tests aren’t wrong.
“I’ll call Dr. Reynolds right now.” Hannah pulls out her phone. “She usually keeps some emergency slots open.”
I sit numbly as she goes through the motions of booking me an appointment.
How can this be happening?
“Three o’clock this afternoon,” she says as she ends the call.
I swallow hard. “God, my boss is going to be so pissed.” I rub my eyes with one hand. “I’m on thin ice as it is with all the time I’ve taken off lately.”
“It’ll be alright, Stell,” Hannah plays the voice of reason.
“What if I lose my job, Hannah?” I feel my eyes go wide. I’m on my feet and starting to pace. “I’ll be unemployed with a baby!”
“Let’s not immediately assume the worst, okay?” Hannah still has her phone in her hand. “Besides, this guy is loaded, right? He needs to cough up.”
I give a small, humorless laugh. “Sure. I bet he’ll be thrilled to learn he knocked me up and now has a kid to look after.”
“Girl, it takes two to tango. He’s a big boy. He knows how babies are made. This is as much his responsibility as it is yours.”
“I don’t think it works that way, Hann.” I sigh.
Hannah snorts. “Well, it should. Do you know how to reach him?”
“Aside from walking up to his front gate?” I pull a face.
“I’ll get his number. I know a guy who knows a guy, if you know what I mean.” She winks at me before looking down at her phone again.
No. I don’t know what she means. All I know is that I can’t stop moving.
My feet trace the same path between the living room and kitchen while Hannah taps away on her phone, muttering about security clearances and database access.
The apartment feels too small, like the walls are closing in with each circuit.
My stomach growls, a welcome distraction from the anxiety churning inside. I yank open the fridge door, scanning its contents. Last night’s Chinese takeout catches my eye. The container feels cool in my hands as I fish out cold noodles with my fingers.
“You know we have forks, right?” Hannah doesn’t look up from her phone. “And a microwave.”
I ignore her, shoving another tangle of lo mein into my mouth. The salt and oil coat my tongue, providing momentary relief from the panic. I spot the leftover chocolate cake from Sarah’s birthday party and grab that too.
“Got something,” Hannah announces just as I’m licking frosting off my thumb. “His private number’s heavily protected, but I managed to get it with a little digging.”
The cake turns to sawdust in my mouth. I swallow hard, setting the container down with trembling hands. The temporary comfort from the food evaporates as reality crashes back.
“Maybe we should wait,” I say, wiping my hands on my pajama pants. “You know, until after the doctor confirms…”
Hannah gives me her patented “don’t be stupid” look. “And then what? You’ll find another excuse not to tell him?”
She’s right, but I can’t admit it. Instead, I grab the cake again, focusing on the rich chocolate rather than the growing terror in my chest. Each bite is a shield against having to make a decision.
“Do you want some time alone?” she asks when I’ve been silent for too long.
I nod. “Would you mind? I need to clear my head a little.”
“All good, hon. I gotta get to work. Will you be okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I just need a moment.” I give a tight smile. “I’ll head out to the office in a bit too. Just need to pull myself together.”
“Just promise you’ll call me if you need anything, okay?” She squeezes my shoulder before heading to grab her purse. “Anytime.”
“Sure.” I smile again. It’s not much better than the last one.
Hannah blows a kiss as she walks out the door, shutting it behind her.
I curl up on the couch, pulling my knees to my chest as the sugar rush from the cake fades. The quiet apartment amplifies the voice in my head.
“You got jiggy with two men in the span of days,” Boyana’s voice whispers. “What would Mama say?”
“Shut up,” I mutter, pressing my forehead against my knees. “I did what I had to do. For Nick.”
“Did you? Or did you want Aleksei that night at the manor?”
“Gianni was different,” I argue with my imaginary sister. “That was survival.”
“But Aleksei…”
“Was a mistake.” The words taste bitter.
“You wanted him. Still want him.”
I press my palms against my eyes until stars burst behind my lids. She’s right. Even now, remembering the way he claimed me, possessed me…
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” I whisper. “He’s dangerous. You heard what Nick said about him.”
“Yet you’re carrying his child.”
My hand drifts to my stomach. The reality of it hits me again — there’s a life growing inside me. Aleksei’s baby. The thought sends equal waves of terror and something else… something warmer.
“He needs to know.”
“I know.” The words come out barely audible. “But how do I tell a freaking Bratva boss that I’m pregnant after one night?”
Hannah’s note with his number sits on the coffee table, taunting me. One call could change everything. Or end everything.
“You can’t hide this forever.”
“Watch me,” I mutter, but I know that’s not reasonable.
I stare at Hannah’s hastily scribbled number, my thumb grazing over my phone’s keypad. How do you even start that conversation?
Hey, remember that night at your manor? Surprise!
“God, no.” I delete the draft message.
We need to talk. It’s important.
Too dramatic. Delete.
I have some news that affects both of us.
“Ugh.” Delete again.
My fingers tap restlessly against the phone case as I pace the living room. A text feels so impersonal, but the thought of hearing his voice or seeing those dark eyes in person makes my knees weak. I type again.
Medical situation requires discussion.
“That sounds like I have an STD.” Delete.
Maybe an email would be better? More professional, less immediate. But what if he never checks that account? Or his assistant screens it?
Regarding our encounter at Blackwood Manor…
The cursor blinks accusingly as I trail off. Everything I type sounds either too casual or too formal. How do you strike the right tone when telling a dangerous man you’re carrying his child?
A text is safer than showing up at his gate. At least this way, I can’t see his reaction. Won’t have to watch his face change when he realizes what I’m telling him. Won’t have to deal with his anger in person.
I need to discuss something private with you. Can we meet?
My thumb hovers over the send button. The words blur as I stare at them, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Just press send. Just do it.
I can’t.
The phone slips from my trembling fingers onto the couch cushions. Maybe after the doctor confirms. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.
“Coward,” Boyana whispers.
“I know,” I whisper back, curling into myself as fear wins again.
“You have to tell him,” Boyana says.
“I know, dammit!” I blurt. “Just not now.”
“Then when?”
“A week.” I cup my belly as a thousand scenarios swirl through my head, the dominant one being me facing single motherhood.
“I’ll wait a week.”