Chapter Thirty-Two #2
“He,” he says again, more firmly. “And you’re not thinking clearly. The best care—”
“The best care comes from a mother’s love.” My hands shake, but my voice stays strong. “If you think I’ll just hand over my baby and step aside, you don’t understand the first thing about being a parent.”
A muscle flickers in his jaw as he observes me for a moment. I can’t read his expression, but I’m not going to let that intimidate me.
“I know what is good for a child.” His tone is icy. “And I can afford to provide it.”
“Actually…” I twist my hands together, trying to find solid ground in this confrontation. “I have my own ideas about prenatal care. I’ve been practicing yoga for years — it’s excellent for maintaining flexibility and reducing stress during pregnancy.”
His expression shifts slightly, interest flickering across his features. “You know about prenatal yoga?”
“All aspects of yoga, actually. And I’ve studied the neurological benefits extensively. The mindfulness aspects create positive changes in brain chemistry, which directly affects fetal development.”
“Neurological benefits?” He steps closer, his intimidating presence softening with curiosity.
“Yes. I’m fascinated by neuroscience — how the brain develops, especially in utero. Did you know that maternal stress levels can actually alter fetal brain structure? That’s why practices like yoga and meditation are so crucial during pregnancy.”
His eyes narrow thoughtfully. “You understand the science behind this?”
“Did you think all I could do was plan parties?” I cross my arms over my chest.
“Interesting.” He pulls out his phone, fingers moving rapidly across the screen. “I’ll have your internet access modified to include scientific journals.”
The concession, small as it is, gives me hope. “Thank you.”
He nods curtly and strides toward the door. “The doctor will be here soon. We’ll discuss the rest later. Until then, stay in your suite. If you need to go anywhere, I’ll send someone down for you.”
As the door clicks shut behind him, I glance at the discarded biomarker tracker on the bed. His reaction to my scientific knowledge has shown me something — he respects expertise. Maybe that’s my way forward.
I pick up the tracker, then, after a pause, I put it back on. It’s a useful gadget to have if I’m going to take my health seriously.
But as for the rest? He’s got another thing coming if he thinks I’m going to sit here all day, doing nothing.
I wait until Aleksei’s footsteps fade before slipping out of my room. The rational part of my brain screams that this is a terrible idea, but I can’t stay locked up without understanding more about the man who now controls my life.
My bare feet move silently across the polished floors as I follow the echo of his voice. The manor’s layout is confusing — all twisting corridors and closed doors — but I manage to track him through the Right Wing.
He disappears around a corner, speaking rapid Russian into his phone. I press myself against the wall, holding my breath as I strain to catch fragments of conversation. The language feels familiar yet foreign; we never spoke it after we moved to America.
A door opens and closes. I count to ten before creeping forward.
Aleksei’s voice drifts through a doorway — not completely closed. I edge closer, careful to stay in the shadows.
I press against the wall, watching through the crack as Aleksei moves with purpose toward a sleek medical refrigerator. My scientific background kicks in as I catalog its contents — rows of labeled medication vials, sealed packages, and… syringes?
He removes several of them, checking labels before placing them in a metal case. The clinical precision of his movements suggests this is routine. But why would he have a whole fridge full of medical supplies?
A flash of movement draws my attention to the far wall, where a panel slides open. My breath catches — a hidden door?
What the hell?
More questions pile up in my mind, competing with the growing realization that I know nothing about this man who now controls my life.
“Probably hiding another pregnant woman somewhere in the house.” My imaginary sister chimes in.
I ignore her. My focus is on Aleksei as he vanishes behind the hidden panel, which slides shut with barely a whisper.
When it seems safe to move, I edge closer to the doorway, eyeing the medical supplies he left on the counter.
I recognize some of the chemical compounds; these aren’t typical medications — they’re specialized treatments, cutting-edge pharmaceuticals.
The hidden panel beckons. No visible handle or keypad, just smooth wood paneling that somehow opens to… where? Another wing? A secret lab?
My fingers trace the edge where I saw it separate. What could be important enough to hide behind a secret entrance? Important enough to need specialized medications?
The urge to investigate further grows stronger with each passing second. My pregnancy hormones might be making me reckless, but I need to know what other secrets this house holds.
What’s behind that door?