Chapter Thirty-Eight
Stella
Imelda has never been late with lunch before. Her clockwork precision with meals has been one of the few constants in this gilded prison.
I pace the length of my room, one hand absently rubbing my barely-there bump. The morning sickness has passed, leaving me ravenous. Even the strict portions Aleksei mandates would be welcome right now.
“Something’s wrong,” I mutter to Boyana. My imaginary sister has always been good at validating my instincts.
The silence from the usually busy kitchen down the hall is deafening. No clattering of pots, no sizzling sounds, no quiet humming as Imelda works.
I press my ear against my door. Nothing. The wing feels deserted.
My hand hesitates on the doorknob. Aleksei’s rules about staying in my room flash through my mind… and my body… but hunger and concern override caution. The door opens silently.
The hallway stretches empty before me. I tiptoe silently, half-expecting Aleksei to step out from the shadows at any moment.
Oh, get a grip, Stels.
What’s he going to do?
Spank you again?
That should bother me more than it does… But it’s been a day since it happened, and the shock has worn off. Almost.
I’ll just tell him I was looking for my lunch. The baby needs nourishment, after all. Not to mention the handful of prenatal vitamins that invariably accompanies my meals.
The kitchen door stands ajar, and I stop when I reach it. Voices filter from within.
I freeze at the kitchen entrance, pressing myself against the wall. A distinctive perfume wafts through the gap, along with more murmured words. Through the crack of the doorway, I catch sight of an impeccably groomed woman leaning in toward Imelda’s ear.
Sofia?
What the hell is she doing here?
I thought Aleksei threw her off the property. Although maybe they made up again.
“And then he fucked you yesterday. Nice move.”
I shut Boyana’s mocking voice out of my head and focus on the women whispering in the kitchen.
They’re speaking too softly for me to catch what they’re saying, but it’s impossible to miss the wad of cash that Sofia passes to Imelda.
The housekeeper shoves it into the pocket of her apron and looks around furtively.
Sofia’s lips curl into a snake-like smile, and she straightens as she steps away.
“I’m glad we have an agreement,” she says crisply, her voice carrying more clearly now.
An agreement?
What the fuck is she up to?
When she reaches for her purse, I realize she’s probably about to leave. And I have no intention of having another run-in with the woman.
Move, Stella.
Now.
I ease back from the door quickly, worried they’ll hear my ragged breathing.
Turning, I jog silently down the hallway, ducking around the corner and then into an open doorway. Sofia’s footsteps clip smartly past me and then fade into the distance.
I hear the door to the front entrance open and then shut. It takes a couple of minutes for my heart to stop racing. Whatever they were up to, I’m certain it wasn’t above board. I’m still ravenous, but there’s no way I’m going to confront Imelda about it now.
“Speak to Lover Boy,” Boyana pipes up. “He’s supposed to be making sure you’re healthy, right?”
It’s probably a stupid idea, but right now, I don’t care. Before I can second-guess myself, I march out of the building and over to the entrance to the Right Wing.
“I need to speak to Mr. Tarasov,” I tell the guard posted in the entrance hall. Before he can reply, I stalk past him and into the heart of the huge house. It doesn’t take me long to find the kitchen; my nose does most of the work.
I give a small start as I walk in. Aleksei is leaning against one of the counters, a mug of coffee in his hand.
I’m immediately struck by how different he looks.
Gone is the usual sharp suit, replaced by dark sweats and a fitted black tank top that shows off his muscular shoulders and impossibly broad chest.
My mouth goes dry.
“What is it, zaychik ?” He tilts his head. “Back for more… lessons.” A dark eyebrow lifts up.
“I haven’t had lunch.” The words tumble out. “Imelda never brought it, and I—”
Dark eyes narrow. “What time is it?”
“Almost three.”
He straightens abruptly and sets his coffee cup down. “That’s unacceptable.” He picks up his phone, barking orders in Russian, then turns back to the counter. I watch in amazement as he moves briskly around the kitchen, gathering ingredients.
I shift awkwardly, unsure whether to leave or stay. Before I can decide, he’s turned back to me, holding a plate. There’s a substantial sandwich on it, alongside a tub of yogurt.
“Sit.” He nods toward the nearby table, a hand on my elbow guiding me in that direction. The casual intimacy of his touch, the way he’s taking charge of the situation — it does things to me I don’t want to examine too closely.
“You should have come sooner,” he says, pulling out a chair for me at the small table. “A pregnant mother needs regular nutrition.”
His genuine concern catches me off guard. This version of Aleksei — casual, attentive, almost… normal — is more dangerous than his usual cold authority. Because it makes me want things I shouldn’t.
“I… um… thanks,” I say, reaching for the sandwich.
Part of me wants to put on a display of defiance, but my stomach has other ideas.
I bite into the wholesome rye, groaning at the rich tang of prosciutto and provolone.
He watches me, something flickering in his expression as I let out another low moan.
“Imelda will be brought to task,” he says. “This cannot happen again.”
I nod without speaking, too busy eating to try to find words.
“Another thing that cannot happen again is what we did yesterday.”
I stop chewing and look up at him. “What?” I manage to get around a mouthful of food.
Did he really just say that? As if the whole thing was my idea?
“What an asshole,” Boyana mutters.
The casual way he dismisses what happened between us stings more than it should. Like I’m just another business transaction he’s concluded.
“You heard me.” He crosses his arms across his massive chest.
Stop looking at him, dammit.
I swallow the food in my mouth. “Fine by me,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite the hollow feeling in my chest. “It was a mistake anyway.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond. I focus on my food, refusing to let him see how much this hurts. It’s better this way. Easier. He’s made it clear I’m just an incubator for his heir.
The sandwich turns to ash in my mouth, but I force myself to finish it. The baby needs nutrients, even if my appetite has vanished. I’m grateful when Aleksei’s phone rings, giving him an excuse to step away.
I return to my wing alone, my steps heavy. I touch my lips, remembering the passion we shared. How quickly he switched from desire to dismissal. Just another reminder that I’m here for one purpose only.
“Don’t kid yourself,” Boyana whispers. “You’re carrying his child, not winning his heart.”
I return to my room to find a tray waiting on my desk — some kind of creamy pasta dish with a side salad. The portion is larger than Imelda usually allows.
“Miss must eat everything,” Imelda says from the doorway, making me jump. I didn’t even hear her approach. “Very important for baby.”
Something feels off about her insistence, especially after witnessing that exchange with Sofia.
“I already had lunch,” I tell her, gesturing at the tray. “Aleksei made me a sandwich.”
Imelda’s face tightens. “But this is special recipe. Very good.” She hovers by the door, watching me with an intensity that sets my nerves on edge.
“I’m still full,” I say firmly. “Maybe later.”
“No, no. Must eat now while warm.” Imelda steps further into the room.
My suspicion grows at her unusual pushiness. Normally she just drops off the food and leaves.
“She’s lying,” Boyana whispers. “You saw her take Sofia’s money.”
I move to the window, needing space from Imelda’s hovering presence. “I’ll eat when I’m hungry,” I say firmly. “You can take it away.”
Imelda stands there for a long moment, conflict clear on her face. Finally, she gives a short nod and retrieves the tray, though her movements seem reluctant.
Once she’s gone, I pace the room restlessly. The combination of Sofia’s bribe and Imelda’s strange behavior has me on edge. I need a distraction from these suspicions before I drive myself crazy.
I settle at my desk and open the laptop, grateful for my designated internet time. The strict schedule feels infantilizing, but right now, I’ll take anything I can get.
My inbox loads painfully slowly through the restricted connection. No new messages. I refresh again, hoping to see something from Hannah. Nothing.
“She’s probably busy playing spy games,” Boyana grumbles.
I try to ignore the ache of isolation. I miss our late-night chats over wine and ice cream, dissecting our problems until they seem manageable.
I click through my other folders, desperate for any connection to the outside world. Spam, old newsletters, expired coupons — anything to fill the void.
A strange sound from outside makes me pause, finger hovering over the mouse.
There it is again — I tilt my head, straining to listen. The rhythmic noise continues — definitely some sort of movement outside.
The sound stops abruptly, replaced by a child’s muffled laughter.
What the hell?
I sit up straighter. That’s definitely a child’s voice. But who would…?
Another thud, followed by what sounds like an adult’s deeper voice responding.
I creep to the window, drawn by the sounds of play and laughter. Through a gap in the trees, I catch glimpses of movement in what must be a secluded part of the garden.
My breath catches. Aleksei is there, still in his workout clothes, holding what looks like a racquet. But it’s his companion that makes my heart skip — a young boy in a wheelchair, maybe ten or eleven years old, wielding his own modified racquet with enthusiasm.
The boy’s delighted laugh rings out as he manages to return Aleksei’s gentle serve. The sound transforms Aleksei’s usually stern features into something I barely recognize — pride, joy, and… love?
I press closer to the glass, studying the scene with dawning understanding. The medical supplies in the kitchen. The wheelchair equipment. The hidden staircase. The nurse in blue scrubs.
It all makes sense now.
Holy shit!
The boy must be… his son. Aleksei has a son! A disabled son he keeps hidden away in the Left Wing’s upper floor. The revelation leaves me dizzy.
I watch them play, mesmerized by this other side of my captor — patient, encouraging, completely focused on his son’s enjoyment. The boy’s face glows with happiness, his disability forgotten in the joy of the game.
The pieces click together in my mind: the strict security, the segregated wings, the secrecy. He’s protecting his son. But from what? Or whom?
My hand drifts to my own stomach, where his second child grows. The weight of this discovery settles over me as I observe father and son sharing this precious moment of normalcy.
I sink onto the window seat, still watching Aleksei and the boy play their adapted version of badminton. The tenderness in his interactions with him stands in stark contrast to his usual cold demeanor.
“He’s terrified of something happening to his children,” Boyana whispers. For once, her voice holds no mockery.
All those rules about my diet, the constant monitoring, the medical supplies — they’re not just about control. They’re about protection. About preventing anything from going wrong with this pregnancy.
The boy executes a particularly good shot, and Aleksei’s face lights up. My throat tightens as I realize how much pain he must have endured, watching his child struggle with disability. No wonder he’s so obsessive about my prenatal care.
I touch my stomach again, understanding flooding through me. The realization doesn’t excuse everything, but it helps me understand. His cold exterior masks a father’s deep love and even deeper fears.
I need to clear my head, so I change into one of the designer swimsuits Aleksei provided and head to the pool. The water feels amazing against my skin as I do lazy laps, my thoughts still circling around what I witnessed in the garden.
After swimming, I stretch out on a lounger, letting the late afternoon sun warm me. The peaceful moment shatters when Imelda appears with a covered tray.
“Dinner, Miss.” Her voice wavers slightly as she sets down the tray.
I study her face, but she won’t meet my eyes. Her hands tremble as she removes the cover, revealing some kind of fish dish with vegetables.
“Thank you,” I say carefully, watching her reaction.
Imelda nods jerkily, still avoiding eye contact. She hovers nearby, wringing her hands in her apron — the same apron where she stashed Sofia’s money earlier.
“Is everything alright?” I ask.
“Yes, yes. All good.” She backs away a step. “Must eat. Very important.”
There’s that strange insistence again.
“I’ll eat in a little while,” I tell her, keeping my voice neutral. “I’m planning another swim.”
Something like panic flashes across her face before she schools her expression. “But Miss must—”
“I said later,” I cut her off firmly.
Aleksei must have put the fear of God into her. I don’t normally eat this early.
Imelda’s shoulders slump slightly as she retreats, leaving the covered dish behind. Rising, I slide back into the water and float onto my back, letting the silence surround me as I stare up into the sky.
I think about all that’s happened these past weeks. The situation I now find myself in.
Could my life possibly get any stranger?
“Don’t tempt fate,” says Boyana.
Good point. Every time I think things have gotten as crazy as they possibly can get, the world takes a turn for the worse. I huff out a breath, and stand, finding my feet.
“Hello, Stella.”
I yelp at the sight of Aleksei’s sister sitting on the lounger I vacated.
“Diana!” I blurt. “I… I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Clearly not.” She looks around. “Enjoying your swim?”
“Um… Yes. I was just about to have dinner.” I don’t know why I feel the need to tell her. But it occurs to me that the tray is nowhere in sight. “At least, I thought I was.” I frown as I clamber out of the pool, dripping water.
She hands me a towel as she rises. “No dinner for you tonight.”
“What?” I ask, rubbing water from my face.
“You heard me.” She runs an eye over me, her eyes pausing on my belly. I resist the urge to cover myself with the towel. “Have a good evening.” She walks away.
“Wait! I…” I stop talking when I realize she’s still walking. I don’t know what the fuck is happening here, but I doubt she’s going to explain it to me.
Boyana was right. I shouldn’t have tempted fate.
Because things just got even weirder.