Chapter 39 Sophia
SOPHIA
I stand at the window of our bedroom, watching Melinda’s suitcase being loaded into the black SUV.
My hand rests protectively over the small swell of my stomach, a gesture that’s become automatic over the past few weeks.
The baby flutters inside me, as if sensing my melancholy.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say, turning to face my best friend. “You could stay longer.”
Melinda zips up her carry-on bag and gives me a sad smile. “Sophia. I’ve used all my paid time off and all my unpaid protected time off. I can’t pay rent if I lose this job.”
“You could stay here—”
“No. This can’t be my home forever, Sophia. I can’t always intrude on your married life.”
I know she’s right, but the thought of being alone in this fortress makes my chest tighten with anxiety.
Mikhail has turned our home into an impenetrable compound since the doctor ordered bed rest.
Guards patrol every hallway.
Cameras monitor every room except the bathrooms and our bedroom.
I can’t even walk to the kitchen without an escort shadowing my every step.
“I’m going to miss you so much.” My voice cracks despite my attempt to stay strong.
Melinda crosses the room and pulls me into a gentle hug, careful not to press against my belly. “I’m going to miss you too. But you have Mikhail. And a whole army of people making sure you’re safe.”
“It’s not the same.” I pull back and wipe at my eyes. “You’re the only person who treats me like a normal human being instead of a fragile piece of glass that might shatter at any moment.”
She laughs softly. “That’s because I know you’re tougher than you look.
You’ve survived things that would break most people.
” Her expression grows serious. “But Sophia, you need to talk to Mikhail. Really talk to him. He’s driving himself crazy trying to protect you, and you’re going stir-crazy being protected. Something has to give.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure what there is to say. Mikhail and I have been dancing around each other for weeks, our conversations reduced to medical updates and security briefings.
The passionate connection we once shared feels buried under layers of fear and overprotection.
A knock at the door interrupts us. One of Mikhail’s men, a stocky guy named Viktor, pokes his head in. “The car is ready.”
“I’ll be right down,” Melinda tells him.
We walk together through the hallway, past the guards stationed at regular intervals.
I notice how they straighten when I pass, their eyes tracking my every movement.
It’s suffocating.
At the front entrance, Melinda turns to me one last time. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself. And that baby.”
“I promise.” I hug her again, holding on perhaps a moment too long.
Then she’s gone, sliding into the back seat of the SUV.
I watch through the reinforced glass as the vehicle disappears down the long driveway, taking my last connection to the outside world with it.
The silence that follows is deafening.
I turn to find Elena hovering nearby, her blue eyes filled with sympathy. “Can I get you anything, Mrs. Artyomov? Some tea? A snack?”
“No, thank you.” I force a smile. “I think I’ll just rest for a while.”
Back in the bedroom, I sink onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.
The afternoon stretches before me, empty and endless.
Mikhail won’t be home until late. He’s been spending more and more time at his office, dealing with what he calls “business matters” but what I suspect is the ongoing power struggle within his organization.
I understand why he’s doing it.
He stepped back from day-to-day operations to focus on me and the baby, and his enemies saw it as weakness.
Now he’s fighting to maintain control while simultaneously trying to protect his family.
The stress is written in every line of his face, in the tension that never leaves his shoulders.
But understanding doesn’t make it easier to bear.
The hours crawl by.
I try to read, but the words blur together.
I attempt to watch television, but nothing holds my interest.
I even consider calling Mikhail, but I know he’s in meetings and I don’t want to be the needy wife who can’t handle a few hours alone.
Except I’m not handling it well at all.
By the time the sun starts to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, I’ve worked myself into a state of restless frustration.
I pace the bedroom, ignoring the doctor’s orders about bed rest, my mind churning with thoughts I can’t quite organize.
This isn’t living.
This is existing in a beautiful cage, waiting for something terrible to happen or for the baby to arrive, whichever comes first.
And Mikhail, in his desperate attempt to keep me safe, has forgotten that I need more than just physical protection.
I need connection.
I need intimacy.
I need him.
The realization hits me with sudden clarity.
We’ve been so focused on the pregnancy, on the threats, on the logistics of security and safety, that we’ve lost sight of each other.
When was the last time we made love?
Really made love, not just the careful, gentle encounters we’ve had since the complications started?
When was the last time he looked at me with desire instead of worry?
I move to the full-length mirror and study my reflection.
The pregnancy has changed my body in subtle ways.
My breasts are fuller, my hips slightly wider.
The small bump of my belly is visible beneath the loose dress I’m wearing. I don’t look fragile.
I look like a woman carrying life, strong and capable.
But Mikhail doesn’t see that anymore.
He sees someone who needs to be protected, wrapped in cotton wool and kept away from anything that might cause stress.
Well, I’m done being treated like an invalid.
An idea begins to form in my mind, dangerous and thrilling in equal measure.
If Mikhail won’t see me as a woman anymore, I’ll have to remind him.
I’ll have to break through his walls of overprotection and reach the man I fell in love with, the one who looked at me with hunger and possession and raw need.
I open my closet and rifle through the clothes Elena has been buying for me.
Most of them are practical, comfortable things designed for a pregnant woman on bed rest.
But in the back, I find something I’d forgotten about.
A silk nightgown in deep emerald green, purchased months ago before everything became complicated.
It’s elegant and sensual, with a low neckline and a hem that falls to mid-thigh.
Perfect.
I lay it out on the bed and continue my search, finding matching lingerie, a pair of heels I probably shouldn’t wear but will anyway, and the perfume Mikhail once told me drove him crazy.
My heart races as I plan.
I’ll take a long bath, do my hair and makeup, transform myself from the worried pregnant wife into a seductress.
I’ll remind him that I’m not just the mother of his child. I’m his wife, his partner, his lover.
And I’m not going to let fear and overprotection destroy what we have.
I glance at the clock. Mikhail usually returns around nine. That gives me three hours to prepare. Three hours to create an evening he won’t forget.
Elena knocks softly before entering with a dinner tray. “I thought you might be hungry.”
“Actually, I’m not very hungry right now.” I gesture to the nightgown on the bed. “But I could use your help with something.”
Her eyes widen as she takes in the scene, understanding dawning on her face. A slow smile spreads across her features. “Mrs. Artyomov, are you planning what I think you’re planning?”
“That depends. Do you think I’m planning to seduce my husband?”
“Then yes.” She sets down the tray and moves to the closet. “And I think it’s about time. Mr. Artyomov has been walking around here like a man who’s forgotten what it’s like to truly live.”
Together, we begin to prepare.
Elena draws a bath with scented oils while I select candles from the bathroom cabinet.
She helps me wash my hair, her fingers gentle as she massages my scalp.
The warm water soothes my tense muscles.
For the first time in weeks, I feel myself relax.
As I soak, Elena lays out everything I’ll need. “You know he’s going to lose his mind when he sees you like this,” she says with a knowing smile.
“That’s the idea.” I sink deeper into the water, letting the heat penetrate my bones. “I need him to remember that I’m not just someone to protect. I’m someone to love.”
“He does love you. Anyone can see that.”
“I know. But love isn’t enough if we can’t connect. If we can’t be together in all the ways that matter.” I meet her gaze in the mirror. “I’m tired of being treated like I might break. I’m stronger than he thinks.”
Elena nods approvingly. “You are. And it’s time he remembered that.”
After the bath, she helps me dry off and slip into the lingerie.
The silk feels decadent against my skin, a reminder of sensuality I’d almost forgotten.
She blow-dries my hair until it falls in soft waves around my shoulders, then helps me apply makeup with a light touch.
Just enough to enhance my features without looking overdone.
When I finally slip into the emerald nightgown and step into the heels, I barely recognize myself.
The woman in the mirror looks confident, alluring, powerful.
Not fragile at all.
“He won’t know what hit him,” Elena says with satisfaction.
I survey the bedroom with a critical eye.
The lighting needs to be softer, more intimate.
I dim the overhead lights and arrange candles on the dresser and nightstand.
The bed is already made with fresh sheets, but I add extra pillows, creating an inviting nest.
On the nightstand, I place a bottle of wine for Mikhail and sparkling water for myself.
Music plays softly from the speaker system, something sultry and slow that sets the mood perfectly.
Then I move to the kitchen and survey the dinner Elena had prepared.
The table set with candles, the flickering light adding just the right touch of romance.
Everything is set.
I glance at the clock. 9:15 p.m.
He should be here any minute.