Chapter 19Elena
19
Elena
I wake up before dawn, my stomach churning with a familiar nausea that’s been plaguing me for the past week. Damir’s arm across my waist feels heavier than usual as I carefully slide out from beneath it. He stirs slightly, mumbling something in Russian before rolling onto his other side.
I tiptoe to the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click before turning on the light. The marble floor is cold against my bare feet as I lean against the counter, studying my reflection in the mirror. My face looks the same with dark circles under my eyes from hospital shifts, but otherwise normal. Yet something inside me has changed.
I’ve been a medical student long enough to recognize the signs. The nausea. The fatigue. The tenderness in my breasts. The missed periods that I’ve been trying to convince myself are just stress.
My hands shake as I lift my phone to dial Liv’s number, praying she hasn’t gone to bed yet after finishing her night shift. She answers on the third ring, yawning. “Elena? What’s wrong?”
I turn on the shower to mask my voice, sitting on the edge of the massive bathtub. “I think I might be pregnant,” I whisper, the words feeling strange on my tongue.
The line goes silent for a moment. She’s probably suppressing the urge to say something like “ Duh ” since she tried to bring it up to me yesterday evening. “Have you taken a test?”
“No.” I rub my temples. “How the hell am I supposed to get one? Damir’s men don’t let me go anywhere alone.”
“Not even to buy personal items?”
“They follow me everywhere. Into stores, restaurants, and even waiting outside bathroom stalls sometimes. Valeriya can go anywhere I can go.” I pace the length of the bathroom, keeping my voice low. “I can’t exactly grab a pregnancy test with Valeriya or Fydor watching my every move.”
Liv is quiet for a moment, then I hear her snap her fingers. “Tell them you need tampons.”
I stop pacing. “What?”
“Tampons. No man wants to discuss feminine hygiene products. Tell them you need to go to the store for tampons, and they’ll be so uncomfortable, they’ll give you space.”
The simplicity of it makes me laugh despite my anxiety. “That’s actually brilliant. If Valeriya offers, I can tell her I need to pick the brand myself. She’ll understand that.”
“I know,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “So, what’s the plan if you are pregnant? Are you going to tell Damir?”
I sink back down onto the edge of the tub. “I don’t know. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We’ve been careful.” Mostly careful, I correct mentally, thinking of a few passionate encounters where protection hadn’t been our first priority.
“Elena, you need to think about what you want. This is your body and your choice.”
“I know that. I just...” I trail off, hearing movement in the bedroom. “I have to go. I’ll call you later.”
I hang up quickly, turning off the shower and splashing water on my face to explain my presence in the bathroom if Damir wakes up, but when I open the door, he’s still asleep, his dark hair tousled against the pillow, face relaxed in a way it rarely is when he’s awake.
I crawl back into bed beside him, my mind racing with plans.
Three hours later, after Damir has left for a meeting with his lieutenants, I approach the security station near the penthouse elevator. Fydor stands at attention, his posture military-straight as always. Next to him is Lev, a newer addition to my security detail, who I soon learn is filling in for Valeriya on her day off. Hallelujah. Maybe I’m catching a small break, since Valeriya would scrutinize my shopping more closely than either of the men.
“I need to go to the pharmacy,” I say, keeping my voice casual.
Fydor checks his watch. “Now? The pakhan said you would be studying today.”
“It’s a personal matter,” I say, meeting his gaze directly. “Female issues.”
Lev shifts uncomfortably, looking at the floor. Fydor’s expression doesn’t change, but a slight redness creeps up his neck.
“I need tampons,” I add, watching both men’s discomfort grow. I almost grin, enjoying this more than I probably should, but how can they be so immature about it? Even though it’s to my advantage that they are, so I try to appreciate that. “Unless one of you wants to pick them out for me? I’m very particular about the brand and absorbency level. I find the first couple of days, I need heavy—” I bite back a grin as Lev pales and then goes red.
“That won’t be necessary,” says Fydor quickly. “We can take you to the pharmacy.”
“I’ll wait in the car,” mutters Lev.
“No,” Fydor corrects him. “You’ll escort Mrs. Antonova inside while I secure the perimeter.” Lev looks like he might protest, but Fydor gives him a stern look. “The pakhan’s orders are clear. Mrs. Antonova is never to be left alone in public.”
I suppress a sigh. This is going to be harder than I thought. “Fine,” I say, grabbing my purse. “Let’s go.”
In the elevator, I formulate my plan. Lev is new and less experienced than Valeriya or Fydor. He’s also clearly uncomfortable with the tampon discussion. I can use that.
The pharmacy is only a few blocks from Damir’s building. Once inside, I head straight for the feminine hygiene aisle, Lev trailing behind me at a respectful distance. I pick up a box of tampons, studying it with exaggerated concentration.
“These aren’t the right ones,” I mutter, putting them back and selecting another box. “The absorbency is all wrong.”
Lev stands at the end of the aisle, trying to look anywhere but at the shelves of feminine products. Perfect. I pull out my phone and gasp dramatically. “Oh, I just got an urgent text from a patient.” I hold up my phone for Lev to see, though the screen only shows my home screen.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, taking a step forward.
“It’s Mrs. Abernathy,” I lie, naming a fictional patient. “Her lab results just came in, and her white blood cell count is concerning. I need to call her doctor.”
I press my phone to my ear, pretending to dial. “Yes, hello, Dr. Patel? This is Elena Clarke calling about Mrs. Abernathy’s labs...”
As I launch into a detailed medical conversation, I walk slowly down the aisle, gesturing animatedly with my free hand. Lev follows but keeps his distance to give me privacy for the “important” call.
When we reach the end of the aisle, I pivot and walk back, passing the pregnancy tests. In one smooth motion, I grab a box and slide it under the tampon package while continuing my fake conversation.
“Yes, I understand the elevated levels could indicate an infection or something more serious...”
At the checkout counter, I place both items on the belt, the pregnancy test hidden beneath the tampons. The cashier, a bored-looking teenager, barely glances at my purchases as she scans them. Just as she’s about to scan the pregnancy test, I fumble with my wallet, dropping it on the floor. Coins scatter everywhere.
“Oh, no,” I exclaim, bending down to gather them. “I’m so clumsy.”
Lev steps forward to help, his attention on the floor as the cashier quickly scans the pregnancy test and places both items in a bag.
“That’ll be $18.47,” she says.
I hand her a twenty, trying to keep my hand from shaking. “Keep the change.”
Outside, Fydor is waiting by the car. “Everything okay?” he asks, opening the door for me.
“Fine,” I say, clutching the pharmacy bag. “Just a routine purchase.”
The ride back to the penthouse is silent, and my heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure they can hear it. When we arrive, I head straight for the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I tear open the pregnancy test box with trembling fingers, reading the instructions twice to make sure I don’t mess this up. The plastic stick feels cold in my hand as I follow the directions, then place it on the counter.
Three minutes. The box says to wait three minutes.
I pace the bathroom, checking my watch every few seconds. The marble floor no longer feels cold, or maybe I’m just too numb to notice. My medical training tells me to be rational, to consider all possibilities, but my mind races with scenarios I’m not prepared for.
What will Damir say? Our arrangement was supposed to be temporary—six months of marriage to provide him with an alibi. We’ve grown closer than either of us expected, but a baby? That’s permanent in a way neither of us signed up for.
I check my watch again. Two minutes left.
I think about my career. I’m so close to finishing medical school, to becoming the surgeon I’ve always dreamed of being. A baby would change everything.
One minute.
I think about Damir’s world—the danger, the violence, the enemies. What kind of life would a child have with us as parents?
Thirty seconds.
I stop pacing and stare at myself in the mirror. Whatever the result, I’ll handle it. I’ve survived worse.
Time’s up.
I pick up the test with shaking hands, staring at the little window. Two pink lines. Clear as day.
Pregnant.
The room spins around me as I sink to the floor, my back against the bathtub. Tears stream down my face—not from sadness, but from shock, from the overwhelming weight of this new reality.
I’m going to have a baby. Damir’s baby.
I stare at the pregnancy test in my hand, the two pink lines mocking me. This can’t be happening. Damir can’t know yet. My hands shake as I wrap the test in toilet paper and bury it deeply in the bathroom trash, covering it with more tissue to hide the evidence.
Four minutes ago, my life was complicated but manageable. Now? I press my palm against my still-flat stomach. Now everything has changed.
I splash cold water on my face and study my reflection in the mirror. Same dark circles under my eyes from hospital shifts. Same brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Nothing on the outside reveals the seismic shift happening inside me.
The bathroom door feels miles away as I cross to it, listening for any sounds in the penthouse. Silence. Damir left for a meeting with his lieutenants an hour ago. I should have time to think, to plan.
I slip into our bedroom and sit on the edge of the king-sized bed. My medical training kicks in, calculating dates in my head. I’m probably ten or eleven weeks along. Morning sickness is peaking right on schedule.
“Shit,” I whisper to the empty room.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Liv.
“Did you take it?” Her text reads.
I type back: “Positive. I’m pregnant.”
Three dots appear immediately, then disappear, then reappear. Finally: “Holy crap. What are you going to do?”
That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? What am I going to do? This wasn’t part of our arrangement. Six months of marriage to provide Damir an alibi for a federal investigation and my tuition to finish medical school. That was the deal. Not a baby. Not a permanent connection to a man who kills people for a living.
My phone buzzes again. “Elena? You still there?”
“I need time to think,” I text back. “Don’t tell ANYONE.”
“Obviously. Call me later?”
“Will try.”
I toss my phone onto the bed and pace the room. Four months ago, I was a broke medical student about to drop out because my ex stole my tuition money. Now I’m married to Damir Antonov, pregnant with his child, and living in a penthouse that costs more than most people make in a decade.
Life has a sick sense of humor.
I need air. I need to move. I grab a pair of leggings and a T-shirt from the dresser, changing quickly. In the kitchen, I find Fydor standing at attention near the elevator. His posture straightens even more when he sees me, if that’s possible. “Mrs. Antonova,” he says with a nod. “Do you need something?”
“I’m going for a run.” I grab a water bottle from the cabinet and moving to the fridge.
Fydor’s expression doesn’t change, but I see the slight twitch in his jaw. “The pakhan instructed that you remain in the penthouse today.”
“The pakhan isn’t here,” I counter, filling my water bottle with the dispenser. “I need fresh air, Fydor. I’m going crazy cooped up in here.”
“I will accompany you.”
I screw the cap on my water bottle with more force than necessary. “Fine. Where’s Lev?”
“Downstairs securing the perimeter.”
“Perfect. Let me grab my shoes,” I say, returning to the bedroom.
I slip on my running shoes and grab my phone, tucking it into the pocket of my leggings after shoving my wallet into my desk, along with the loose change and receipt from the pharmacy that I didn’t bother to fully put away after my “accidental” droppage.
In the elevator, Fydor stands ramrod straight, gaze forward. I study him from the corner of my eye. He’s young, maybe early twenties, with close-cropped dark hair and the build of someone who spends serious time at the gym. Despite his intimidating appearance, I’ve grown to like him over the past few months. He takes his job protecting me seriously.
Too seriously, sometimes.
“How’s your mother doing?” I ask as the elevator descends. “Did the medication help her arthritis?”
Fydor’s expression softens slightly. “Yes. She says to thank you for the recommendation.”
“Tell her I’m glad it’s working.”
The elevator doors open to the lobby, where Lev waits near the entrance. He’s taller than Fydor but leaner, with sandy blond hair and a perpetual scowl. When he sees us, he straightens.
“Mrs. Antonova wants to go for a run,” says Fydor.
Lev nods once. “I’ll bring the car around.”
“No car. I want to run in the park. It’s only two blocks away.”
The two men exchange glances. I recognize the silent communication as they weigh Damir’s orders against my request.
“We’ll walk to the park,” says Fydor. “You can run there where we can maintain visual contact.”
I suppress a sigh. “Fine.”
Outside, the air is crisp, and I breathe deeply, savoring the freshness after being inside all morning aside from the trip to the pharmacy. My stomach rolls slightly—morning sickness making itself known—but I swallow hard and keep walking.
At the park entrance, Fydor points to a circular path. “Stay on this loop. Lev will position himself at the north end, and I’ll take the south. Do not leave our sight.”
“Yes, sir,” I say with a mock salute.
Fydor doesn’t smile. “The pakhan would have my head if anything happened to you.”
The words send a chill through me despite the warmth of the sun. Damir’s protectiveness has always been intense, but how much more controlling will he become when he learns about the baby? I start jogging, finding a steady rhythm on the paved path soon enough. The repetitive motion clears my head, allowing me to think more clearly about my situation.
Option one is to tell Damir immediately. He’d probably be thrilled in his own possessive way. A baby would tie me to him permanently, which I suspect he’d want. Our arrangement would transform from temporary to forever.
Option two is to don’t tell him yet. Figure out what I want first. Do I want this baby? Do I want that kind responsibility and tie right now?
Before I finish the thought, I think about my childhood and close relationship with my mother, and I yearn for that again. This time, I’ll be the mother, and my baby will have a father who won’t run when responsibilities get too serious.
That’s one decision made, and it happens easily. I can only hope everything else, like telling Damir, happens just as smoothly. For now, I just run, focusing on the track ahead of me and letting my mind clear for a few blessed minutes.