Chapter 22 Roman
ROMAN
Inotice everything. It's how I've survived this long, how I've built an empire from blood and ambition. So when Eva rushes to the bathroom for the third morning in a row, her face pale and her hand pressed to her mouth, I know.
When she returns to her desk and her fingers drift unconsciously to her stomach, a protective gesture she doesn't even realize she's making, I know.
Eva Markova is pregnant with my child.
The knowledge hits me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs.
I lean back in my chair, my hands gripping the armrests hard enough that my knuckles go white.
Something primitive and possessive surges through my chest, a feeling I didn't know existed until this moment.
Mine. She's carrying my child. My blood. My heir.
I watch her through the glass wall separating our offices.
She's wearing a light green blouse today, and I notice for the first time how it strains slightly across her breasts.
They're fuller than they were a month ago.
How did I miss that? Her face has a softness to it, a glow that I'd attributed to our night together but now understand is something else entirely.
She's pregnant, and she hasn't told me.
The fury that follows the possessive satisfaction is cold and sharp. She's trying to hide it. Trying to handle it alone, probably planning to exclude me from my own child's life. The thought makes my jaw clench so hard, my teeth ache.
I force myself to wait. To watch. To gather more evidence before I confront her, because Eva is stubborn and she'll deny it if I don't have proof.
Over the next week, I catalog every tell.
The way she turns green when Natasha microwaves fish in the break room.
How she's started keeping crackers in her desk drawer, eating them with mechanical precision when she thinks no one's watching.
The exhaustion that shadows her brown eyes despite her careful makeup.
By the end of the week, I can't wait any longer.
"Miss Markova." I press the intercom button, my voice harder than I intend. "My office."
Through the glass, I watch her stiffen. She gathers her notepad with hands that tremble slightly, then walks toward my office with her spine straight and her professional armor firmly in place.
She's so fucking beautiful it makes my chest ache.
The mother of my child, even if she doesn't know I know yet.
She enters, closing the door behind her. "Yes, Mr. Sokolov?"
I stand, moving around my desk with deliberate slowness. "Close the blinds."
Her brown eyes widen slightly, but she obeys, pulling the cords that shut us off from the rest of the office. When she turns back to face me, I'm standing close enough to see her pulse flutter at her throat.
"Are you pregnant?" The question comes out blunt, brutal.
Eva's face goes pale. "I… what? No. Why would you—"
"Don't lie to me." I step closer, crowding her against the door. "I've been watching you for a week. The morning sickness. The exhaustion. The way you won't drink coffee anymore. You're pregnant with my child."
She presses back against the door, her hands flat against the wood. "I don't know what you're talking about."
The denial ignites something dark in my chest. I plant my hands on either side of her head, caging her in. "I said don't lie to me, Eva. I can see it. I know."
Her composure cracks. Tears well in her brown eyes, and she looks away, her jaw tight. "Fine. Yes. I'm pregnant. But you don't need to worry about it. I'll handle it. I won't cause you problems with Daria or your organization. You can just… forget about it."
The words hit me like bullets. Forget about it. Forget about my child. My heir. The woman carrying my blood.
"Handle it?" My voice drops to that low register that makes grown men step back. "What the fuck does that mean?"
"It means I'll figure it out." Her chin lifts with that stubborn pride I both love and want to crush. "I don't need your help. I don't need your money. I'll manage on my own."
The fury that's been building explodes. I grab her wrists, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to make my point. "You think I'm going to let you raise my child in that sixth-floor walk-up? Let you work yourself to death while you're pregnant? Let my heir be born a bastard?"
"It's not your decision." But her voice quavers, betraying her fear.
"The hell it isn't." I release her wrists and step back, forcing myself to breathe, to think strategically rather than react emotionally. "You're moving into my estate. Immediately. You'll have round-the-clock security, the best prenatal care money can buy, everything you need."
Eva's eyes flash with anger. "I'm not moving in with you. I'm not some… some kept woman you can lock away."
"You're the mother of my child." I move to my desk, pouring vodka with hands that are steadier than they should be. "That makes you mine to protect. And you will marry me. A proper wedding that legitimizes our child."
The laugh that escapes her is bitter, almost hysterical. "Marry you? Are you insane? I barely know you. You're… you're dangerous. A criminal. I can't…"
"You can, and you will." I drain the vodka, feeling the burn settle in my chest. "This isn't a negotiation, Eva. This is how it's going to be."
She stares at me, her brown eyes wide with disbelief and fury. "You can't force me to marry you."
"Can't I?" I lean against my desk, crossing my arms. "Let me make this very clear. You will move into my estate. You will marry me. You will give our child my name and the protection of my organization. Or…"
"Or what?" Her voice shakes. "You'll kill me? Take the baby?"
The accusation stings more than it should. "Or I'll stop paying for Babushka Sasha's surgery."
Eva's face goes white. "What?"
"Your grandmother needs heart surgery. Expensive surgery that you can't afford even with this job.
" I watch her crumble, hate myself for it, but don't stop.
"I'll pay for it. Cover all medical expenses.
Bring Alexei to America for the best engineering education available.
MIT, Stanford, wherever he wants to go. Full ride, no debt. "
"You bastard." The words are barely a whisper.
"Yes." I don't deny it. "I'm a bastard who's offering you everything you need to save your family. All you have to do is marry me and let me protect you and our child."
She's crying now, silent tears streaming down her face, and I want to pull her into my arms, to comfort her. But I can't show weakness. Not now. Not when I'm so close to getting what I want.
"Why?" Her voice breaks. "Why does it matter so much? You could just… pay child support. See the baby sometimes. Why do you need to marry me?"
Because the thought of her with another man makes me want to commit murder. Because I want her in my bed every night, want to wake up to her face every morning. Because she's mine and I don't share what's mine.
But I don't say any of that. Instead, I tell her a truth that's easier to admit. "Because no child of mine will grow up without my name. Without my protection. Without knowing who their father is."
Eva slides down the door until she's sitting on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest. She looks so young, so vulnerable, and the possessive need to protect her nearly overwhelms me. I cross to her, kneeling down so we're eye level.
"I know you hate me right now." I cup her face, my thumb wiping away her tears. "I know you think I'm a monster. But I will keep you safe. I will keep our child safe. I will give you everything you need."
"Except my freedom." Her brown eyes meet mine, and the pain in them cuts deeper than any blade.
"Your freedom for your family's survival." I stand, offering her my hand. "That's the deal, Eva. Take it or leave it."
She stares at my hand for a long moment. I can see her mind working, calculating, weighing her options. Finally, she takes it, letting me pull her to her feet.
"I need time to think."
"You have until Monday." I release her hand, already missing the contact. "That's three days. Decide, Eva. But know this. I'm not letting you go. One way or another, you're mine now."
She turns toward the door, her hand on the handle, when it suddenly slams open.
Daria Borisova stands in the doorway, her face white with shock and rage, her ice-blue eyes darting between Eva and me. "Move in with you?" Her voice is shrill, disbelieving. "You're demanding that she move in with you? Your secretary?"
Fuck.