Valerie
I'm bent over the toilet for the third morning in a row when I realize something is very wrong.
This isn't stress. Isn't anxiety about Patrick lurking somewhere in the city planning revenge. Isn't the constant low-grade terror of living in a fortress under lock.
This is something else.
I flush, rinse my mouth, and stare at my reflection in the mirror. Pale. Dark circles under my eyes despite sleeping in Lev's arms every night. A persistent exhaustion that no amount of rest seems to fix.
And the nausea. God, the nausea.
I've been telling myself it's the pressure. The weight of earning back Lev's trust while knowing Patrick could strike at any moment. The emotional toll of loving a man who's still working through my betrayal.
But deep down, I know.
I've known for days and been too terrified to admit it.
My period is late. Three weeks late.
No. Please, no.
Tash visits that afternoon and notices something’s wrong. Thankfully, Lev had agreed to her visit, saying I needed a semblance of normalcy.
We're having tea in the sitting room—a weekly ritual we've maintained despite everything—and she's chattering about some drama with her father's organization when she stops mid-sentence.
"Val. Are you okay? You look awful."
"Thanks." I try to smile. "Just tired."
"No, seriously. You're pale. And you barely touched your tea." Her eyes narrow. "When's the last time you ate properly?"
"This morning." A lie. I couldn't keep down breakfast.
She studies me for a long moment. Then her expression changes. "Val. When was your last period?"
My stomach drops. "What?"
"Your period. When was it?"
"I—I don't remember. Things have been chaotic—"
“Valerie Novak?"
I can't meet her eyes. "Two weeks ago. Maybe three."
"Maybe three." She repeats it slowly. "And you're nauseous. Exhausted. Emotional. Val, I think you are—"
"Don't." I cut her off. "Don't say it."
"You need to take a test."
"I can't—"
"You have to." Her voice softens. "You need to know. You can’t ignore it."
Tears burn my eyes. "Tash, if I am—if this is real—it'll destroy everything. Lev barely trusts me. We're just starting to rebuild. And now I'm supposed to tell him I'm pregnant?”
"Or maybe it's exactly what you both need."
"How?" The word comes out broken. "How is this anything except another disaster? He'll think I did it on purpose. Trapped him. Used a baby to secure my place here."
"Did you?"
"No! God, no. I didn't—we've been careful—he got me birth control—"
"Which fails sometimes." She reaches for my hand. "Val, you need to know. And then you need to tell him. Before he finds out another way."
"I can't. Not yet. Not with Patrick still out there. Not with everything so fragile between us."
"The longer you wait, the worse it gets."
I know she's right. Know that hiding this will only make it worse when it inevitably comes out.
But I'm terrified.
Terrified of Lev's reaction. Of seeing anything but excitement in his eyes.
"I'll take a test," I say finally. "But I need time before I tell him. Just... a few days.”
Tash doesn't look convinced but nods. "A few days. But Val? Don't wait too long. Secrets have a way of coming out at the worst possible moments."
It’s been a week, and Tash is back for our usual visit, bringing along three pregnancy test strips.
I promise her I’d use them, and after she leaves, I keep to my word. Lock myself in my old bathroom, and pee on all three.
Then I wait.
Two minutes that feel like two hours.
When I finally look, my hands are shaking so badly I can barely read the results.
Positive.
All three.
I sink to the floor, tests clutched in my hands, and try to process this new reality.
I'm pregnant with Lev Volkov's baby.
The man who murdered people before breakfast. Who rules an empire built on violence. Who barely trusts me despite loving me.
Who lost his infant son to the same man now hunting us.
A sob tears from my throat before I can stop it.
This should be happy news. Joyful. A baby is supposed to be a blessing, something to celebrate.
But all I feel is terror.
Terror that Lev will reject us both. That this will be too much for him to handle. That I'll watch him shut down, pull away, retreat behind walls I'll never penetrate again.
Terror that Patrick will find out. Use this against us. Target me specifically because I'm carrying Lev's child.
Terror that I'll lose this baby the same way Lev lost Dmitri. That history will repeat and destroy us both.
I hide the tests in my purse. Clean my face. Try to compose myself before heading back upstairs.
But the nausea hits again, and I'm bent over the toilet for the fourth time today.
Lev notices something's wrong that night.
I'm picking at dinner—can't stomach the smell of the chicken Elena prepared—when he sets down his fork and studies me.
"You're not eating."
"Not very hungry." I push food around my plate.
"You haven't been hungry for three days." His eyes narrow. "Are you sick?"
"Just a stomach bug. It'll pass."
"You're sure?"
"Yes." The lie tastes like ash. "I'm sure."
He doesn't believe me. I can see it in the way he watches me for the rest of the meal. The way his eyes track my movements when I excuse myself early, claiming exhaustion.
In bed that night, he pulls me close. "Talk to me."
"About what?"
"Whatever you're hiding." His hand strokes through my hair. "You're distant. Distracted. Something's wrong."
"I'm just tired—"
"Valerie." He tilts my face up. "No more secrets. Remember? We agreed."
Guilt crashes over me. "I know. I just—I need a few more days. To figure out how to say it. It's not—I'm not betraying you. I promise. I just need time."
His jaw clenches. "Time for what?"
"To find the right words." I press closer. "Please, Lev. Trust me. Just a few more days and I'll tell you everything. I just need to figure out how."
He's silent for a long moment. I can feel the war happening inside him—the instinct to demand answers warring with the tentative trust we've been rebuilding.
"Three days." His voice is hard. "You have three days to tell me whatever this is. After that, no more patience. Understand?"
"Yes." Relief floods through me. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me." He pulls me tighter. "Just don't make me regret giving you time. Because if this turns out to be another betrayal, another lie—"
"It's not. I swear it's not."
He doesn't respond. Just holds me in the dark while I try not to think about the life growing inside me.
The baby that could either heal us or destroy us completely.
The next morning, I'm in Mila's room braiding her hair when the nausea hits again.
I barely make it to her bathroom before I'm vomiting. Again.
"Valerie?" Mila's small voice from the doorway. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, sweetheart." I flush, rinse my mouth. "Just a little sick."
"You've been sick a lot lately." She tilts her head. "Maybe you need a doctor."
"Maybe." I pull her into a hug. "Don't worry about me. I'm okay."
But she looks worried anyway. Too perceptive for a seven-year-old.
God, please make Lev accept this pregnancy with joy, because the alternative would break me.