Chapter 12
ASTRID
The cafeteria at Ivanov Holdings doesn’t feel like a cafeteria.
It’s floor-to-ceiling glass, concrete beams softened with matte-black accents and sleek pendant lighting.
If someone told me I’d walked into a design museum instead of a workplace lunchroom, I wouldn’t argue.
It’s like everything else at the Ivanov building—impressive, cold, and intimidating.
I’m not here to gawk, though. I’m here because if I don’t get something in my stomach soon, I’m going to pass out. Morning sickness is a bullshit term. This baby seems to think nausea is an all-day affair.
I bypass the heavier food options, though the smell of pasta with roasted garlic nearly breaks me. Instead, I go with herbal tea and a muffin—something starchy but safe. Settling into a table near the far corner, I keep my back to the wall, a habit I’ve picked up lately.
I take a sip of the tea and immediately wish I’d added honey. The warmth helps settle my stomach, but the unease remains. It’s not just the baby—though that’s a constant undercurrent now, a low thrum in my bones.
It’s the secret. Nobody here knows I’m pregnant. No one knows why I really took this job, either. I’m hiding everything behind a halfway decent poker face.
Again, like I seem to have been doing constantly since I learned I was pregnant, I press a hand against my belly, still flat beneath my blouse.
I want this baby. That much I’m sure of.
No matter what happened to my parents, no matter what the Ivanovs are hiding, I want to raise this child.
I want to build the kind of family I never had. Even if I have to do it alone.
Yuri’s face flickers through my thoughts—those sharp gray eyes, the way he looked at me during yesterday’s briefing like he could read everything I wasn’t saying.
And then there’s Tatiana.
I’ve seen the way she hovers outside his office, the way she speaks to him like she owns him. I don’t know if they’re sleeping together. I don’t even know if I care.
No. That’s a lie. I care too much. And it pisses me off.
I’m halfway through unwrapping my muffin when the unmistakable sound of stilettos strikes like gunshots on marble. I don’t have to look up to know who it is. Her perfume hits first, expensive and citrusy.
“Mind if I join you?” she asks as she slides into the seat across from me before I can answer.
I glance up from my tea, cautious. “Sure,” I say, my tone polite but thin.
She crosses her legs with practiced grace, setting her Yves Saint Laurent bag on the table with a soft thud, as if to draw my attention to it. “How are you settling into our humble workplace?”
“Fine, I suppose.”
She offers a prim smile, as if she doesn’t really care about the answer. “Well, when I heard they’d brought in a new girl, I wasn’t sure what to expect,” she says, voice warm and bright, almost too much so. “But you look different than I expected. So… casual.”
I lift my mug and take a slow sip. “It’s work, not a fashion show.”
“Mmm. Of course,” she says, eyes drifting over me like a stylist taking notes. “I suppose there’s more flexibility in the department you’re in. Not as much pressure to fit in. They kind of tuck you bean-counters away. Makes sense, I suppose.” She shrugs.
So that’s how this is going to go—she’s bullying me. I don’t take the bait.
She leans in just a touch, smile still frozen in place. “And isn’t it wonderful,” she continues, “when companies are more inclusive about body types now? Though I suppose it doesn’t matter when you’re in a job where no one needs to look at you.”
For a second, I debate launching my muffin at her surgically perfect face. Before I can decide how to dismantle her with words, a familiar voice cuts through the tension, smooth as polished steel.
“Careful, Tatiana.”
Tatiana turns at once. Yuri stands just behind her, perfectly poised with a coffee cup in hand. Those impossible, storm-gray eyes find me, lingering just long enough to make my breath hitch and my skin flush.
Tatiana laughs. It’s too light and forced, coming too quickly. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” she says, waving a manicured hand, her smile tightening at the edges. “You know how I get before my lunchtime espresso.”
Yuri doesn’t return the smile. He takes a quiet sip of coffee, then says evenly, “Astrid is part of this team. And I don’t have patience for high school antics—especially when they involve petty, immature cruelty.”
He doesn’t raise his voice, but the warning is unmistakable. Tatiana’s smile freezes.
“I should, um… check on a call,” Tatiana murmurs, standing up. “Client follow-up. Way overdue.”
“Yes, you should see to that,” Yuri says. “We can discuss the matter of an apology later.”
She spins and disappears faster than I would’ve believed possible in four-inch heels.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Yuri doesn’t move, doesn’t speak.
I meet his eyes, trying to keep my tone as level as possible. “Thanks. But I can handle myself.”
His lips twitch into a half-smile that’s sharper than it is warm. “That, I don’t doubt.”
For a moment, neither of us says anything.
He watches me for a beat longer before gently asking, “Are you alright?”
I shrug, forcing a lightness I don’t quite feel. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
Something in me stutters. I look down at my tea, unsure what to say. My heart is making a mess of things, and I can’t seem to pull my thoughts into any kind of order.
“I’ll see you back in the office.” Yuri walks away, his long strides effortless, his presence hanging in the air.
I stay where I am, fingers wrapped around my mug. It’s lukewarm, but I hold it anyway, like it might be able to tether me to something solid.
I remind myself I’m not here for him; I’m here to uncover the truth.
The café hums around me though nobody is paying me any attention. Tatiana’s gone, Yuri has folded back into the cold lines of his world. I’m just a woman at a table, holding a secret and trying to catch her breath.
I set my teacup down, fingers loosening. The weight of resolve settles in—soft, but sure.
Nothing to do but go back to work.