Chapter 31
LYRA
“Ms. Thibodeaux, your vitals are stable. No concussion, no injuries from the incident.”
It’s a relief to hear. I sit back on the examination table, my eyes adjusting to the fluorescent white lights.
“What happened? I was feeling a little sick before the event. Did I pass out? Was it nerves?”
Dr. Reeves is a calm woman in her forties. She has gentle eyes and a warm smile as she stands at the foot of my bed in a private room on the third floor. Julian’s doing, no doubt.
The room is nice. I’ll take it after what happened.
“Specifically, you fainted due to a combination of acute stress and low blood pressure—a common cause of passing out.”
“Okay, so nothing too serious?”
Her expression changes in a way that lets me know that there is, in fact, something serious. My blood runs cold.
“Well, your blood work flagged something we need to discuss.”
I shift in my seat.
“Flagged something.”
“Yes. Your hCG levels are elevated.” She pauses, watching my face for a reaction. “Ms. Thibodeaux, you’re pregnant, approximately six weeks.”
Everything stops. The hum of the fluorescent lights, the beep of the monitor, the bustle of staff moving around in the hallway outside my door.
It all just… stops.
Six weeks. I do the math. Six weeks ago I was in my apartment in Astoria with Julian Volkov in my bed, his mouth on my skin, his hands on every part of me and—
“Ms. Thibodeaux? Do you need a moment?”
“Yes.” The word comes out flat, my voice sounding like it’s being spoken by someone other than me. “Several moments, maybe a year—or two.”
Dr. Reeves offers a small, professional smile.
“I understand that this may be unexpected. And we can discuss your options whenever you’re ready.
For now, though, I recommend rest, hydration, and a follow-up with an OB-GYN within the next two weeks.
I know this is sudden and unexpected, but do you have any questions? ”
“No. No, I don’t think so.” My mind is totally blank, devoid of any thoughts, let alone intelligent questions about my situation.
“Alright. Feel free to ask if anything comes to mind. For now, I’ll give you some privacy.”
With that, she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her.
Once I’m alone with my thoughts, I realize that she didn’t congratulate me. I’m not mad at her for it—she most certainly noticed that my own reaction was measured, that I might not have considered it something to be congratulated about.
I sit there, staring off into space.
I’m pregnant with Julian Volkov’s baby. The baby of a Bratva heir.
I’m carrying the child of a man whose enemies just opened fire on a party with 300 guests, a man whose name alone is a target, a man who, by simply being in his world, has almost gotten me killed not once, but twice, over the last few weeks.
A man who can break fingers and faces in a dingy warehouse, then turn around and tie children’s shoes in an orphanage.
I press my hand flat against my stomach. Nothing feels different, though I suppose that nothing should this early. Six weeks is barely anything. But my hand stays where it is, the warmth of my belly against my palm feeling more real than it ever has before.
Then a thought occurs to me: I can’t stay here.
It’s sudden and panicked, only half formed in my mind, but it’s there and it’s urgent. I can’t stay here in this hospital, in his world, in his orbit. I have to go. Every day I spend around Julian is a day closer to the next bullet, and the next one might not miss me.
It’s not just me anymore. There’s someone else in the equation now, someone else at risk.
I look around the room and listen for any noise outside the door.
Then I gently pull the pulse ox clip off my finger before swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
My midnight-blue dress is draped over the chair in the corner.
I slip out of the hospital gown and pull it on.
Next, I slip into my shoes before grabbing my handbag from where it rests on the counter.
I quietly slip out into the hallway. My dress isn’t exactly stealth-friendly, but thankfully there’s barely anyone around. I know Julian is in the hospital somewhere. He’s probably with Ethan, planning his next move in a war that threatens to consume not just me, but the baby that I now carry.
Baby. The word is still too surreal, too strange to stay in my mind for long. I push it all aside and head down the hallway.
As I walk, I consider what I’m doing. I’m not sure it’s the right decision. I just know that I need space to think before I tell Julian what’s going on, before he starts making plans to protect me in a way that feels like prison.
I hurry down the hall to the elevator. The janitor does a double-take—no doubt a woman in a ball gown wasn’t what he’d expected to see. But he doesn’t say a thing, doesn’t ask any questions.
I press the button, my heart pounding.
Julian is standing inside when the doors open. His expression is a blend of rage and sadness all at once.
He looks at me, his jaw working. He realizes what’s going on.
“Where are you going?”
“Julian—”
“Where. Are. You. Going.”
The elevator doors start to close but he puts his arm out, causing them to bounce back open. He steps into the hallway, the space between us shrinking into something suffocating and electric all at once.
“You’re leaving.” It’s not a question but a raw, clear assessment. “The doctors aren’t finished with you. But here you are, barefoot, carrying your shoes, ready to sneak out of the hospital without telling me.”
“I need—“
“You need to tell me what’s happening. Right now.”
I place my hand over my stomach. It’s a totally involuntary gesture, a protectiveness that I know is only going to grow as the pregnancy moves along. He watches me, watches where my hand comes to a rest.
Something crosses his face. Does he suspect?
“We need to talk,” I say. “Somewhere private.”
He looks at my face before glancing back to my hand on my stomach.
He nods. “My car is downstairs. Let’s go.”
We don’t say a single word on the way to the car or on the way home.