Chapter 18 #2
He didn't give me time to think. He stayed close, careful with his weight, keeping his movements controlled, almost gentle, but the possessiveness never left his hands. He held me like if he loosened his grip for even a second, someone would steal me.
And maybe they would.
Or maybe he'd already pushed me away himself.
The thought should've iced me over. It didn't. Not with him right there, breathing against my throat, whispering filthy praise like it was the truest thing he'd ever said.
"That's it," he murmured. "Let go again. For me. Just like that."
I did.
It ripped through me, and I cried out, head tipping back, body tightening around the feeling until it left me shaking.
Kiryan swore, his breath coming fast now, control finally slipping. He pressed his mouth to mine, swallowed my sounds, and drove himself over the edge with a rough groan, holding me so tight it bordered on bruising.
When it was done, he stayed there, chest heaving against mine, his face buried in my neck like he needed the anchor.
We didn't speak.
Our breathing still hadn't settled, and the only sound left in the room was rain tapping at the window.
I stared at the hand he'd left resting on my stomach. Just skin between us. Just a thin layer hiding his child.
Say it now, I ordered myself. Tell him.
"Kiryan."
"What?" His lips brushed the back of my neck, his voice hoarse from after.
I covered his hand with mine.
"I went to the hospital today."
His body tightened instantly. "What's wrong?"
The worry hit too fast, too real. My eyes burned, and for a second I almost let the secret spill.
Then Isabella's moan flashed through my head again.
If I tell him, will he stay because of the baby?
Or will he treat it like a family obligation, assign me doctors and guards, then still spend his nights with another woman?
I don't want to bargain with my child for his responsibility.
I don't want my baby to be a chain in a marriage that already feels like a cage.
"It's just my stomach," I said at last. "The doctor says it isn't serious."
Kiryan rolled me over to face him.
"You went alone?"
"Yes."
His brows drew together, clearly pissed. "Next time you tell me."
"Would you even answer the phone?"
The air went still for one beat. His fingers skimmed my cheek.
"I will from now on," he said, and then he pulled me in tighter, his chin resting on the top of my head.
That feeling of leaning on each other, of being held like I mattered, hit me so hard I almost broke. Something I'd built up to protect myself loosened, just a little.
"Kiryan," I said, the words finally rising up, unstoppable. "The doctor told me today I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant with our baby."
No answer.
My stomach dropped. Does he not want a child? Or does he just not want mine?
"Kiryan?" I pulled back from his arms and looked at him.
His eyes were shut. The crease between his brows was still there, sharp as ever. He was... asleep?
Even asleep, he stayed possessive, dragging me back against him and locking me there.
Maybe I can tell him tomorrow.
When I woke the next morning, the other side of the bed was empty.
Gray-white morning light leaked through a crack in the curtains.
I reached out and touched the sheets beside me. Cold. No warmth left. If my thighs hadn't still ached, I might've believed last night had been some desperate dream my mind made up to survive.
Kiryan really had left early. No note. No words. The little bud of hope that had started to grow in me went cold with him.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Isabella's name lit up the screen. No small talk. Just one line.
I thought you had a right to know the truth.
Three attachments sat beneath it.
A recording. A divorce agreement. An early pregnancy ultrasound report with Isabella's name on it.
My fingers froze over the screen.
I opened the recording first. A brief hiss of static, then Kiryan's voice came through the speaker. Low. Controlled. None of the rough warmth from last night.
"I will divorce Elena."
My breath stopped.
Two seconds of silence in the recording, then his voice again.
"Isabella, I will marry you. Our child will have a complete family."
The audio ended. The room fell quiet again.
I played it again. Same voice. Same words. I'd heard Kiryan give orders. I'd heard him threaten enemies. I'd heard him in my ear, harsh and blunt, admitting I drove him crazy. I knew his pauses. I knew how low he dropped his voice when he decided something.
The man in the recording is him. At least, I can't find a single reason convincing enough to tell myself it isn't.
I opened the second attachment.
The divorce terms were calm, almost generous. Property. Cash. Trusts. Numbers big enough that I'd never have to worry about money again for the rest of my life. He was willing to give me everything.
Except himself.
The husband's signature read Kiryan Morozov. Clean strokes. Strong. Exactly like the way he signs documents in his study. I stared at the familiar handwriting until my eyes started to ache.
The last attachment was a black-and-white early ultrasound image. Isabella's name was printed at the bottom, along with the date from early this morning. The diagnosis line said early pregnancy, follow-up required.
She was pregnant too. Kiryan's child.
Those two facts finally answered every question I'd been choking on since last night. He hadn't come back because he loved me. He'd come back to finish a goodbye.
My chest hurt in waves. Kiryan's marks still stained my neck and collarbone, proof of just how stupid I'd been.
"Elena?"
Olga pushed the door open, breakfast on a tray in her hands. The second she saw my face, she set it down on the nightstand.
"What happened?"
I tried to say nothing. My lips moved, but no sound came out.
Olga sat on the edge of the bed. She only needed one glance at my phone screen. Her face changed instantly.
"That bastard." Her fingers visibly shook. "Isabella is pregnant?"
I nodded, hollow. I'd still been planning to tell Kiryan I was pregnant, and he already had the woman who fits his life better, carrying his child.
"I'm calling Kiryan," Olga said, turning away.
"Don't." I grabbed her arm.
"He needs to come back and explain."
"He already explained," I said, pulling up the divorce agreement and handing it to her. "He signed it."
Olga stared at the signature, her brow tightening.
"Wait until he comes back," she said. "At least ask him to his face once."
"And then what?"
That stopped her.
"If he says the recording is real, do I really need to hear him throw me out in person? If he denies it, do I have to do this again, like always, and watch him choose between me and Isabella?"
My voice sounded calm, so calm it scared even me.
"He's already chosen. A hundred times, Olga."
At the birthday banquet, he'd chosen to soothe Isabella. When the photos surfaced, he'd chosen to explain things for Isabella.
Now they had a baby. A man and a woman who were always supposed to end up married finally had the perfect reason to go back to each other. From the start, I'd been the wrong piece forced into the wrong place.
"I'm always the extra one," I whispered, like I was talking in my sleep. "The one left behind."
Olga crouched in front of me and took my hands.
"Baby, you're not extra." Her voice turned firm, almost fierce.
I tried to smile. "Thank you."
Her eyes turned red, and she squeezed tighter. "Then stay. This is your home too."
Home. The word nearly shattered me.
I'd never truly had one. My father's house belonged to him and Isabella. After the wedding, this manor belonged to Kiryan. I was just allowed to live here. The second the owner changed his mind, I was supposed to go.
"I can't wait around for him to marry her and toss me out."
Olga closed her eyes for a moment. She looked like she wanted to fight me on it, but in the end she didn't. She stood, walked to the closet, and pulled out a suitcase for me.
"Where are you going to go?"
"I don't know."
My father wouldn't welcome me back. Once he found out I'd been divorced, he'd probably calculate the damage to the family first, then ask why I couldn't hold on to my husband.
But New York is big. I can paint. I have hands, and I have a little money of my own. I can rent a small apartment, find work teaching kids to draw, or take my pieces to galleries.
I can take care of my baby.
I didn't have much. The two of us packed fast.
A few clothes. My art supplies. Sketchbooks. And that hospital report I'd hidden away. Olga tried more than once to shove jewelry into the suitcase, and I pulled it back out every time.
Finally, I sat at the desk and opened the divorce agreement again.
At the bottom of the digital file, the signature line waited.
I printed the whole thing, flipped to the last page, and picked up a pen. When the tip hovered over the paper, my hand shook so badly I could barely hold it.
I thought about the wedding day. The dress hadn't fit right, squeezing the air out of me. The ring had stuck at my knuckle. Kiryan had stood in front of me, his expression cold, like he was signing a contract that meant nothing.
Later, he'd promised to get me a ring that actually fit.
I'd been stupid enough to hope. To wait for the day he slid a ring onto my finger that was truly mine. To wait for him to admit that inside this wrong marriage, something had started to feel less wrong.
But I don't need it anymore.
I signed the divorce papers.
Elena Rossi.
The last stroke fell like a blade through a canvas that would never be repaired.
Olga stood beside me, eyes wet. "You can still change your mind."
I shook my head. Every time I change my mind, it drags me back to the same ending.
This time, I choose myself.