Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Vivienne
Day three of the cold war between Nikolai and me.
I'd locked myself in my room. The curtains were drawn tight, and only that dim reading lamp at the bedside burned day and night, blurring the line between dawn and dusk.
My laptop sat open on the bed, the half-finished chapter glowing on the screen. The cursor had been blinking in that same empty space for three days. I hadn't typed a single word.
Mary had gone home on leave. Sophia said her grandmother was gravely ill—she needed to get back to Ireland for a few days. I'd nodded. Hell, I was relieved. At least I didn't have to face those eyes full of worry and curiosity.
The study? I wasn't going back there either.
That space that once felt safe and warm had turned into a cage dripping with irony. I couldn't sit in that chair anymore, couldn't pretend nothing had happened between us, couldn't pretend he hadn't trampled my trust in the most cold-blooded way possible.
As for Nikolai—
He hadn't come to me either.
It was like that night's fight had built a transparent but unbreakable wall between us. Neither of us would bend first. Both of us were waiting for the other to break.
But I knew he wouldn't break.
That man's dictionary had never included the word "compromise."
The new housekeeper who'd replaced Mary was named Natasha. She was a typical Eastern European woman with an unsmiling face, barely spoke, but worked with ruthless efficiency.
Every mealtime, she'd roll in the cart right on schedule. My appetite had been absolute shit these past few days. Looking at that elegant food was like staring at plastic props, but to keep from actually starving to death in this gilded cage, I forced myself to choke down a few bites.
A polite tap at the door, followed by Natasha's voice. "Ms. Cole, breakfast is ready."
I sat up in bed and threw on a knit cardigan.
"Come in."
"Good morning, Ms. Cole." Natasha wheeled in the cart. She set the tray on the nightstand and lifted the silver warming dome. "Today's breakfast is French toast, bacon, scrambled eggs, and fresh orange juice."
The second that lid came off, a thick wave of butter and fried bacon hit my nostrils. Normally, this would be my favorite American breakfast, but today that smell was like a fist to the gut.
My stomach lurched violently. Acid surged up my throat.
"Ugh—"
I clapped my hand over my mouth and bolted for the bathroom, not even bothering with slippers. I barely made it to the toilet before everything came up.
My stomach convulsed wildly until I'd purged every pathetic scrap of last night's dinner along with bitter bile. I collapsed onto the cold tile, gasping for air.
I dragged myself up using the sink, splashed cold water on my face, and looked up to see that paper-white woman in the mirror.
That's when I saw Natasha in the reflection, standing in the bathroom doorway.
She'd followed me in at some point. She held a glass of warm water, her face professionally calm.
"Drink some water, Ms. Cole." She stepped forward, offering the glass.
"Thanks." I took it, rinsed my mouth, trying to hide how wrecked I looked. "I probably... didn't sleep well last night. Or maybe last night's dinner was off. My stomach's protesting."
Natasha didn't take the bait. Those gray-blue eyes studied me with perfect calm. "Ms. Cole, I used to work for several wives in Moscow. I've seen your symptoms many times before."
My fingers clenched. The glass almost slipped from my grip.
"I told you, I just didn't sleep well." I turned away, voice hard. "You can go now."
Natasha didn't say another word. Didn't even look curious. She just bowed her head slightly. "Of course. I'll have the kitchen prepare something lighter for you."
After she left, I stared at the edge of the sink, knuckles white from gripping it.
No. Not possible.
I closed my eyes, frantically calculating dates. So much had happened lately—deadlines, assassination attempts, bugs... My period was late, sure, but I'd assumed that was from stress and anxiety.
And we'd been reckless every single time. Especially at that underground fight. On that rusted locker. He hadn't used protection at all.
God.
No.
Please don't let it be what I'm thinking.
That afternoon, I couldn't take the suffocating atmosphere anymore. I had to get out, breathe. The air in this room was going to drive me insane.
I changed into casual clothes and headed downstairs.
At the first-floor landing, I ran into Sasha on his way out. He wore his signature black suit, the scrape on his brow now scabbed over. He looked exhausted, like he'd been pulling double shifts, but when he saw me, he stopped immediately, alert.
"Ms. Cole." He nodded slightly.
I stood on the steps, fingers digging into the wooden banister, trying to sound casual. "Things still not settled out there?"
Sasha was silent for a beat. Those all-seeing eyes swept across my face before he answered in that flat tone. "There's a lot going on. The Marchetti family's counterattack has been more vicious than expected. Pakhan's been extremely busy... He hasn't slept in days."
My heart clenched involuntarily.
I couldn't help picturing him—was he sitting in that study all night again? Was he forgetting to eat?
"Got it." My response came out cold. I shoved down that damn, ill-timed ache in my chest.
The mood for a walk was gone. I turned and went back upstairs.
Back in my room, I threw myself onto the plush bed.
Wake up, Vivienne! You're worried about that cold bastard? Does anyone worry about you, practically a prisoner here?
Maybe he's already forgotten you completely, drowning in his gang war.
I exhaled deeply and buried my face in the pillow.
So now, I had to confirm one thing.
At least before I couldn't hide it anymore.
I sat up and grabbed that damned phone with its maximum-authority spyware. My finger hovered over the screen for a long time before I finally opened the browser and typed those words that made my palms sweat: nausea, vomiting, fatigue, missed period.
The search engine instantly spat out thousands of results. Every bolded headline screamed at my denial.
"Typical Early Pregnancy Symptoms"
"Ten Signs You Might Be Pregnant"
I slammed the phone face-down on the mattress, cutting off the light. I lay flat like a corpse, staring at the vintage patterns on the ceiling.
My mind was chaos. Now? At this exact moment? Right after discovering I'm just a pet under surveillance, right when we're at our coldest, right when assassins could turn us into street meat any second?
A child carrying the Bratva Pakhan's genes?
The answer was already there, screaming at me, but I didn't dare confirm it. Because that would mean being locked forever in this blood-soaked world with zero chance of escape.
But this suspended terror was worse than facing the truth.
I bolted upright.
I couldn't just sit here like an idiot waiting to die. I had to know.
I walked straight to the door and yanked it open, addressing the guards in the hallway coldly. "I'm going out. Shopping."
The two mountain-sized Bratva members exchanged glances. One spoke reluctantly. "Ms. Cole, it's very dangerous out there right now. Pakhan issued the highest level protection order. For your safety—"
"Am I your prisoner here?" I cut him off, chin up. "I need to buy personal items. If you think it's unsafe, bring more people. Or call Nikolai right now and ask if he plans to lock me in this room for the rest of my life!"
The guard was taken aback by my tone. He hesitated, then stepped aside and pressed his earpiece.
Two minutes later, he turned back and bowed respectfully. "Ms. Cole, the car is ready. We'll escort you the entire way."
Nikolai had agreed.
I felt no victory. Just grabbed my bag and followed them out, expressionless.
Four armored SUVs formed an absurdly dramatic convoy to escort me to the city's most upscale shopping center. The guards surrounded me in a tight formation, watching everyone around us.
I swept through several luxury boutiques with a blank face, irritably picking through the season's new arrivals. When I passed a major drugstore chain, I walked in casually and grabbed a shopping basket.
The guards maintained their two-meter distance behind me.
I walked to the feminine products aisle and tossed several packs of pads into the basket.
Then, at the corner where the shelf created a brief surveillance blind spot, I moved with speed that surprised even me—snatched two different brands of pregnancy tests off the rack and shoved them under the pads at the bottom of the basket.
At checkout, I coldly swiped Nikolai's black card. Aside from the cashier who looked like she wanted to say something, no one saw what I'd bought.
Thank God.
Back at the estate, I immediately locked my bedroom door, grabbed that shopping bag, and rushed to the bathroom.
My hands shook as I tore open the packaging, followed all the instructions, and laid both plastic sticks flat on the counter.
The directions said to wait three minutes.
Those were absolutely the longest, most suffocating three minutes of my twenty-four years. I didn't dare look at the counter. Just pressed my back against the cold door, staring at the second hand on the wall clock, listening to my deafening heartbeat.
Time was up.
I took a deep breath. Felt like the air had been sucked from my lungs. Slowly, stiffly, I turned and let my eyes fall to the counter.
Two pregnancy tests. Two red lines. Stark. No room for misinterpretation.
My legs gave out. I slid down the door onto the cold tile.
My mind went blank. No sound, no thoughts. I just stared at those two lines like my soul had left my body.
I was pregnant. I was carrying Nikolai Volkov's child.
Right after discovering he'd been monitoring me, controlling me like some psycho. Right when we weren't speaking. Right now, a tiny life with Russian mob blood was growing inside me.
I don't know how long I sat there. Until two controlled knocks came at the door.
"Ms. Cole?" Natasha's voice carried subtle concern. "You've been in there a long time. Are you all right? Do you need help?"
I snapped back to reality and shot up like I'd been electrocuted.
"I'm fine!" I cleared my throat, trying to sound normal. "Don't worry about me."
"Of course, Ms. Cole." Her footsteps faded.
I stared at those tests on the counter. I couldn't let anyone find out. Absolutely not. Not now. If Nikolai found out I was pregnant, he'd lock me in this gilded cage even tighter. I'd become nothing but a breeding machine under constant surveillance, producing his heir.
I didn't think twice. Grabbed a massive wad of toilet paper and wrapped both tests in at least ten layers until they were completely unrecognizable, then buried them deep at the bottom of the trash can and covered them with used cotton pads.
After finishing, I walked out of the bathroom like nothing had happened and climbed back into that wide bed, burying myself under the covers.
I closed my eyes. But all I could see were those two stark red lines, Nikolai's savage bloodlust in that octagon, and his words: "In my world, survival always trumps your pathetic pride."
I lay in that silent estate with my eyes open until the sky outside turned pale with dawn.