Chapter 19 - Lily
Just like the chill I can’t shake, shame lingers on my skin.
The memory loops in my mind, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I want to crawl up and never look at Sergey or Mikhail ever again.
I threw up on his shoes in the middle of the lounge, right in front of everyone.
That mortification rolls through me again and again while I remain on the couch, trying my hardest not to make a big deal out of it. But I can’t help it.
My body gave out on me out of the blue. Never in my life have I ever done something like that.
And worst of all, I have no idea why it happened in the first place.
Dinner was nothing out of the ordinary, and sure, I was tired after my lab today, but not to the point of hurling randomly.
As much as I don’t want to feed into Mikhail’s obvious worry, I know something’s wrong. This isn’t normal for me at all.
With the blanket draped over my lap and my head leaning against the back of the couch, I still shake subtly. Then Mikhail walks into the dim room with a glass of water. He holds it out for me, waiting while I sit up slowly.
“The doctor should be here in five,” he says quietly, not subtle about the way he studies me closely, searching for anything out of place.
With a numb nod, I carefully sip the water. I don’t even have the energy to argue.
Despite being still, my heart races while I look down at the glass. I want to think that being sick is the worst-case scenario, but the possibility of the opposite being true scares me more.
Eventually, the doctor arrives at the house.
He’s an older man with tired eyes, but something about his demeanor is both professional and vaguely knowing, as if he has been working with the Lukovs for some kind.
I have the feeling his pockets have been lined with their money to keep him quiet for quite some time.
I don’t ask for his name, and according to them both, I don’t need to know it.
He murmurs about taking a look before he gets started, doing a standard check-over.
All the while, Mikhail hovers in the background, keeping a close eye on the situation while giving the doctor room to work. His eyes are sharp and attentive, but he doesn’t say much.
He’s trying to school his expression, but he can’t hide that concern. Not completely, anyway.
The doctor takes my vitals and asks about my symptoms, and as tired as I am, I try to answer honestly. My cheeks warm when I mention what happened at the lounge, and he nods thoughtfully.
Then, he pulls out a small plastic cup and holds it out. “I’m going to need a sample.”
My brows immediately furrow, becoming more animated for the first time since being sick. “What for?”
“To run a quick test just to rule out a few possibilities.”
My stomach drops, and I already know why.
Mikhail lifts a brow. “What test?”
“A pregnancy test just to be sure before we proceed. Nausea, dizziness, and fatigue…they’re all signs worth checking,” he says calmly as if the insinuation isn’t a life-changing one.
My stomach lurches, and I feel ready to be sick again, but I manage to hold it down.
“It’s routine,” he insists calmly, offering the cup to me again.
I know it is, but that doesn’t make it any easier to address.
Reluctantly, and with a touch of fear, I slowly get up from the couch with Mikhail’s help, then I take over and close myself in the bathroom. All the while, my heart pounds.
When I come back out again, both Mikhail and the doctor are waiting outside the room. Having left the sample on the counter, I feel him put a gentle hand on my arm to guide me back over to the couch. I don’t even look at him, not while tunnel vision sets in.
The doctor disappears into the bathroom with the test in hand, while every inch of my skin feels more sensitive than ever, while adrenaline moves through my system. The minutes pass, feeling like an eternity is going by.
Mikhail stands behind the couch, keeping a supportive hand on my shoulder. Surely, he can feel just how clammy I am. How deathly nervous I feel.
After a moment, the bathroom door opens, and the doctor returns to the room with a calm and controlled expression. The touch of seriousness in his tone makes my heart clench.
“We’ve found the culprit…it’s positive.”
At once, the air leaves my lungs, and I feel as Mikhail’s hold on my shoulder just barely tightens.
The room spins again, and I have to hold the couch beneath me to steady myself.
“You’re certain?” Mikhail asks, voice betraying a touch of surprise, if not disbelief.
“Yes, I’m sure. The hormone levels align with pregnancy,” the doctor says without a shadow of a doubt.
Pregnant.
With Mikhail’s baby.
Immediately, I can’t breathe. I blink through my stupor, struggling to feel anything other than shock as it ripples through me.
That word circles my mind for a painstaking amount of time, hitting me so hard that I could vomit again if it wasn’t for me emptying my stomach earlier.
Ignoring both Mikhail and the doctor, everything rushes through me at once.
The night at the club, then the warehouse.
When we came back to the penthouse after the fact.
Every instance. Every look and touch made me crumble.
I thought I could give in while keeping enough space between myself and his world.
But now that feels even farther from the truth.
I should’ve known better, but I was careless.
After being high on adrenaline with drinks in my system from dinner that night, my memory was somewhat hazy. I couldn’t remember with absolute certainty if we had used protection or not, and I was too angry with him later to even consider the obvious possibility.
I was hoping for the best, but it wasn’t enough. I should’ve done more.
Beyond that, I didn’t even want to entertain the idea. For some reason, everything surrounding Mikhail has seemed like nothing more than a fever dream, and in a way, the thought of becoming pregnant with his child feels much the same.
I can’t even acknowledge the fact. I don’t want to, and I don’t think I ever wanted to.
Before I can say anything, or even react with a proper response, I push myself up from the couch and stand on shaky legs.
I feel Mikhail’s gaze on me, but I barely meet his gaze. Even so, he seems stunned, but still composed. Not entirely unaffected, at least. “Lily…”
“Give me a minute,” I mumble, moving through the living room despite how I tremble faintly. “Please.”
To my surprise, he doesn’t stop me. Instead, he speaks with the doctor while I disappear.
With my knees pulled up to my chest, I sit on the master bed while my head spins and my heart aches.
This isn’t how things were supposed to happen…I wasn’t supposed to find myself in this position.
I’m supposed to finish school and become a doctor.
I’m supposed to live in my crappy apartment while I pay off what remains of my student loans until I can get into something nicer.
I’m supposed to help people in their time of need—help like the doctors tried to help my brother.
How they tried to help my parents before that, too.
I’m not supposed to be in some fancy penthouse being shuttled around by drivers and guards. I shouldn’t have a husband with criminal ties to the Bratva, of all things.
I’m sure as hell not supposed to be pregnant with his child.
Tears burn at the corners of my eyes before I can stop them, and my hands tremble.
Worst of all, the thought leaves me feeling conflicted.
I saw how he was with Ilya. How tender and caring he could be, and how he handled the situation with nothing but kindness for the boy.
It’s not that I don’t want a child…But I never signed up for this life.
Raising a child in constant tension and looming threats isn’t exactly ideal. Neither is being watched nor feeling trapped by the confines of Mikhail’s world. He calls it protection, but it terrified me.
And now, I’m more cemented to Mikhail than ever before.
The door eventually creaks open softly, and he steps into the room with quiet caution.
“I didn’t know,” he murmurs, approaching the bed but still giving me space. “I didn’t even think…”
“Me neither,” I say just above a whisper.
The room feels smaller with that disbelief and hesitation lingering between us, and I feel Mikhail’s gaze on me. I sense that he tries to choose his words carefully before speaking. His usual confidence seems to be on the back burner.
Then, he manages, “We’ll figure it out.”
It should be a comfort, but it only makes my heart tighten more. I glance at him, words coming out sounding bitter, “We? You say that like this is normal…like I should be happy.”
“You’re allowed to feel however you need to right now,” he says gently, far too caring. “But you’re not alone in this.”
“Whether I’m alone or not doesn’t matter,” I snap back, surprising even myself while feeling so drained. “I never wanted to be a part of this, Mikhail. I was never supposed to see this life, and now I’m tied to it. Tied to you.”
Mikhail stiffens just enough for something to move through his eyes—hurt, I assume. But he reins it back in.
“You’re my wife. You’ve been tied to me since we signed those papers.”
“And I didn’t have a choice in that either,” I mutter, well aware of how tense he is from my words.
Silence settles between us, feeling more painful than usual, and neither of us moves. It’s tense enough to drown in.
“I’m tired,” I whisper, looking away and finding it hard to even be near him. “Just…give me space. Please.”
Despite having every option to fight back against it and argue until he turns blue in the face, Mikhail just nods. Slowly, but decisively.
“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
For once, he listens and does as I ask. Without another word, he walks out and softly closes the door behind him.
The moment I’m alone, I curl up beneath the blankets and try to find solace in the pillows. But the pain of that discovery persists.
My hand moves to my stomach absently, feeling nothing out of the ordinary. No bump or sign of life outside of my own. But it’s still real, even if I can’t see it yet.
I don’t know what kind of mother I’ll be, and I sure as hell don’t know how I’m going to navigate this world with a child.
One born into a family of criminals with dangerous enemies.