Page 22 of The Bratva King's Pregnant Bride

She looked like she was going to scream.

“Before you scream,” I said, “I found the door open—and that was after I knocked.”

She didn’t move. She just stood still, watching me with that same fear from a few days back.

While she processed my being here, I racked my mind, trying to decipher the cause of her abrupt and troubling illness.

Yes. The man she dreaded was before her. That look of fear in her eyes? It made my heart pound faster as excitement pulsed through my veins. It made me want to terrify her even more—show her why her fear was valid.

I wasn’t a good man—far from it. I was a man who saw what he wanted and did anything to get it. Even by using fear. I had no qualms using that now, either.

I moved closer, and she still didn’t move. Close enough, I noticed her red, tired eyes. Her skin had a paleness to it, and her shoulders slumped in weakness.

Suddenly, the stillness broke.

“What the hell are you doing here, Dominik?” Her voice was harsh and raw from too much obtrusive coughing.

Unfazed, my eyes traveled over her in concern. “What is making you sick?”

“That’s none of your business,” she snapped. “What are you doing here?”

I ignored the question. I looked around her apartment, searching, but not sure what I was looking for.

“I’ll call the police,” she warned. “Get out. Get out, now.”

She continued to rain threats on me, but I turned a deaf ear, till I was definitely oblivious to what she said because before me was a document, one written by a doctor. On it was the heading, ‘Discharge Instruction Sheet’ next to a hospital logo.

My heart skipped a beat. “You were in the hospital?”

She froze, her eyes drifting to a spot next to the paper I’d been examining.

I followed her gaze to the pregnancy test that had been carelessly left on the table next to the document, and I could see two lines—one of them faint but definitely present—a stark contrast to the sterile white plastic.

My world stopped. Everything went silent, stuck in a freeze frame. I didn’t realize I had moved toward her until I saw her eyes widen and heard her breath catch.

She darted over to the table and attempted to conceal the document, like I hadn’t seen it.

I gave her a look of unbelief. “What is this?” I asked, the lines of my face creased with anger. “What is this, Maya?”

She no longer voiced threats. What she wore now was regret. Possibly she regretted ever meeting me, which would be fair—or perhaps it was dismay at me finding out about the pregnancy… which was stupid, as it was her sole duty to call and let me know about it.

I slowly began to walk towards her. “Talk to me, Maya!”

For every step I took forward, she took one back, refusing to answer till her back was against the wall. I put both hands on her shoulders, pinning her against the wall, and asked her, “What the hell did I just see?”

I didn’t know what I was getting worked up about. For all I know, she wasn’t pregnant with my child. She didn’t portray the attitude of one who was promiscuous, but maybe she was promiscuous, only hid it well; if that was the case, she had fooled me.

Is the child mine? I don’t know if I said those words aloud, or if they were just a question asked in my head. I cleared my throat.

“Is it mine?” I asked.

Maya said nothing.

Like I said, I knew where everyone lived, and unbeknownst to Maya, she’d been followed wherever she went since not long after the night we met. I even had men keeping track of her conversations and chats, and to the best of my knowledge, she had not been with anyone else since we were together.

I didn’t want to tell her that I had breached her privacy; that could turn this around very quickly. So I kept that to myself, insisting to know if I was the father.

Finally, she nodded, and with a tremulous whisper, she said, “Yes.”

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