Page 8 of Pregnant By the Bratva

Maxim chuckles, a low, knowing sound. “I won’t.”

With that, he finally exits, the door closing softly behind him. The office falls into silence, the air still heavy with the weight of our conversation. I exhale slowly, letting the tensionease out of my shoulders as I turn my attention back to the photograph on my desk.

Sophia Preston. I study her face again, noting the delicate features, the way her blonde hair frames her face perfectly. There’s no denying that she’s beautiful, the kind of beauty that could easily turn heads, distract a man if he wasn’t careful. I can see why Maxim made his comments—she’s certainly not what you’d expect from the daughter of a Mafia boss.

As I look closer, something in her expression catches my attention. It’s the smile—bright and seemingly carefree, but there’s something off about it. It looks forced, almost sarcastic, as if she’s mocking the very idea of happiness.

I know that look. I’ve seen it on too many faces, on too many women who’ve had to pretend, who’ve had to play a part to survive. It’s the smile of someone who’s holding back, hiding something behind a mask of contentment.

Sophia Preston is just a piece on the board, a means to an end. Something tells me she’s not going to make this easy. If anything, she might just be the most interesting challenge I’ve faced in a long time. And when the time comes, I’ll be ready to turn that smile into something real—something that reflects the reality she’s about to face.

Chapter Four

Sarah

As I sit in the exam hall, my mind drifts away from the easy questions in front of me. The answers come almost automatically, my pen moving on its own as I fill in the blanks, circle the right choices, and jot down solutions. It’s all too simple—almost laughably so—but I force myself to stay focused. Still, my thoughts keep slipping back to Vancouver.

Sophia and I have been talking about the trip all morning, and I can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement every time I think about it. For once, I’ll get a break from work, from the constant tension that comes with living in Kace Preston’s shadow. It’ll be just the two of us, away from the chaos of New York and everything that comes with it. The idea of leaving it all behind, even if just for a little while, is too tempting to resist.

Vancouver. The name itself sounds like an escape, a place where the weight of our lives won’t press down so heavily on our shoulders. I picture us exploring the city, maybe even getting lost in it, with no one to answer to but ourselves. It’s a rare opportunity for someone like me—freedom, however fleeting.

The next question is straightforward, asking for the definition of moral relativism. I write out the textbook answer quickly, the words flowing easily from my pen. My thoughts, however, are miles away, imagining the freedom of being in a city where no one knows who I am—or who I’m pretending to be. A place where I can just be myself, without the pressure of living up to the expectations that come with the Preston name.

Then there’s a case study on ethical dilemmas. I approach it methodically, analyzing the scenario and outlining the possible moral conflicts. My pen moves almost on autopilot, the answers coming naturally, but my mind is only half-present. I’m already thinking about what to pack for the trip, what it will feel like to finally breathe easy, even if just for a few days.

I’m halfway through the exam when I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of my pen. The green of my eyes stares back at me, and my heart skips a beat. I forgot my brown contacts this morning. How could I have been so careless? I force myself to stay calm, to keep writing as if nothing is wrong. Maybe no one will notice. Maybe they won’t care. The thought gnaws at me, making it hard to concentrate.

I finish the exam with plenty of time to spare, going over my answers one last time to make sure everything is perfect. I can’t afford any mistakes—not now, not when I’m so close to getting out of here. I gather my things and stand, making my way to the front of the room. The test monitor takes my paper without comment, and I offer a polite smile before turning to leave.

The hall outside is quieter than usual, and I relish the brief moment of peace as I head toward the exit, my thoughts already on the trip. I’m halfway down the corridor when I hear someone call out behind me.

“Miss Preston?”

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. For a split second, I panic, my mind racing through a thousand possibilities. Did I forget something? Make a mistake? Worse—did someone figure out I’m not really Sophia? I turn slowly to face the voice, forcing a calm expression onto my face.

It’s one of the professor’s assistants, a young man with glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He looks slightly nervous, and that does nothing to calm the anxiety bubbling up inside me.

“The dean would like to see you,” he says, gesturing toward the administration office. “He requested an audience with you after your exam.”

I nod, keeping my expression neutral even though my mind is reeling. Why would the dean want to see me?

“Of course,” I reply, my voice steady despite the unease twisting in my gut.

As I follow him down the corridor, I can’t stop my mind from racing.

We reach the administration office, and the assistant knocks on the dean’s door. I stand there, trying to keep my breathing steady, even as anxiety claws at the edges of my calm.

The door opens slightly, revealing a sliver of the dean’s office. The assistant steps back, gesturing for me to enter.

“Miss Preston,” he says with a nod, “go in; the dean is expecting you.”

I take a deep breath, trying to quell the rising unease. Stepping inside, I’m struck by the quiet of the room. The office is neat and orderly, with shelves lined with academic awards and books, the large mahogany desk at the center dominating the space. Something feels off—there’s no one here.

I glance around, confused. The room is empty, the usual signs of occupancy absent. My eyes flicker to the desk, wherepapers lie undisturbed, as if untouched for hours. The silence is unsettling, wrapping around me like a cold shroud.

“Dean?” I call out softly, taking a cautious step further into the room. My voice seems to echo in the stillness, unanswered.

Before I can make sense of the situation, the door behind me swings open. I spin around, my heart leaping into my throat. Three men stride into the office, their presence immediately overwhelming the small space. The first two are broad-shouldered, with hard faces that speak of a life spent on the wrong side of the law. It’s the third man who catches my attention—there’s something about him, something that exudes danger and control.

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