Page 26 of Pregnant By the Bratva

“What about my child?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

I freeze, the blood draining from my face. He knows. The realization hits me like a freight train. He knows about the pregnancy, about the secret I’ve been desperately trying to keep. My mind races, searching for an explanation, a way to diffuse the situation, but the truth is out, and there’s no hiding from it now.

Before I can speak, his hand moves up to my neck, his grip firm but not painful—at least not yet. He tilts my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes, and I can see the fury simmering just beneath the surface. “Were you going to get rid of it?” he growls, his voice thick with accusation. “Get rid of my blood?”

“No!” I snap, my voice trembling but defiant. “I wasn’t planning on getting rid of it.”

His grip tightens slightly, his eyes narrowing further as he processes my words. I can see the conflict in his expression—the possessiveness warring with something deeper, something almost vulnerable. But the fury wins out, and his hand shifts from my neck to my hair, gripping it with just enough force to make me gasp.

“You’re mine, Sarah,” he snarls, his breath hot against my skin. “I’m not letting you go. You think you can run from me, take my child, and disappear? You’re a fool if you believe I’d ever allow that.”

His words send a jolt of fear and frustration through me, but beneath it all, there’s that damn pull, that undeniable attraction that keeps me tethered to him, no matter how much I want to escape. His hand moves down my body, brushing over my breasts, my stomach, before slipping between my thighs. I gasp, my body betraying me as heat pools low in my belly.

“Ivan,” I whisper, a mix of protest and need, but he’s relentless, his fingers working me with a skill that leaves me breathless.

“You’re mine,” he repeats, his voice a growl as he leans in, his lips brushing against my ear. “I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

I shudder at his words, my body responding to his touch despite the turmoil raging in my mind. His fingers delve deeper, finding the spot that makes me see stars, but just as I’m teetering on the edge, he stops, pulling his hand away with a wicked grin.

“Wait for the wedding night,” he whispers, his voice dripping with dark promise. “I want you to be desperate for me when the time comes.”

“Wedding?” I echo, my mind struggling to keep up with the sudden shift. My heart hammers in my chest as I pull back slightly, searching his eyes for answers. “What are you talking about?”

Ivan’s grin widens, a dangerous, possessive glint in his eyes. “You’re carrying my child, Sarah. You think I’m going to let you walk away now? No, this isn’t up for negotiation. You’re going to marry me, and you’re going to stay by my side where you belong.”

Panic floods my system, my heart racing as his words sink in. Marry him? The thought sends a wave of fear crashing over me. I can’t be tied to him like this, bound to a life of crime, violence, and darkness. I want to escape, to raise my child far away from this nightmare, but Ivan’s grip on me is unyielding.

“Ivan, you can’t—” I start, but he cuts me off with a finger pressed to my lips, his expression turning dark and possessive.

“I can,” he says softly, his voice laced with the kind of authority that leaves no room for argument. “And I will. You’re mine, Sarah, and I don’t share what’s mine. Not with anyone. Not with the world. Not even with the idea of a life without me.”

I stare at him, my mind spinning, trying to reconcile the man I’ve come to crave with the life I’ve always wanted to escape. The two don’t mix, can’t mix, and yet here I am, caught between them, with no clear way out.

His hands return to my body, his touch firm but undeniably arousing. Despite my inner turmoil, I can’t help the way my body responds to him, the way my pulse quickens and heat blooms under his touch. It’s maddening, this pull he has over me, this ability to make me want him even when every rational part of me is screaming to run.

Ivan leans in closer, his breath hot against my skin as he whispers, “You think you can leave me and find someone else? Do you really believe there’s anyone out there who could touch you after I’ve had you? I’ve ruined you for anyone else, Sarah. You’re mine, and I’m going to make sure you remember that every single day.”

I feel his words sink into me, a mix of dread and undeniable attraction. I hate the situation, hate the way he controls me, the way he dictates my life. I can’t deny the truth in his words. No one has ever made me feel the way Ivan does, with his rough edges, his dark promises, and the way he ignites something deep and primal inside me.

I try to find the strength to pull away, to fight against the inevitability of what he’s saying, but it’s like fighting against a tidal wave. Ivan’s grip on me is too strong, his presence too overwhelming. And when he finally lets go, stepping back with adark, satisfied smirk, I’m left trembling, both from fear and from the unfulfilled desire he’s left burning in my veins.

“This isn’t over, Sarah,” he says, his voice low and filled with promise. “Not by a long shot. You’ll come to see that this is where you belong—with me, by my side, as my wife. When that day comes, you’ll thank me for it.”

Chapter Fifteen

Ivan

I stand at the altar, the weight of tradition and expectation heavy on my shoulders as I look at Sarah, my bride, soon to be the mother of my child. She stands before me in the dimly lit church, her expression a mixture of defiance and resignation. The vows have been exchanged, the formalities completed, and now, the final seal on this union—a kiss that binds us in front of everyone, making her mine in every conceivable way.

The priest nods toward me, signaling that it’s time. I step closer, taking in the sight of her. She’s beautiful, no doubt about that—dressed in white, with her bright blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, her green eyes sharp and wary. It’s her expression that cuts deeper than anything else. There’s no joy in her gaze, no happiness. Only a quiet acceptance of the reality she can’t escape.

Sarah didn’t want this marriage. She made that clear from the beginning. She resisted, fought against it with everything she had, claiming she couldn’t accept this life, this union, but what she wanted never mattered. There was nothing for her to accept—this is her fate.

In our world, Bratva men don’t have bastards. Children born out of wedlock are a weakness, a crack in the armor that others can exploit. My child will not be a bastard. My child will be legitimate, a Sharov, born into power and fear, just as it should be.

I take a moment to admire Sarah as she stands before me in her wedding dress. The fabric clings to her figure in all theright places, the white of the dress stark against her fair hair. Her beauty is undeniable, even if her eyes betray the reluctance she feels about this union. She looks good in white, pure, even though there’s nothing pure about the world we live in.

The church is silent, filled with a few trusted men, those who needed to be here. The priest is not one of us, but he’s someone we trust—someone who understands the weight of the vows being spoken today, even if he’s not a part of our world. He stands before us, somber, as the ceremony unfolds.

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