Page 21 of Knocked Up by the Bratva

“Sure you don’t,” she teases, but then her expression softens. “Seriously, though, what happened?”

I hesitate for a moment before letting out a sigh. “I don’t know. It’s just… he’s been on my mind. I can’t seem to shake it.”

Maeve grins. “That’s because you don’t want to shake it.”

“Maybe,” I admit, but it doesn’t change the fact that thinking about Timur only complicates things.

“I just don’t know what to do,” I finally admit, the words spilling out before I can stop them. Maeve looks at me, her expression softening as she notices the genuine worry etched across my face. We’re sitting on the couch, the weight of everything pressing down on me like a storm cloud that refuses to leave.

Maeve frowns. “What do you mean?”

I hesitate, swallowing hard, before whispering the words that have been haunting me. “I’m pregnant.”

Maeve’s eyes widen, and for a moment, she’s speechless. “What?” she finally blurts out, her voice a mix of surprise and concern. “Jennifer, are you serious?”

I nod, feeling the familiar knot in my stomach tighten. “Yeah… I found out a couple of weeks ago. I haven’t told anyone. Not even him.”

Maeve leans back against the couch, processing what I just told her. “You mean Timur?”

I nod again, biting my lip. “I don’t know if I should tell him. I mean, he has the right to know, doesn’t he? But at the same time… I don’t even know if I want him involved. He’s… complicated.”

Maeve shifts closer, taking my hand in hers. “This is huge, Jen. I can’t believe you’ve been going through this alone. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I guess I just didn’t want to deal with it. I didn’t want it to be real,” I confess, my voice small. “Timur… I don’t even know how he’d react. He’s not exactly the dad type, you know? He’s got his life, his business, and who knows what else.”

Maeve squeezes my hand gently. “I get it, but you can’t carry this on your own forever. It’s not fair to you or the baby. You need support, Jen. Whether you like it or not, Timur is part of that equation.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected, and I feel a lump form in my throat. “What if he doesn’t want anything to do with it? What if he just… walks away?”

Maeve gives me a determined look. “Then that’s on him. At least you’ll know you gave him the chance. You’re not doinganything wrong by telling him the truth. If he’s any kind of decent man, he’ll step up. You deserve to have someone by your side in this, Jen.”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of my decision press down on me even more.

I don’t know what to do.

Chapter Ten - Timur

I step into the boardroom at Empire City Estates, my eyes scanning the room. The familiar scent of polished wood and fresh coffee lingers in the air as I make my way to the head of the table. The CEO, along with Liam Russel and a few other top officials, are already seated, waiting for the meeting to begin. Russel stands when he sees me, eager to share the results of the latest marketing campaign.

“Mr. Sharov,” Russel starts, his tone enthusiastic. “The campaign was an enormous success. We’ve generated more leads in this past week than we did in the entire month prior. Miss Jewels’s strategy really hit the mark.”

I nod, pleased. “Good. I want to see the numbers.”

As Russel pulls up a report on the screen, I glance around the room. “Where is Miss Jewels?” I ask. It’s strange, considering this success is largely her doing. I expected her to be here, front and center, taking the credit.

Russel looks a bit flustered. “She should be here any minute.”

Right on cue, the door opens and Jennifer steps in, her face pale and her movements slower than usual. She’s apologizing even before she fully enters the room.

“I’m sorry for the delay,” she mutters, her voice lacking its usual confidence. “I… I haven’t been feeling well.”

I watch her closely as she takes her seat, noticing the dark circles under her eyes and the way she holds her stomach. She looks… fragile. Sick.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, my voice harder than I intended. “Why are you late?”

Jennifer meets my eyes, clearly uncomfortable. “I think I’ve got food poisoning,” she admits, looking down at her hands. “I’ve been nauseous for days.”

Nausea. The word rings in my ears, and for some reason, it feels like more than just food poisoning. Something about her demeanor makes me think there’s more to this story. My jaw clenches, and I can’t stop the flood of thoughts rushing through my mind. She looks vulnerable, and a part of me—one I’m not used to—wants to take care of her. I want to ask more, to dig in to why she’s really unwell, but this isn’t the time.

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