Page 42 of Knocked Up by the Bratva

My stomach twists with anxiety. He’s not a man who does anything without a reason, and that scares me even more. What could he possibly want from us?

The door creaks open, pulling me out of my thoughts. An older maid steps in, her face as cold and harsh as I remember. I had seen her before, during that first night in his mansion. She didn’t like me then, and it’s clear she doesn’t like me now. Her eyes flicker to Tyler briefly, before settling back on me, her mouth set in a thin, disapproving line.

“Mr. Sharov wants to see you,” she says, her voice clipped and formal. “In his room.”

My heart skips a beat. Timur wants to see me? Now? I glance back at Tyler, still fast asleep, and my protective instincts flare. I want to stay here with him, keep him close, butsomething tells me that refusing to see Timur won’t end well. I swallow my fear, nodding at the maid.

“I’ll be right there,” I say, my voice shaky despite my efforts to sound composed.

The maid gives a curt nod before turning and leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind her. I sit there for a moment, just staring at Tyler, trying to collect myself. My heart races, and a thousand thoughts swarm my mind. I don’t know what to expect when I go to Timur’s room, but I know one thing for sure—I can’t show weakness. Not in front of him.

I lean down and press a kiss to Tyler’s forehead, whispering a quiet, “I’ll be right back.” I don’t know if I’m reassuring him or myself, but I need to believe it.

Standing up, I smooth down my shirt and take a deep breath. My legs feel heavy as I walk to the door, a sense of dread weighing me down. With every step, my pulse quickens, my mind running wild with possibilities. What could Timur possibly want from me now? Does he want to make me pay for running? For keeping Tyler from him? Or does he have some other plan in mind—something I can’t even begin to imagine?

I make my way through the mansion, the halls eerily quiet. It feels like a prison. Lavish, yes, but a prison all the same. The memories of that night—of how I left him without a word—linger in my mind, filling me with a sense of foreboding. He’s probably still angry about that. And now that I’m here, with his son, I can only imagine what he’s thinking.

Finally, I reach the door to his room. The door is closed, and for a moment, I just stand there, staring at it. My hand hovers over the wood, hesitating. I steel myself, taking a deep breath. I can’t show fear. I have to be strong, for myself and for Tyler.

With trembling fingers, I raise my hand and knock softly on the door, the sound echoing in the silence.

The door opens with a soft creak, and Timur stands there, filling the doorway with his imposing presence. His sharp blue eyes lock on to mine, and for a second, I can’t move. My heart is pounding in my chest, but I force myself to step inside.

“Come in,” he says, his voice calm, almost too calm. It sends a shiver down my spine as I walk past him, feeling the heat of his gaze on my back.

The room is dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn closed. It’s luxurious, of course, but there’s a coldness to it—just like him. I stand awkwardly in the middle of the room as he closes the door behind us. The click of the lock feels final, like there’s no turning back now.

“Sit,” he says, motioning to a plush armchair near the fireplace.

I sit down, my body tense. I have so many questions, so many fears, and the weight of them presses down on me. I know better than to let them show too easily. Timur stands in front of me, arms crossed, his gaze never leaving mine. It’s unsettling, the way he looks at me like he’s waiting for something—waiting for me to break.

“What are you planning, Timur?” I finally ask, my voice trembling just slightly. “I mean, what happens now?”

He watches me for a long moment before he speaks, his tone measured. “I think you already know, Jennifer. You ran, you hid, and you kept my son from me.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” I whisper, my voice barely above a breath. “You…you killed Russel in front of me. How was I supposed to stay, how was I supposed to tell you anything after that?”

Timur’s expression hardens, his eyes narrowing as he takes a step closer. “Russel deserved what he got. You… you should’ve told me about him—about my son—before any of this.”

“I was going to,” I say, my heart racing as he moves even closer. “I was going to tell you. That night, at the gala… I planned to, but then….” My words falter as his scent surrounds me, fresh and masculine, clouding my senses. He’s so close now, I can barely breathe.

“You ran,” he finishes, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You ran from me, and now, you’re out of choices.”

His hand reaches out, and I can’t help the way my body reacts to him, heat rushing to my skin. His fingers brush my chin, tilting my face up so I have no choice but to meet his eyes. My heart hammers in my chest as our faces are just inches apart, his breath warm on my lips. My stomach tightens with a mixture of fear and undeniable attraction.

“Why did you run?” he asks again, his tone softer this time, almost teasing. “You knew you couldn’t hide from me forever, didn’t you?”

I can’t answer him, not with words. My body betrays me as I lean ever so slightly into his touch. The space between us crackles with tension, my skin tingling from the heat of his closeness. Every instinct in me is screaming to push him away, to fight against this, but my body doesn’t listen. My mind is clouded, lost in the intensity of the moment.

“Here is my plan,” he says softly, his voice dark and commanding. “We’ll be married by next week.”

His words send a shock through me, and I jerk back slightly, my eyes wide. “What?” I breathe, trying to process what he just said. “Married?”

“Yes,” he says, his expression unwavering. “We don’t raise children out of wedlock. That’s not how it works for Bratva. You’ll be my wife.”

I shake my head, stunned, trying to push through the haze of his words. “I… I’m not ready for something like that. We can figure out another way. We don’t have to—”

“There is no other way,” he interrupts, his tone final. “I don’t care if you’re ready. This is happening. I plan to raise my son, and you will be by my side as my wife. The decision is made.”

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