Page 26 of Accidentally Knocked Up By the Bratva

I set the phone down, my expression hardening. This is my reality check, a reminder of who Abram is. He’s charming, yes. He’s intense, yes. But he’s also distant, now made even more evident from all these secrets he has hidden away from me.

I feel betrayed. Hurt. Angered. I told him some of my darkest secrets. How lonely I was when my parents died, how horrid my aunt and uncle were, how unloved I’ve been.

And he couldn’t even mention he had a sister?But of course, Tatiana Petrovna attends galas with him and his family.

When my phone buzzes, I don’t need to check the caller ID to know who it is. I ignore the call, my fingers steady as I sip my coffee, feeling the heat burn a little more fiercely down my throat. Let him call. Let him explain. I already know the truth and there’s nothing he can say to convince me otherwise.

Over the following days, Abram continues to call and text, wanting to explain. But what is there to say? I’ve seen the reality now, behind the charm and mystery. Abram is like all the rest: unwilling or incapable of real intimacy, yet more than happy to string a woman along when it suits him.

I block his number and delete his messages. It’s not impulsive, it’s self preservation. As difficult as it is to walk away, I know this is the only way to protect myself. I deserve someone who doesn’t keep me in the dark. Who doesn’t hide behind excuses and charm.

I should have just left things professional. Now, Karma’s showing me she’s a bitch. Break the rules? The unchartered territory simply bites back.

Chapter 9 - Abram

The steering wheel is slick under my sweaty palms as I weave through traffic, my heart pounding. I should be at the office, but I cut my last meeting short.

Three days. It’s been three days since I’ve been trying to reach out to her, but I’ve received stone-cold silence. This morning, my calls didn’t go through. She’s blocked me.

What the hell happened? I need answers. Now. Thoughts of her consume me like an addict straight off the bottle. For the life of me, I can’t imagine what changed between us.

I screech to a halt outside her gallery just as the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. There she is, locking up for the evening. I reached her just in time. My breath catches at the sight of her silhouetted against the fading light.

I'm out of the car before I can think twice. "Zara," I call, striding toward her.

She whirls around, keys jangling in her hand. For a split second, I see surprise flash across her face before it's replaced by cool indifference. "Abram. I wasn't expecting you."

Her tone is clipped, professional. It cuts through me like a knife. I want to pull her into my arms, to feel her warmth against me. Instead, I force myself to stop a few feet away, shoving my hands in my pockets.

"I needed to see you," I say, searching her eyes for any hint of the connection we shared. "Can we talk?"

Zara's gaze flickers away. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. I was just heading home."

"Please," I implore, taking a step closer. "Just give me five minutes."

She hesitates, her fingers toying with the keys. I can see the internal struggle playing out across her beautiful features. Finally, she gives a curt nod.

"Five minutes," she concedes and opens the door to the gallery. I follow her inside, unable to wait a moment more to the bottom of things.

The words tumble out, urgent and desperate. "Why haven't you been answering my calls, Zara? My texts? I've been going out of my mind."

She turns to face me, arms crossed. My eyes search hers, seeking any flicker of emotion, any sign that she still cares. But Zara's face is a mask, her posture rigid as she stands before me.

"I thought I'd made it clear I didn't want to talk," she says, her voice tight with barely concealed anger.

"But why?" I press, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her. "What changed?"

Zara's composure cracks, her eyes flashing with hurt. "What changed? How about those tabloid pictures of you and Tatiana Petrova? Or the dinner you canceled on me to attend some fancy gala with her and your family and never thought to tell me the truth? What were you hiding? You said something came up, and now I realize thatsomethingis a woman you’re having an affair with."

Her words hit me out of nowhere. I hadn't realized she'd seen those photos, hadn't known how deeply they'd wounded her. Though the matter is serious, I have to admit her jealousy stirs a possessive thrill inside me. The fact that she cares enoughto be jealous, to feel betrayed, can only mean she cares about me more than she lets on.

And it’s a good look on her.

"Zara, it's not what you think—” I begin, but she cuts me off.

"Save it, Abram," she snaps, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm not interested in your excuses. You lied to me, hid an entire part of your life from me. Why should I trust anything you say?"

The pain in her voice tears at my heart. I want to tell her everything, to lay bare all my secrets. But I can't. Not if I want to keep her safe.

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