Page 42 of Beautiful Agony

I make a mental note to have Demyon trace those accounts later. For now, I focus on the climbing view counter, watching as more and more eyes turn toward the darkness that Kirsan hid in the open.

Let the world see.

Lacey's fingers find mine under the desk, squeezing gently.

Lacey's fingers tighten around mine. "Where is Taliya now?"

I turn to face her, seeing the concern etched across her features.

"She's safe," I assure her. "We have her and all the other women who agreed to do interviews in different safehouses with round-the-clock protection."

"That won't be enough," Lacey says, her voice firm. "This video is going viral. People are going to start asking questions. Some won't believe her. Others..." She glances at the comment section again and shivers. "Others clearly want to hurt her."

"She's right," Megan chimes in, scrolling through more comments. "The internet can be vicious. It won't take long for people to start trying to track her down."

"I'll increase the number of men we have to guarding them," I tell Lacey.

The relief in Lacey's eyes makes my chest tighten. She squeezes my hand again, and I feel the familiar surge of warmth of her touch.

Megan starts packing up her equipment, carefully wrapping cords around her arm. "We should get going—still have three more interviews scheduled for today."

I notice how Demyon straightens at her words, his usual easy smile returning as he moves to help her with her bags. The way his fingers brush against hers as he takes her laptop doesn't escape my attention.

"Keep me updated on the view count," I tell them both. "And any concerning comments that need investigating."

"Of course," Megan nods, shouldering her bag, and gives Lacey a quick hug before heading toward the door.

There'sa knock at the door, and Lenka's voice comes through.

"Vadim Petrovich, Dr. Chen is here to see you both."

Right. The appointment. With everything happening, I'd almost forgotten.

"Send her in," I say.

Lenka bows and a few minutes later, Dr. Raylene Chen enters, a warm smile on her face.

"Mr. and Mrs. Stravinsky," she greets with a slight smile. "I understand congratulations are in order."

Lacey's hand finds mine again as Dr. Chen sets her medical bag on my desk and starts asking Lacey about her medical history, and the last time she had her period. As she talks, Lacey's hand tightens around mine.

The familiar warmth of her touch grounds me, even as anxiety stirs in my chest. This is our first prenatal appointment—the first real confirmation that this is happening.

That I'm going to be a father.

I watch as Dr. Chen ties the tourniquet around Lacey's arm, preparing to draw blood.

But as the dark red liquid fills the vial, my mind spirals back to that moment on the stairs. When Lacey's teeth broke my skin. When she begged me to hurt her. When she screamed how much she hated me.

My stomach churns. What if that was the moment our child was made?

What if, just like Pyotr, I created life through an act of violence?

Lacey catches my eye and gives me that soft smile that makes my heart ache. She may have forgiven me for that night, but I haven't.

I don't think I can ever forgive myself if our baby came from that moment of darkness.

It'll be too close to my own twisted creation. The violence, the blood, the horror of it all. Is this some sort of sick cosmic joke?

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