Page 42 of Ruthless God

And call me silly, but I don’t think now is the right time to casually drop the fact that I’m pregnant. With his brother’s baby. The brother he thinks is dead. Yeah. Pretty sure that little revelation won’t go over well.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to breathe through my nose, willing the nausea away. There are bigger problems at hand, like the fact that I have no idea where he’s taking me, or what happens when we land.

Claudius doesn’t break his stare. Doesn’t even blink.

I get the distinct feeling that whatever game I just got pulled into, I’m already losing.

Needing to talk—to say something, anything—so I don’t humiliate myself by vomiting all over Claudius’ ridiculously expensive jet, I force out the first question that comes to mind.

“Does my mother know my father knows about me?”

My voice comes out steadier than I feel, but that doesn’t mean much. My stomach still twists, a war raging between nausea and nerves.

Claudius doesn’t answer right away. He just keeps watching me, unreadable as ever. His silence stretches, pressing down on me, making the cabin feel even smaller.

Great. Fantastic. Just what I need… more reasons to feel trapped.

I swallow hard, trying to focus on anything but the way my insides are rebelling. I brace myself for whatever answer is coming, already knowing it won’t be good.

Because nothing about this situation is.

“She does,” Claudius says, his voice void of emotion, like this is just another business transaction.

I hum, though there’s no actual amusement behind it. “Funny. She always told me she had no idea who my father was.” I let out a short, bitter laugh. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that she lied to me.”

Still, the admission stings, scraping against old wounds I didn’t even realize I still had. Wait. That’s a lie. There are a ton of old wounds where my mother is concerned. Things therapy hasn’t even helped with.

I don’t want to ask the next question. I already know I won’t like the answer. But the words slip out anyway, quiet but firm.

“How long has he known about me?”

Claudius doesn’t hesitate. “Since you were born.”

His words land heavy, pressing into my chest, making it harder to breathe.

Since I was born.

My father knew. Healwaysknew.

And he never reached out. Never tried. Not once. For twenty-four years, I’ve been something he’s chosen to ignore…

I blink, staring at the leather seat across from me, trying to process the weight of that realization. I knew I wasn’t wanted, not really. But hearing the confirmation? Knowing that he’s had the chance to find me—to know me—this entire time and simply chose not to?

Wow.

That hurts. A lot.

I press my lips together, forcing down the lump rising in my throat. I won’t give Claudius the satisfaction of seeing just how much that answer gutted me.

Instead, I nod once, as if that single movement will somehow push the pain aside.

“Right.” My voice is distant, like I’m hearing myself from underwater. “Of course he did.”

“Anything else you’d like to know?”

Claudius watches me closely, his tone neutral, but I can feel the weight behind the question. He’s testing me, waiting to see if I’ll push further. I won’t, though. If I do, I’ll keep peeling back the layers of a truth I’m not sure I want to face.

Needing to change the subject, I tilt my head slightly and ask, “Who’s older? You or Gabriel?”

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