Page 110 of Viripotent

Ignoring his question for being a misogynistic prick, I stare out of the window. I’m trying to bite my tongue, but I can’t stop myself and he doesn’t react to my outburst.

“Don’t call women bitches for doing the same thing or less than what a man would do. It’s sexist and demeaning.”

He’s an asshole. I’ve heard the same thing countless times for doing the exact same thing Grandfather does. But he’s a man, so it’s applauded, it’s business and he’s ruthless. I make the same decisions and I’m a cold-hearted bitch.

Vlad slaps his hand over my mouth before I can continue my rant, and there’s no anger directed at me.

“I’m a feminist.”

I laugh into his palm because the man is the furthest thing from a feminist that anyone could be. He smiles and speaks easily, pointing out his reasoning.

“Do I protect men? No. Do I call men bitches? Yes. Do I think a woman can be just as violent and cruel as a man? Yes.”

He loosens his hold on my face and curls his hand around my nape as he does something he’s never done outside of sex. Kissing my temple, he declares his stance again.

“I’m a feminist, meelaya. I don’t give a fuck about everyone, equally.”

Wanting to hear him admit it again, I ask, “But me?”

He looks away from the road and plants a chaste kiss on my lips before he changes the answer.

“Everyone in my family is my responsibility and under my protection.”

The pit in my stomach from my previous thoughts reopens. I want his care solely for myself, not just lumped in a group because I’m attached to a name.

It gets bigger, swallowing me whole at his question.

“Are you pregnant yet?”

Sitting back in my seat, I shake my head, knowing it won’t happen. He’s never asked before, but it’s been six months and I managed to convince myself of a lie. I can count on one hand how many times he’s slept beside me and still fucking deluded myself into thinking Vlad cares about me.All because he held me when I was naked, he cleaned me up while I was asleep, there was no blood on my skin, and he dressed me. But he wasn’t there when I woke up.

He never is.

He doesn’t sense my deceit and there’s no accusation in his tone, but it sticks to me like an insult.

“Do you want to go to the doctor and get a checkup?”

His automatic assumption that I’m the one who needs a check up has me spitting back, “Maybe you need to.”

It’s immature as fuck and my anger nearly makes me miss what he says.

“I’ve gotten someone pregnant before.”

All the air is sucked out of the car. I’ve never heard of any woman being close enough that he’d trust them with his child, and I know he wouldn’t separate from his family.

For the first time in his life, he panics. It’s not as loud as a normal person. But it’s there under his finger as he taps in threes. His repetition doesn’t stop, showing it’s not calming him and the benefit of never sharing a bed means at least I can cry without an audience. He lied, there’s already an heir he keeps hidden from everyone. Just like the Vartanovs did with Viktor, surrounding him in secrecy. Vlad has done it even more successfully with his own child. I might have his last name and a bloody wedding, but I’m the other woman. Publicly I’m his wife and behind closed doors I’m the dirty secret.

I avoidVlad by hiding in the stables, the horses are calming and brushing their coats makes me forget that I’m the other woman. The stupid prick is too good with his lies and there’s not even a rumor of him having a child. How he’s managed to hide an entire life from people is beyond me. Everyone had theories about Viktor, some were based in truth now I know who his dad is. But there’s not even a single rumor regarding Vlad having a secret child. He probably killed the nursing staff just to keep his secret.

Because it means that much to him.

Animals have good senses and can predict storms. When the horse gets restless, my body goes on alert at the steps thundering towards me and Storm Vlad is full of rage as he works his way through each stall. He finds me hiding in the last one and holds up my lifeline like it’s a question on its own. My heart is beating too fast, and I try to step around him to escape.

He’s not blocking the entrance with the wide door open, and I slip to the side. I make it one step when my legs move faster, running like my life is at risk. Any distance I could possibly create is erased before it can help me and a hand clamps on my nape. He pulls me into him and doesn’t let go of me. His face is set in hard lines. Pushing me forward into an empty stall without saying a word, he locks the gate and stands as a guard.

I haven’t formulated a believable lie, but my mouth opens to try to string words together. He takes a menacing step forward and holds the packet up again. Every deadly tone he’s used before could be combined and they would be gentle in comparison to the one leaving him now.

“What the fuck are these?”

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