Page 57 of Crimson Sin
“Thank you,” Charlotte tells Nadia with genuine warmth, then turns back to me.
We continue this careful dance of conversation, weaving real meaning through innocent words. She tells me about a new restaurant she wants to try. Normal things that feel surreal in this gilded prison. When she rises to leave, my heart clenches with the fear of being alone again. She embraces me once more, holding me tight enough that I feel her ribs through her coat.
“Take care of yourself,” she murmurs against my ear, her voice so low I can barely hear it. Then, even softer, “Check your pocket.”
My heart slams into my ribs. I nod slightly, never breaking the performance of a casual farewell. “I will.”
“Call me if you need anything,” she says loudly enough for the guards to hear. “Day or night.”
When Lex escorts me back to my room, my fingers itch to dive into the pocket of my sweater and find what she's hidden there. I wait until the door clicks shut behind me before I dare reach inside.
My heart jumps when I see the pink and white packaging of the pregnancy test. Charlotte somehow managed to slip it to me during our embrace. The slender package feels heavier than it should, loaded with the power to change everything.
I stare at it, turning it over in my hands. Such a small thing to hold such enormous consequences. The instructions on the back promise results in minutes. I lock myself in the bathroom, pressing my back against the door as though I can keep the world out through sheer force of will. My hands tremble so violently that I can barely tear open the foil packet. The plastic stick inside looks so ordinary and clinical. Nothing about it suggests the power it holds to destroy or transform my life.
I read the instructions twice, even though I know how it works. Five minutes. That's all it takes to decide the rest of my life.
The actual act is simple and mechanical. But sitting on the edge of the tub afterward, staring at the stick on the counter as if my gaze alone might change the outcome, feels like the longestmoments of my existence. The minutes stretch unbearably. My chest feels crushed, and my lungs refuse to pull in enough air.
I count my heartbeats to pass the time. One hundred. Two hundred. The numbers climb steadily, marking time until my fate is decided. I try to imagine both outcomes and prepare myself for either result, but my mind rebels against the exercise. Some things can't be prepared for.
When I finally force myself to look, the sight knocks the strength from my legs. Two pink lines. Bold, clear, and unmistakable.
Pregnant.The word echoes in my head, hollow and devastating. My knees give out, and I sink to the floor, my hand pressing to my abdomen as though I can already feel the life growing inside me. Nothing has changed in the past five minutes except my knowledge, but everything feels different. My body feels different. The future feels different.
Daniil's child. The heir to his empire. A child conceived in the middle of chaos and lies, passion and violence. A child who will inherit a legacy of blood and power before they draw their first breath.
Tears burn my eyes, spilling before I can stop them. This isn't how it was supposed to be. This isn't the life I imagined when I dreamed of having children someday. I wanted stability, purpose, and a career that meant something. A partner who chose me freely, not because circumstances bound us together. I wanted to plan for pregnancy, to prepare, and be ready. Instead, I am trapped with a man whose world terrifies and consumes me, and I’m carrying his child.
My phone feels like granite in my hand as I call Charlotte again. She answers before the first ring finishes, as though she's been waiting.
“Well?” she demands without preamble.
“It's positive,” I whisper. My voice is barely sound, just air and despair.
Her silence lasts too long. Then, “Oh, Nae.”
The sympathy in her tone breaks something inside me. Sobs tear from my throat, ugly and raw. “I never missed a pill,” I choke out between breaths. “Not once.”
“Then how?” she presses, her voice sharp with disbelief and growing alarm.
I squeeze my eyes shut, replaying every moment and every possibility. The answer lurks at the edges of my consciousness, too terrible to fully acknowledge. “I don't know,” I lie.
But I do know. Deep in my gut, where instinct lives, I know exactly how this happened. I tell her about the faint imprint on the pills in the pack, that subtle unease I brushed off. The way some of them looked slightly different from others, as though they'd been replaced with something else entirely.
“Irina's visit,” I continue, my voice growing stronger as the pieces align. “She walked into my room one morning, claiming she left a gift. Lavender oil and a silk mask. I thanked her, but now...”
Now the memory takes on sinister significance. How easy would it have been for Irina to switch out my birth control pills? But why?
“Jesus,” Charlotte breathes. “You think she sabotaged your pills? Why would she do that?”
“I don't know,” I repeat, though suspicion burns like acid in my gut. “But this isn't possible any other way.”
Charlotte's breath hisses across the line. “What the hell do you do now?”
The question hangs there. What do I do? Tell Daniil and watch him either claim this child as the ultimate prize or see it as the ultimate liability? Keep it secret and try to navigate this alone? Neither option feels remotely possible.
My voice is flat when I answer, “I don't know.”
