Page 120 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

I get out of bed and stretch. My hands fall impulsively onto my belly.

I can feel my body changing slowly and I know it’s only a matter of time before I start showing. I’m extremely lucky that I’ve managed to conceal my pregnancy for this long.

But I’m running out of time.

I walk to the window and stare out at the ocean, hoping for answers to magically appear. My eyes land on the lone figure sitting on the beach with his back to me.

Artem.

A sudden thought catches me off guard.

He deserves to know I’m carrying his baby.

The plan was never to tell Artem, but somewhere along the way, that has obviously changed.

He means…something.

I wish I knew what.

My heart stumbles a little as I realize how familiar he has become to me. He’s more than just the stranger who taken me on the bathroom counter of a club. More than just the man who killed my father and destroyed my home.

He’s no longer just a hero from a twisted, sinful fantasy.

Nor is he the villain from a nightmare.

He’s both.

He’s neither.

He’s everything.

He’s nothing.

I force my eyes away from him and head into the bathroom to shower. When I step out, I change into a light floral dress before making my way downstairs.

The house is empty and I find myself longing for company. Which is why I start walking along the beach, straight to where Artem is sitting.

He’s in the same position, eyes trained on the horizon. Either he doesn’t notice me coming or he doesn’t care. Whichever it is, he doesn’t look up until I’m close.

I sit down next to him, keeping a modest foot between us. The sand is cool between my toes.

Artem acknowledges my presence with a sigh and nothing else.

“You’ve been out here a long time,” I say eventually, admiring the blue-green hues of the ocean.

“You’ve been keeping track?”

I turn my gaze to his face, marveling at the classical beauty of his profile. His dark eyes look elsewhere, filled with secrets that don’t include me.

That’s when I notice the bottle sitting next to him. Alcohol of some kind, and judging by how much of it is empty, he’s consumed a lot of it.

But he doesn’t seem drunk. He’s as steady and frigid as ever.

And every bit as frustrating.

“Artem?”

He turns to me, his eyes grazing over my features, before slipping away again.

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