Page 62 of Scarred Bratva King

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VERONICA

Ican’t stop glancing at the pregnancy test sitting on the edge of the sink, its plastic casing gleaming mockingly under the dim light.

It’s probably for the best that he went off to deal with business. Gave me a chance to find out for sure one way or another.

My mind spins with questions I don’t want to face. What if it’s positive? What if it’s not?

“Come on, Veronica,” I mutter to myself, gripping the edge of the counter. “It’s just science. Pee on a stick, wait, get an answer. Easy.”

Except it’s not. I run my hands through my hair, tugging lightly at the roots. What if Maxim doesn’t want this? What if he thinks I’m trying to trap him? Or worse, what if he decides this is the perfect excuse to push me away for good?

He didn’t promise me a family, just a bookstore. Sure, we talked baby names, but that was only to fool Victor.

I glance at the test again, willing the seconds to pass faster. The waiting is unbearable.

Men like Maxim don’t do love, not really.

And then I see it. Two pink lines.

The world spins. I grab the counter to steady myself, staring at the test like it’s a mirage. Positive. Pregnant.

A shaky laugh bubbles out of me, though I’m not sure if it’s from joy or panic. “Holy shit.”

I sink onto the closed toilet lid, holding the test in my trembling hand. I’m pregnant. With Maxim’s baby.

A thousand emotions crash into me at once. There’s a flutter of warmth in my chest—a feeling I don’t quite recognize. Hope? Maybe. But then the doubts creep in, as they always do.

How will he react? Will he see this as a blessing or a burden? Will he even want this child? A life so small, so innocent, in a world as dark and ruthless as his?

I think about how he looked at me when I was injured. But I also think about the walls he keeps around himself, the way he talks about duty and sacrifice like love is some kind of liability.

I have to tell him. He deserves to know.

But the idea of it terrifies me.

I stand, clutching the test like a lifeline. “You can do this,” I whisper to my reflection. “You’ve faced far worse than this.”

With a deep breath, I put the test in the trash and splash cold water on my face. It’s not just about me anymore. Whatever happens, I have to be strong. For the baby. For myself.

For a moment, I let myself picture it—telling Maxim, seeing his face light up, feeling his arms around me as he promises to protect us both.

And then I picture the other possibility—cold detachment, a reminder that our time together has an expiration date, and this wasn’t part of the deal.

I square my shoulders, gripping the edge of the sink again.

I have to tell him.

Except I can’t find him. He’s not in his office or the library, and I check every other usual spot. Anxiety prickles at the edges of my thoughts.

Where is he?

As I near the east wing, I hear something—a faint, muffled sound. I stop, straining to listen. It's a voice, ragged and pained, barely audible through the thick walls.

Curiosity and unease propel me forward. My footsteps are cautious as I follow the sound to a heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway. It’s slightly ajar, just enough to let a sliver of dim light spill into the corridor.

My heart pounds as I step closer, the sounds growing clearer. A man’s voice, screaming. Pleading. And then, cold as ice, Maxim’s voice cuts through.

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