Page 80 of Scarred Bratva King

Hang on. How can he get here that fast? How does he know where I am?

When he strides in precisely five minutes later, his movements are measured, his expression unreadable. He’s dressed impeccably as always.

My heart does a traitorous flutter before sinking, my mind shouting at me to remember why we’re here. I straighten in my chair, clasping my hands tightly in my lap to keep them from shaking.

He doesn’t sit immediately. His dark eyes scan me, searching for something—weakness, maybe, or answers.

Finally, he lowers himself into the seat I offer, his movements controlled, his jaw tight. The silence stretches unbearably before he speaks.

“You said you wanted to talk.” His tone gives nothing away. “So talk.”

I take a shaky breath, summoning every ounce of courage I have. My voice wavers at first but steadies as I meet his gaze. “I thought you deserved to know. You’re going to be a father.”

The words hang in the air between us, heavy and unyielding. His sharp intake of breath is the only sound, and for a moment, I think I see something crack in his icy exterior. But then his expression hardens, his eyes narrowing.

“Well?” I say. “Haven’t you got anything to say?”

“I know already.” His voice is sharp.

“You know already?” I slap my forehead. “You found the pregnancy test, didn’t you?”

He shakes his head. “I heard you telling Elena.”

“What, when?”

“At the bar last night.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s why you got here so fast. Fuck, Maxim. You break up with me then stalk me. Choose a lane for crying out loud.”

“Did you not think I had a right to know about my child?”

My hands clench together, my nails biting into my palms. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” I admit, my voice rising despite my effort to stay calm. “And if I’m being honest, I didn’t think you’d react well. Look at you now. All you care about is yourright.Not the child. Not me.”

His brows furrow, his jaw tightening further. “You thought you could decide that for me? That I wouldn’t care about my own child?” His tone grows colder. “Do you have so little faith in me?”

“Faith? Maxim, you’ve spent our entire marriage proving that you only care about control. I watched you slit a man’s throat.”

“And I watched you shoot one. Are we that different?” He leans forward slightly, his eyes narrowing, his voice dropping into a dangerous calm. “You think I’m like Marco but there’s a big difference. I never hurt you.”

“No, just used me as bait and then dumped me.”

Something flickers in his eyes—anger, pain, I can’t tell. But his face remains a cold mask as he replies. “Fine. If that’s how you see me, then I won’t fight you. Raise the child on your own. I’ll fund whatever you need, and I’ll stay out of your way. Then when it turns eighteen, it can decide if it wants this empire or not.”

“It?” My eyes narrow. It feels like the final blow, the death knell of everything I once thought we could have. My voice shakes as I say, “You’re dead inside, Maxim. I don’t want anything from you. Just stay out of my life forever.”

For a moment, he looks like he might argue, his lips parting slightly. But then he leans back, his face hardening into something unrecognizable. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a sleek folder, dropping it on the floor between us.

“Sign that,” he says, his voice eerily calm. “And it’s over. If you don’t think I can look after our child, sign and be done with the whole thing.”

“Sign what?”

“Divorce papers, of course.”

My hands tremble as I glance down at the file. The sight of them feels like a knife twisting in my chest, but I force myself to meet his gaze. His eyes are unreadable, his mask firmly in place.

“Goodbye, Maxim,” I whisper as he walks out the door.

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