Page 32 of Obsessed Bratva King

The thought comes out of nowhere. Sharp. Cold. Unshakable.

Could I be pregnant?

The nausea. The exhaustion. The way my clothes feel just a little too snug this morning. The way my body aches in a way it shouldn’t. Bloated?

Pregnant?

When was my last period?

No. It’s stress. Just stress.

Before I can second-guess myself, I step inside.

The overhead lights are too bright, the air too sterile. The shelves stretch in neat rows, lined with vitamins and medicine, beauty products and first aid kits. And, in the far right corner?—

Pregnancy tests.

I don’t let myself hesitate.

I grab one.

The cashier barely looks at me as he rings it up. The bag he hands me is thin, crinkling loudly in my grip as I shove it into my coat pocket.

By the time I reach work, my hands feel numb.

I don’t say hello to Emilio as I rush inside. “Nice of you to join us,” he calls as I rush past him to the bathroom.

“Be right back,” I shout over my shoulder.

The fluorescent lights hum faintly overhead as I lock myself inside the stall, my breathing too loud, too fast. My pulse won’t settle.

I force myself to move, to go through the motions. Tear open the box. Pull out the test. Follow the instructions mechanically, like I’m not even inside my own body. Peeing on a stick. That’s all. Just confirming I’m not pregnant. Easy enough.

I set the test down.

Then I wait.

Sixty seconds.

Ninety.

My entire world hinges on a stupid little stick.

I almost don’t look.

But then I do.

Two pink lines.

The air disappears from my lungs. A roaring silence fills my head, drowning everything else out. My hands start to shake. I can’t stop them.

And then, softly, I whisper?—

“No. No, no, no.”

My stomach lurches.

Pregnant. With Ivan’s baby.

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