Page 54 of Innocently Captured By the Bratva

But the cramps return with a vengeance, and I furrow my brows as I reach for the hot water bottle to press it tighter against my belly.

Mark's brow furrows as he studies my face, concern etched into the lines of his chiseled jaw. “Quinn, what could be causing your stomach pain?”

“Maybe I ate something,” I say, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. “Just some cramping, that's all.”

“I'll be right back,” he says, rising from the bed with determination in his stance. “I had the maid place a first-aid kit in the bathroom just for you, and it might have something to help.”

As he disappears into the adjoining room, I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I clutch the bedsheets. His words replay in my mind in a loop: Charlie Letvin will no longer be a problem. That means I will no longer be Mark’s problem.

But before I can dwell on the possibility of what that means, he's back, the first-aid box tucked under his arm as he settles onto the bed beside me once more.

“Here,” he says, handing me the box with a soft smile. “I thought you might need this, given the timing. Your period might be coming up soon, too, right? That could be the cause of your cramps.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, the air rushing out of my lungs in a sudden whoosh. I can feel the color draining from my face, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure Mark must be able to hear it.

“Y-yeah,” I stammer, my voice barely above a whisper. “Thanks.”

I take the box with trembling hands, my mind racing as I try to grasp the implications of his words. How long has it been since my last period? Two months? I simply didn’t think much of it since I’ve always struggled with irregular periods, yet at the same time, I’ve never had cramps unless I’m bleeding. My period might be coming… yes. But I shouldn’t be having cramps, should I? My impulsive decisions come rushing back, the first one being that we didn’t use protection. How foolish of us.

The realization strikes me like a freight train, and the possibility of pregnancy hanging over me like a dark cloud.

But as I meet Mark's gaze, I force myself to smile, to push down the rising tide of fear and uncertainty that threatens to consume me. “I appreciate it,” I say, my voice steadier now, even though the lump in my throat becomes so wretchedly painful. You're always so thoughtful.”

The words feel hollow, a cheap imitation of the gratitude I know I should feel. Now, with Charlie Letvin handled and the possibility of pregnancy looming over me, I know my time with Mark is running out.

Mark nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s nothing, Quinn.”

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead before standing up. “I'll let you rest. If you need anything, just call for me, okay?”

I watch him go, my heart aching with a mixture of longing and dread. As soon as the door closes behind him, I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I set the first-aid box on the bed beside me.

For a long moment, I simply stare at it, my mind whirling with the possibilities of what lies inside. Part of me wants to ignore it, to pretend that everything is fine and that my missedperiods are simply nothing, as they’ve always been. Yet the logical side of me knows better, understands that I can't run from this forever, given how we haven’t been safe during our sexual escapades.

With a deep breath, I reach for the box, my fingers fumbling with the latch. As I lift the lid, my eyes immediately land on the pregnancy kit nestled among the tampons, period pain relievers, pads, bandages, and antiseptic wipes. My breath catches in my throat, my heart stutters in my chest as I pick it up with trembling hands. Smart of the maid to have put it there. Lucky that Mark didn’t see it.

I can feel its weight in my palm, the plastic casing cool against my skin. It's just a simple test, I tell myself, trying to calm the rising panic in my chest. It’s just to prove I might not be pregnant and my missed period is nothing but the occasional irregularity in my cycle, as has happened in the past during times of stress. But deep down, I know that it's so much more than that. It's a turning point, a moment that could change the course of my life forever.

As I sit there, the pregnancy kit clutched in my trembling hands, I can't help but wonder what the future holds. Will Mark still want me if I'm carrying his child? Or will he see me as nothing more than a burden, a mistake he wishes he could erase?

The latter, probably.

The thought is almost too much to bear, and I can feel the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. But I know I can't let them fall, not until I know for certain.

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders as I rise from the bed. I tuck the pregnancy kit into the pocket of my robe, my heart hammering in my chest as I head toward the bathroom.

It's time to face the truth, to confront the reality of what my missed periods and these stomach cramps might mean.

With trembling hands, I lock the bathroom door behind me. The small room feels stifling as I reach into my pocket and pull out the pregnancy kit.

The plastic casing feels foreign in my grasp. I take a shaky breath, trying to steel myself for whatever comes next. With fumbling fingers, I tear open the packaging and follow the instructions, feeling every heartbeat thud in my ears like a war drum.

As moments pass, anxiety coils in my stomach like a serpent ready to strike. My mind races with a multitude of thoughts. What if it's positive? What if it's negative? Each possibility sends a distinct wave of fear crashing over me.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I glance down at the small window of the pregnancy test, my heart pounding in my chest. The seconds stretch into forever as I watch a faint line slowly appear, a ghostly whisper that transforms into a clear shout.

Positive.

My breath catches in my throat, and tears prick at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment.

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