Page 50 of Beautiful Monster

The baby kicks against my ribs as if in protest of his cynicism. I place his palm against the movement. "Feel that? We weren’t just a contract."

His eyes soften, something raw and unguarded flickering across his features. These are the moments I treasure—when the mask slips and I glimpse the man beneath the monster others fear.

"No," he agrees, voice rough. "You two were the fine print I never read."

The air between us thickens with unspoken words. Our beginning wasn't gentle—a bride offered as collateral, a groom with a heart frozen by grief. Neither of us expected this transformation.

"Inez is stronger than she looks," I say, turning back to the mirror to fasten diamond studs to my ears. "And Vanya... he's not you."

Mikhail's reflection darkens. "No one is me,kisa."

The possessive growl in his voice sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with fear. "That's not what I meant. Vanya follows orders. You never did, not really."

He moves behind me, hands settling on my hips, chin resting atop my head. "My father would disagree."

"Your father sees what you allow him to see."

"We should go," I whisper, though I'd rather stay cocooned in our villa, away from the politics and performances that await us at the main house. "Your father will be looking for you."

"Let him look." Mikhail's lips brush my temple. "Dmitri Zhukov can wait. The world can wait."

For a moment, I believe him—that we exist outside the gravity of his family's empire, that our love is stronger than the blood ties that bind him. But I know better. The Bratva is his inheritance, just as this child is ours.

"The world never waits," I counter softly, turning in his arms. "Not even for Mikhail Zhukov."

His laugh is a low rumble against my chest. "No? Then perhaps I should make it."

Before I can respond, he captures my mouth in a kiss that tastes of possession of the man I feared becoming the one I can't live without. My fingers curl into his shirt, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my palm.

When we finally break apart, my lips are swollen, and my carefully applied lipstick has transferred to his mouth—a mark of ownership that sends heat spiraling through me despite my condition.

"Now I need to fix my makeup," I breathe but make no move to step away from the circle of his arms.

"Leave it." His thumb traces the corner of my mouth. "Let them see what I do to you."

The heat in his words makes my cheeks flush, and I wonder if this is how it will always be between us—this constant pull, this electricity that crackles even in the most mundane moments. Seven months pregnant, and I still feel like a schoolgirl when he looks at me like that.

"We're going to be late," I say, but my hands betray me, sliding up his chest to his shoulders. My fingers find the nape of his neck, threading through the short hair there.

"Late is a matter of perspective." His voice drops an octave, the sound vibrating against my skin as his lips find my neck. "When you're the boss, everyone waits."

I tilt my head, giving him better access, and close my eyes as his teeth graze the sensitive spot below my ear. "And what about when you're the boss's son?"

His laugh is dark velvet against my throat. "Then you make them wait even longer."

My protest dissolves into a sigh as his hands slide around to the small of my back, drawing me closer despite the roundness between us. The baby shifts, pressing against my ribs as if making room for its father's embrace.

"Mikhail," I breathe, but it's not a rejection. My fingers curl into his shirt, wrinkling the pristine linen. "The ceremony..."

"Can start without us." His mouth claims mine again, hungrier this time, demanding in a way that makes my knees weak.

I surrender to it, to him, to the heat that blooms beneath my skin despite the impracticality of it all. His hands are everywhere—cupping my face, skimming my sides, cradling my belly with a reverence that makes my heart ache.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Mikhail's forehead rests against mine, our shared air warm and intimate.

"We really do need to go," I whisper, though my body protests the very idea. "I promised Inez I'd help with her veil."

Mikhail sighs, his breath fanning across my lips. "Fine. But tonight..." His eyes, darkened to stormy blue, promise things that make my pulse quicken.

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