Page 35 of Pregnant with Bratva Twins
It isn’t just a threat. Not some empty boast or drunken joke. I know Markian too well now. I’ve seen the violence that simmers beneath his skin, the ruthlessness he unleashes without warning. I know what he’s capable of, what lines he’s willing to cross. I know too much. About the Bratva, about the deals and the deaths, about Chris, about everything that matters to him. I know what he’s done, what he will do, and most dangerous of all—I know who he is when no one else is watching.
I try to tell myself I’m different. I’m not just another girl, not just a toy or a distraction. I’m the woman carrying his child, the woman he called “mine.”
The truth is, I’m a liability. I’m a risk. And Markian Sharov does not tolerate risks for long.
Panic claws at my throat as I pace the room, memories spinning like leaves in a storm. I remember the way he looked at me when he was angry, the way he grabbed my wrists, the possessive bite of his words:“You’re mine.”
The softness I sometimes glimpsed—his hand in my hair, the brush of his lips against my temple, the rare smile he triedto hide—seems small and distant now, easily swept away by the cold certainty of what I’ve heard tonight.
I move to the mirror and stare at my reflection. I’ve got red-rimmed eyes, hair wild from tossing in the sheets, fear etched deep into every line of my face. I barely recognize the woman staring back at me, the woman who once thought she could survive this, maybe even carve out a space in this world. Now I just look lost.
My hands fall to my belly, the flat curve that still hides its secret. The promise I once felt—of something good, something worth fighting for—curdles into dread. What future does my child have here? A father who kills when he’s bored, who laughs about the women he’s ruined? A world of violence and secrets and shadows that swallow the weak?
Tears sting my eyes. I try to swallow them down, but they come anyway, blurring the world. I slide to the floor, knees tucked under my chin, rocking gently as the room tilts around me.
Time crawls. Every creak in the house makes me flinch, every gust of wind against the windows has me expecting heavy footsteps and cold hands closing around my throat. I want to run, but there is nowhere to go. I want to scream, but the walls are too thick, the night too deep.
When I finally stand, I move through the motions like a ghost. I brush my hair, wash my face, fold the blanket back over the bed. I try to find comfort in routine, in the small acts of care that used to anchor me. Nothing works. The fear sits in my chest, heavy and unmoving.
I lie awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling, counting the minutes. I replay every moment with Markian, searching forproof that I matter, that I’m safe. His words—spoken to others, never to me—echo louder than any memory.
“If you betray him. If you get boring. He’d kill you.”
I curl tighter into myself, hands protectively covering my belly. I tell myself I’m strong, that I’ll find a way out. For me. For this child.
As the hours tick by and the city outside remains silent and indifferent, I realize I am more alone than I have ever been.
The night stretches on, endless and merciless. I wait for dawn, praying for courage, praying for hope, praying for a future that feels farther away with every heartbeat.
***
Dawn creeps into the sky, coloring the city in streaks of dull silver and washed-out blue. I haven’t slept. How could I?
The words from last night, spoken by Alina and echoing in my mind, have left me too raw for rest. The weight of that knowledge has become a cold, hard stone in my chest.
I sit by the window, knees hugged to my chest, eyes fixed on the world beyond the glass. The manor behind me is quiet, a dark shape in the fading night. There’s a moment, just before the sun fully rises, when I let myself grieve, not just for what I’m about to lose, but for every moment I thought I might be safe here. I can’t risk my life, or my child’s, on the hope that Markian’s rare flashes of tenderness will save us. Not when his ruthlessness is just as real, just as constant, just as absolute.
My decision is made. I stand, breath shallow, and move quickly to the dresser. I keep my motions quiet, deliberate.
The house is still, thick with the hush of early morning. I take out the small bag I’ve hidden behind a stack of folded sweaters. It isn’t much, just enough.
Some cash I tucked away over the last few weeks, a single change of clothes, and at the very bottom, wrapped in tissue, the pregnancy test. I press it to my chest for a moment, then drop it into the bag, the plastic suddenly feeling impossibly heavy.
My hands shake as I move about the room, gathering what little I can. I trace my fingers over the edge of the silk sheets—cool, luxurious, a reminder of nights tangled up in pleasure and pain. I glance at the bookshelf, crowded with novels I read to keep the world at bay.
There are photographs on the wall, faded and lovely. Landscapes, nothing personal, but I try to imprint them in my memory anyway. This room has been my prison and my haven. I take a shaky breath, letting it settle inside me. I don’t want to forget, but I know I must.
A soft knock comes at the door, so soft I almost miss it. I tense, but when it opens, it’s only Alina, slipping inside like a shadow. She’s dressed in her plain work dress, hair braided back. She closes the door behind her and looks at me with wide, worried eyes.
“Are you really leaving?” she whispers.
I nod. “I have to. I can’t stay here, not after last night. Not after everything.” My voice wobbles, but I hold her gaze. “I can’t risk it. Not for me, not for—” I pause, one hand on my belly. “Not for the baby.”
She crosses the room in two quick steps and hugs me, hard. For a moment I can barely breathe, but it’s the only comfort I’ve had in days. “Wait,” she whispers, pulling away.She disappears into the corridor, returns a moment later with a handful of coins and a worn Metro card. “You’ll need this. If you can, take the west stair. The guards are laziest there. Go out the laundry door; it doesn’t squeak.”
I nod, fighting tears. “Thank you, Alina. For everything. If you ever need help—”
She shakes her head. “Just stay alive, okay? For both of you.”
