Page 96 of Cruel Obsession

I lean against the sink. “Morning sickness. Four days straight. My period’s late. I’m never late.”

“Have you taken a test?”

“No, but—”

“Mira,” she cuts in, gentle but firm. “Take a test. Then we’ll talk next steps.”

Next steps. Like it’s that simple. Like I’m not carrying the child of a man who’s explicitly stated he never wants children. A man who runs a casino with ties to the Russian mafia. A man who keeps armed guards around his property and has a room where he keeps human ashes and a gun.

A man I’ve fallen for despite every warning sign.

“I don’t have one,” I say. “And I’m working all day. There aren’t any shops nearby.”

“Can’t you ask one of the staff to get you one?”

I laugh, the sound brittle. “Right. ‘Excuse me, could you pick up a pregnancy test so I can confirm I’m carrying the boss’s baby?’ That’ll go over well. This house has ears, Di. And eyes. Everywhere.”

“Point taken. What about the staff? You could say you need to run an errand?”

“Maybe.” I chew my lip, considering. “I could make an excuse.”

“Do it. Today. You need to know.”

“Yeah.”

My mind’s already running ahead, calculating scenarios, outcomes. What if Iampregnant? What happens to Dad’s treatments if I lose this job? I’ve finally gotten him stabilized, the experimental treatments actually working—all paid for by the salary Arkady’s giving me. The bills would crush us if he decided to throw me out.

“I’ll figure it out,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “Thanks, Di.”

“Call me the second you know, okay?”

“I will.”

After hanging up, I pull in a deep breath, and head off to look for Arkady.

I find him in his study, hunched over his laptop, brow furrowed in concentration. A gun rests casually on the desk beside a stack of ledgers—the kind that never see an accountant’s eyes. The tension radiates from him in waves. Dark bruises shadow his knuckles—I don’t plan to ask what that’s about. I doubt he’d even answer.

“Arkady?” I say, and he snaps his head up, eyes sharpening. For a split second, I see something lethal there—the same cold calculation I glimpsed the night men with bloody knuckles came to his office for “business discussions.” His hand instinctively shifts toward the weapon before recognition filters through.

“What is it?”

“I need to go to the shops,” I say, the rehearsed lie ready. “We’re out of some cleaning supplies.”

His frown deepens, eyes narrowing. “Why didn’t you put it on the shopping list and have it delivered?”

“I forgot.” I hold my breath, hoping he won’t call me out.

Arkady leans back, studying me. “You keep forgetting things, Mirabel. I’m not happy with that.”

I swallow hard, fighting the urge to look away. I wonder if he already knows. If he can somehow see the changes in my body that I’ve only just begun to recognize.

My skin heats under his scrutiny, remembering how those same eyes had darkened with hunger when he’d pushed me against his office wall last week, his mouth claiming mine with a possessiveness that still makes me weak. The memory of his hands, rough and demanding, sends an inappropriate surge of desire through me. This is what makes him so dangerous—the way he can make me want him even when I should be running.

His jaw works as he stares, and I notice the dark circles under his eyes, the tightness at the corners of his mouth. Something’s eating at him. Something big.

“Is there something you need to talk about?” I offer, softening my tone.

His eyes go distant, unfocused for a moment, like he’s looking at something far away. “No,” he says curtly, returning to the present.