Page 52 of Forced By the Bratva King

His anger was justified, but if only he’d listen to me, if only he’d understand why I did what I did. I was starting to feel something for this man, and even though I’d seen a fraction of his inhumanity when he almost killed my biological father right in front of me, I still couldn’t help the feelings I was developing for him.

I didn’t hate him for subjecting me to something as traumatic as that; instead, all I wanted was an audience with him so I could clear the air. I couldn’t live with myself knowing he felt betrayed by my discretion. Artem already thought that I was a spy for the Irish mob, and it felt like I’d stabbed him in the back with a fucking dagger. I knew he must be regretting ever allowing himself to get close to me. But he was wrong, and all I needed was the chance to prove myself.

“I’m happy to report that there’s nothing to worry about,” Dr. Everest said to us, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Everything’s normal with the babies.” She looked at Artem. “Sierra’s body seems to have experienced a sudden stress response, which, in turn, led to a hormonal imbalance. Luckily, no damage was done.” She offered a reassuring smile.

Artem heaved a sigh of relief, folding his arms across his chest. “Thank you, doctor.”

It was now that the full weight of Dr. Everest’s words hit me, the plurality in her description. “Hold on a second,” I began. “Did you saybabies?” My brows rose in surprise.

“Way to steal the fun,” she replied with a chuckle. “But yes, Ididsay babies. Was gonna tell you that there was something else, some important news, but you stole my moment.” Dr. Everest turned to the monitor, pointing at it. “Take a look at this.”

On the screen, two tiny fetuses came into view, each with their own shape and distinct movements. My hand flew to my mouth in shock, and my heart was racing so much that I didn’t process when I reached for Artem’s hand and held on tightly.

He didn’t pull away; instead, he gently placed his other palm on mine but still didn’t look at me. This meant there was a part of him that didn’t entirely hate me. It was somewhat refreshing.

“Congratulations, you’re having twins,” Dr. Everest said, a pretty grin spreading across her face. Turning to Artem, she said, “She’s in a delicate state right now, so you need to take proper care of her, now more than ever.”

He looked at her and just nodded in silence.

“I recommend plenty of rest, healthy eating, proper relaxation, and anything that doesn’t have to do with stress, physically or mentally.” Then, she added, “One more thing: please, no fighting at this point. Whatever misunderstanding you might have, do well to save it up for later. Even the slightest argument can trigger another hormonal imbalance, and we don’t want that.”

I love you, Dr. Everest.

There was joy in my heart upon hearing those words, but what good would that do if Artem only avoided a quarrel based on the doctor’s instructions, not because he truly wanted to let go? If my husband and I were going to live in peace, I wanted it to be of his own free will. He was still upset, but he clearly cared about the babies in my womb. Then, a silly thought hit me hard:What if he keeps the babies and sends me on my merry way after they’re born?

My heart skipped a beat, and my breath caught in my throat as I instinctively jerked my eyes up at him. Was he capable of doing that? Hell, yes. Would he do that to me, though?

The uncertainty of this question turned my stomach, and now I was starting to think all manner of nonsense, imagining the different ways this would end.

“I’ll keep that in mind, doctor,” he said to her.

“You do that,” she replied, helping me up.

I pulled down my top, and after a few more words, we headed out of the ward. He was walking fast, and it was difficult to keep up with his pace, but I soon caught up with him and held his hand. We were already in the lobby by now, and there were people around, but I didn’t care that there was a possibility that he could embarrass me; he could pull his hand out of mine or slap mine away.

Artem didn’t do any of those—he just kept walking—and I quickened my pace to align with his. We stepped outside the building, and I squinted at the brightness of the sun as we descended the long steps at the entrance. He opened the door for me and walked over to his own side of the backseat without waiting for me to get inside first. I smiled faintly at the subtle hints he’d been dropping; he might have been mad at me, but he still cared.

Once inside, and with the vehicle in motion, the two of us sat in silence as I tried to muster the courage to speak to him. He hadn’t said a word to me since we got to the hospital, and honestly, his silence was killing me. He wasn’t even looking in my direction, and despite the hints that he still cared, the frown on his face made it difficult to engage him. I was too afraid tosay anything, and no matter how many times I tried to start a conversation, I always bailed at the last minute.

My heart was racing, and I was chewing on my fingernails while shaking my right leg; I always did that whenever I was nervous or scared about something. It was a reflex action that I had no control over.

“Could you stop doing that for a second?” he said, his voice low and calm. It wasn’t exactly mean, but there was a sternness there.

Instantly, I stopped shaking and chewing on my nails. Finally, he’d spoken to me, and this was my window.

“Sorry. Bad habits,” I said, unable to look at him, which was ironic, considering that I had been trying to catch his eyes for a while now.

“I don’t know what I would have done to you if you weren’t carrying my babies,” he said, turning in my direction. He didn’t seem mad, just disappointed, and now I wasn’t sure which hurt more.

“I know that I’ve lost your trust,” I replied, summoning the courage to look at him. “But I swear, I didn’t mean to keep this a secret from you. You can’t imagine how many times I wanted to just damn everything and tell you.”

He stared at me in silence, but his eyes revealed the pain and the hurt he was bottling in.

“If I had told you from day one that Niall Donovan was my father, then you would have had more than one good reason to kill me,” I explained. “I did what I did to save my skin. I know it sounds selfish, but at the moment, it seemed like a survival instinct to me.”

He was still silent, and I continued, “I wasn’t lying when I told you that I wasn’t close to my biological father. That was the truth, Artem.” The weight in my heart was getting lighter the more I expressed myself to his listening ears.

“You seemed pretty close to me, so close, in fact, that you stood in my way when I was about to kill him,” he said, a frown etched upon his face.