Tap, tap, tap.


    I hear the sound of Sutton’s heels as she paces the bathroom floor. My bathroom floor.


    It still feels strange to think of her here, in my space. How easily I let her into my life.


    I should have seen the signs when I first saw her at Pavlov Industries in that ridiculous princess dress, all sunshine and innocence packaged in curves that could bring a man to his knees.


    The kind of woman who could make you forget yourself.


    Make you forget everything.


    But I’m the kind of man who remembers. The kind who catalogs every detail, analyzes every angle.


    Like how perfectly timed it all was—her arrival, those photos, the way she zed into my life as if it was nned.


    Maybe it was.


    My hand hovers over the bathroom door handle as doubts swarm like hos in my skull. Could she be a spy? It’s the precise kind of move my uncle would make, dangling the perfect bait and waiting for me to snap at it like a hungry shark.


    Or maybe the old bastard is only seeding at making me paranoid.


    Fuck, he’d love it if he knew he was in my head, pulling strings that I’ve attached to myself.


    A gasp from behind the door silences my thoughts, slices straight through them to the heart of the matter: Is Sutton okay?


    I shoulder through without knocking, prepared for… I’m not even sure what.


    But not this.


    Sutton is bent over the vanity, head bowed, shoulders trembling as she stares down at the blue box in her hands. For a single second, I think this is it. Artem just asked me what would happen once she was pregnant, and now, I’m going to have to find out.


    Then Sutton jerks towards me, the box falling to the floor at her feet… and tampons spill across the shiny tile floor.


    Her gaze slides past me as she drops to the floor, scooping the tampons back into the box. “Tampons. They’re just— I started my period.”


    She’s shaking all over and none of this makes any fucking sense.


    “I thought you were hurt,” I say wearily.


    She shakes her head, her voice catching as she speaks. “I never minded getting my period. Now…” She swallows hard, and I watch her throat work against the tears she’s fighting. “I’ve been dreading it. I thought it might happen. When I was out with Faye today, I thought I might be about to… I didn’t expect to be so disappointed.”


    “Is that why you came home early?”


    Maybe she wasn’t spying.


    Maybe she wasn’t trembling because of what she overheard.


    She nods, shoulders lifting in a light shrug. “I felt ite on, but I guess I was still hoping…” Her voice cracks. “I just feel like a failure.”


    Something in my chest tightens—an unfamiliar ache. Before I can think better of it, I’m pulling her into my arms.


    The hos in my skull quiet when I hold her, reced by a different kind of buzzing. I start to forget why I was suspicious in the first ce.


    Because that’s what Sutton does to me. She walks into a room and suddenly, my razor-sharp edges feel dull. My iron-d logic develops cracks.


    “You’re not a failure,” I reassure her. “These things take time.”


    Herugh is weak against my chest. “You hired me for one specific purpose. And I’m not delivering.”


    “It’s only been a couple of months.” I run my fingers through her hair, noting how she shivers at my touch. “It took Artem and Faye a year before Lily came along.”


    Her eyes go wide. “You’d be okay if this took a year?”


    I consider it. The old Oleg would have cut his losses, found another solution. But something about this woman has rewired my circuits, scrambled my priorities.


    “What other option do we have?” I pull her closer and breathe in the vani scent of her shampoo. My body responds to her nearness, picking up her vibration like a gong, filling with her, resonating with her. “In any case, I enjoy trying.”


    She ps my chest. “Don’t joke.”


    “Who’s joking?” My voice drops an octave as I remember all the ways we’ve “tried” so far.


    In the shower, the kitchen, the car… On her knees, on mine…


    I’m getting hard at the memories alone.


    “The longer it takes, the more we need to try. Two, three times a day if necessary.” My hand slides lower, proprietary. “Hell, we can try right now.”


    Burying whatever I’m feeling inside of her would be easier than admitting she’s gotten under my skin.


    Easier than examining why I want to erase the sadness from her eyes instead of interrogating her.


    She pushes me away with a watery smile, but there’s heat in her eyes that wasn’t there before. “I guess I didn’t realize how badly I wanted this until we started trying.”


    I catch her hand before she can retreat further. “Have you always wanted to be a mother?”


    Her answer is immediate. “Yes. My mother wasn’t there for me, and then we were in foster care with so many kids who had no one, and I knew I wanted to do it better. Sydney says I’m trying to fill the mother-shaped hole in my life with a baby.”


    “So?” I shrug. “Everyone has their own reasons. As long as you n not to fuck it up, who cares what your reason is?”


    Her darkshes flutter against her cheeks. “What’s yours?”


    “Necessity.”


    As soon as the word is out of my mouth, she pulls away, untangling herself. “I don’t believe you. Even you aren’t that cold.”


    But I am.


    I have to be.


    “It’s always been inevitable for me. I never even considered whether I wanted children; I just knew I needed them.”


    “I’ve seen you with children, Oleg. You enjoy them.”


    “I enjoy other people’s children. Mostly because I can leave whenever I want.”


    “You won’t leave our kid,” she says confidently, eyebrow arched. “You pretend like you don’t care but I think that’s a lie. It’s just a way to protect yourself.”


    “Is that right?” Amusement butts heads with irritation in my chest.


    “You’ve suffered losses, same as me, and you’ve been deeply affected by them whether you admit it or not.” She steps closer, fearless. “You’re not going to let down an innocent child. Especially one you helped create.”


    “We have to create this kid first,” I murmur against her ear, trying to derail this conversation before it ventures into territory I’m not ready to explore.


    She shakes me off and stalks to the bed, all swaying hips and wounded pride.


    When she settles on the mattress, pulling her bare feet up and wrapping her arms around her knees, she looks pure enough to break my ck heart.


    “That an invitation?”


    She shakes her head, a ghost of a smile haunting her lips. “Is flirting your way of avoiding a real conversation? Because that won’t always work with me.”


    “It’s worked so far.”


    She res at me, epting the challenge. “Don’t you want the pretty picture for yourself? A family? Kids? The golden retriever and a white picket fence?”


    The questions fly like shrapnel, bits of memories I let go of a long time ago. In a different life. A different me.


    When I was young enough to believe in forever.


    “There was a time when I saw myself settling down,” I admit. “I don’t want dog hair all over my house and I prefer barbed wire to picket fences… but the rest of it… I thought about it.”


    “With Elise.” Her voice is soft, gentle.


    It’s not a question, so I don’t answer.


    Silence stretches between us like a tightrope. I can feel her curiosity poking against my skin, waiting for me to fill in the nks.


    But I’ve never spoken about Elise and Oriana. Not to anyone who didn’t know them before the fire.


    “I’m sorry you?—”


    I scowl at her downturned face, at the way shadows pool in the hollow of her throat. “Don’t bother. I don’t need anyone’s pity. Especially when no one else understands.”


    “You think you have the monopoly on suffering? Well, you’re wrong.” Fire zes in those blue eyes. “You’re not the only one who’s had it rough, Oleg. I’ve lost people who were standing right in front of me. My biological father looked me in the eyes and told me he didn’t want me, that he’d told my mother to get an abortion.” Her jaw clenches and her eyes sh. “It wasn’t like he didn’t want children. He had other kids. He just didn’t want me.”


    “Then he’s an asshole and a fool,” I grit out.


    “At least he was honest about it,” she replies. “My mom didn’t want me, either. The only reason my dad knew I existed is because she carted me in front of him to shake him down for fourteen years of missed child support. She owed her dealer.”


    “Jesus.”


    But the word isn’t enough. Nothing could be enough for the rage building in my chest.


    “I didn’t have a family, Oleg. I had my sister, and there were days where that felt like enough. But there were a hell of a lot more where it wasn’t. I didn’t have a family to fall back on or to support me, but at least I can try and create it for—” She stops, something shing behind her eyes like a knife in the dark. “—someone else.”


    The hesitation sets off warning bells. There’s something she’s not telling me, a truth she swallowed back at thest second.


    I should press her. Demand the rest of that sentence.


    But how the fuck can I expect her toy her soul bare when I keep mine locked in a vault of scar tissue, seawater, and smoke?


    I see betrayal in every shadow, treachery in every smile. And when betrayal doesn’te, I still wait for the other shoe to drop. Wait for fire or bullets or fate to steal whatever I’ve been stupid enough to care about.


    But trust isn’t just about loyalty and secrets. It’s about letting someone see your scars, inside and out.


    And Sutton… fuck.


    She’s the first person who’s made me want to talk about the ghosts I carry.


    Maybe that’s why I’ve kept her at arm’s length.


    Because letting down these walls means risking another loss.


    Still. When fate drops a gift in yourp, wrapped in a princess dress and golden hair, you don’t just give it back. You can’t just walk away.


    “What are you thinking?” she asks, her voice soft as a confession.


    “I’m thinking of the day we met,” I tell her.


    For once, it’s nothing but truth.