Pregnant For My Brother-in-Law

Chapter 2

It has been exactly one week and two days since the antiseptic smell of The Artemis Institute, and yet, I feel like a faulty thermostat. I am either burning up or shivering. My stomach is fine, mostly, but the sense of unease clings to me like cheap perfume. I try to blame the seasonal flu, or maybe the stress of this dinner.

This dinner. The grand ballroom of the Martinez Estate is packed. Tonight is the official and sickening celebration of Sofia’s and Mikhail Ivanov’s engagement.

I sit in the one corner where the light is weakest, near the dusty oil portrait of my grandfather. It is my usual post. The place of quiet endurance.

My father, Antonio, is holding court at the head table, his laughter loud and brittle. He looks right through me as he toasts Sofia, his favorite daughter, the only one he sees as worthy of the Ivanov name.

Sofia, radiant in a ruby-red dress, shines brighter than the chandelier. She sips champagne, her eyes darting constantly to Mikhail, ensuring his attention is fixed entirely on her.

Mikhail. He is at the head table, of course. His charcoal suit is a masterpiece as usual. He hasn’t glanced my way once. He treats me like I’m a child still relegated to the servants' table, or worse, a mistake too.

And that is precisely how it should be.

My older brother, Diego, is the only one who acknowledges my existence. He slips into the chair next to mine, stealing a bread roll.

“You are hiding again, El,” Diego says, his voice warm, if slightly distracted.

“I am fine, Diego. Someone has to be the quiet observer,” I reply, taking a tiny sip of water. “You look exhausted. The Ivanov deal?”

“It is always the Ivanov deal. Mikhail is relentless, you know this. It is all business, all the time. He is only speaking in terms of market projections and prenuptial agreements tonight. Poor Sofia is trying to get him to talk about tablecloths.”

Diego glances toward the head table, then lowers his voice. “Look, don’t mind Dad tonight. He is on his fifth scotch and is just trying to impress Mr. Boris Ivanov. You know how he gets.”

“I know,” I say, the words tasting like ashes. I know. I am the daughter they endure, the one who can’t embarrass them. I am the expectation of nothing.

Sofia leaves Mikhail’s side, gliding toward us with a predatory grace.

“There you are, Elena. Still sketching your little flowers?” Sofia says, her voice carrying a sweet, condescending edge.

“I am not sketching, Sofia. I am listening to Diego,” I state.

Sofia waves a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. Diego, darling, Mikhail needs you to discuss the merger timeline before Father gets to him first. Go, be useful.” She doesn't even wait for him to respond. She simply pulls him up by the sleeve of his jacket.

Diego shoots me an apologetic look. “Sorry, El. Duty calls.” He leaves.

Sofia leans in close, the scent of expensive perfume and triumph filling the space he left. “You know, Elena, you should just leave. Honestly. You make Father nervous. You are his little reminder of… well, you know. The unpleasantness. Just go back to your little downtown studio. Nobody will notice.”

My fingers tighten on the glass. Breathe. Endure. “I am here because this is my home, Sofia. For now.”

She chuckles, a cool, dry sound. “Your home? Oh, Elena. This is Antonio Martinez’s home. And soon, it will be the Martinez-Ivanov alliance’s territory. You are just renting space until you become a genuine embarrassment. Do us all a favor and fade back into the background, where you belong.”

She sweeps away before I can muster a reply, returning to her glittering perch.

She is right. She is always right about this family.

A dizzying wave washes over me. It is sudden, sharp, and metallic. My head throbs. The glittering lights and the drone of the society chatter suddenly feel overwhelming, threatening to crash down on me. It isn’t the flu but I have no idea what it is.

I need air. I need quiet.

I stand up carefully, gripping the back of the chair until the sudden vertigo passes. I cannot use the main restroom near the ballroom; Sofia is probably having her powder retouched there. I remember the small, ornate powder room tucked away in the library corridor, rarely used during large events.

I move quickly, slipping out of the ballroom and into the long, dark hallway. The carpet muffles my steps. The air here is cooler, cleaner. I lean against the cool wall of the library, letting my eyes adjust to the dim light.

Just make it to the door.

I reach the little door marked ‘PRIVATE.’ I push it open—

And I freeze.

Mikhail is inside. Not using the toilet, but standing at the sink, running ice-cold water over his hands. He is clearly using this quiet space for a quick, private moment, perhaps to escape the party. He is on his phone, his low voice a rough sound that doesn’t belong in this quiet space.

“...No. The press release is premature. We are announcing the merger and the alliance next month, not tonight. Yes, Father knows my terms. He can complain all he wants, but the deal is contingent on those clauses. Good.”

He slams the phone down on the marble counter, his jaw tight. He looks up into the mirror—and his eyes lock onto mine.

He turns, slowly. He is too big for the small room. He fills the doorway, blocking my exit.

“Elena,” he says, his voice flat, devoid of surprise. He treats my presence like a mild, irritating draft.

“I am sorry. I didn’t know anyone was here,” I stammer, backing up slightly.

“Clearly,” he retorts, picking up a napkin and drying his hands with unnecessary force. “What are you doing back here? Are you hiding from your sister?”

The arrogance sends a wave of defiance through the nausea. “I am not hiding. I needed a quiet moment away from the spectacle.”

“The spectacle is my engagement to your sister, a fact that requires your attendance. This is not a hideaway for the children, Elena. Go back to your table.” He treats me like I’m ten years old.

“I am not ten, Mikhail. And I don’t need your permission to be alone in my own house,” I say, my voice trembling slightly.

He takes a single, slow step toward me. The tension in the small room is suddenly thick, pressing against my chest, making it hard to breathe. He is close enough now that I can smell the expensive, cool cologne, the scent of money and dominance.

“Your house?” He stops, a challenging sneer twisting his perfect mouth. “The house that is about to become the property of Ivanov Industries and the Martinez alliance? Don’t confuse a roof over your head with ownership, Elena. You are here only on sufferance.”

I raise my chin, gathering every ounce of my forced courage. “Sufferance or not, I was here first. And you are marrying my sister. The least you can do is pretend I am not invisible.”

He stares at me, his eyes now narrowed, dark and dangerous. It is the first time he has truly looked at me since the hospital, and the sheer intensity of his gaze makes my knees weak.

“Is that what this is about?” he challenges, his voice a low growl. “You want attention? Are you jealous of Sofia? Are you still playing the little rival?”

“I am not jealous!” I hiss, furious that he sees me as that small, pathetic girl.

I push past him toward the door, desperate to escape the heat and the accusation. He is too fast. He reaches out, his hand wrapping around my wrist, pulling me back to stop my sudden flight.

“Don’t walk away when I am speaking to you,” he commands.

The sudden contact is explosive. The moment his cold, strong fingers wrap around my skin, the room tilts. I am still too dizzy, too off-balance from the strange symptoms. I stumble, my foot catching on the small, decorative floor rug.

I fall forward, not away.

Mikhail tries to steady me, his other arm snapping around my waist. The force of my unexpected weight sends us both crashing back against the closed door.

My hands fly up, grabbing his shirt collar for balance. My body is pressed flush against his hard chest.

And in the terrible, dizzying chaos of the fall, my mouth crashes into his.

It is not a gentle collision. It is a hard, desperate smash of heat and fury. His lips are cold, shocked, but the instant they touch mine, a spark ignites, shocking the control right out of his eyes.

He doesn’t move to pull away. He freezes, one hand still locked on my waist, the other clutching my wrist. His initial reaction is raw, purely physical. A low sound catches in his throat, a sound of surprise and maybe desire and he tilts his head, deepening the pressure, accepting the collision.

The world vanishes. All the bitter cold, the disdain, the wedding bells, and the Martinez family history dissolves into the burning, illicit heat of his mouth on mine.

What am I doing?

My mind screams the question, but my body betrays me. My fingers clutch his collar tighter, pulling him closer, desperate for the forbidden contact.

He is the fiancé. He is Sofia’s. He is everything I am not allowed to touch.

The kiss is violent and immediate, fueled by an unspoken tension. He demands a response, and I give it a frantic, desperate echo of his hunger.

He pulls back suddenly, tearing his mouth away as if burned. He is breathing hard, his chest heaving under my palms. His eyes are black, stripped of their usual cold indifference.

He stares at me, his gaze blazing down on my shocked face.

“What in the hell was that, Elena?” he demands, his voice rough, barely a whisper.

My chest heaves. I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. I can’t stop the frantic pounding of my heart.

I thought I was past this. I thought I had buried the crush. He is marrying her. Why does he look at me like that?

“I… I stumbled,” I whisper, pulling my wrist free from his vice-like grip.

“You stumbled?” He scoffs, the cold returning to his eyes, freezing over the momentary heat. He runs a hand roughly through his already disheveled hair. “You are a clumsy child, Elena. Go back before you ruin the night. And don’t ever speak of this.”

He is already turning, grabbing his phone from the counter. He opens the door and slips out, melting back into the loud crowd of the ballroom.

I stand alone in the dim, quiet room, my back against the closed door. My lips are throbbing, tasting of his cologne and something dangerously wild.

He thinks I am clumsy. He thinks I am a child. He thinks I did this for attention.

The dizziness returns, worse this time, but beneath it, a sharp, electric shock vibrates through my whole being.

I touch my mouth, trembling. I have no idea what I have just done.