SAY YOU ARE MINE

The Pregnant Ex

The doorman buzzes at 6 AM.

Kieran’s arm tightens around me. We’re still in bed. Still tangled. Still married less than 12 hours. His lips brush my bare shoulder. “Ignore it.”

“It could be Viktor.”

“If it was Viktor, he’d be dead for interrupting.” His voice is gravel. Morning. Possessive. “Go back to sleep, _Koroleva_.”

The buzz comes again. Then the intercom.

“Mr. Volkov?” The doorman sounds like he’s swallowing glass. “There’s a… a Miss Irina Volkov here. She says it’s urgent. She says—”

Kieran is out of bed before the sentence ends. Naked. Gun in hand from the nightstand. Safety off. “She’s not a Volkov anymore.”

I grab his sheet. “Kieran, your shoulder—”

“Stay here.” He pulls on sweatpants. No shirt. Bandage stark white against tattoos. “Lock the door after me.”

Like hell I will.

I’m behind him in his t-shirt and bare legs before he hits the living room.

Irina stands in the doorway. Viktor has her by the elbow. Her right wrist is in a cast. The one Kieran broke at the gala. Her other hand is pressed to her stomach.

Her stomach that’s slightly, definitely rounded.

“I’m pregnant,” she says. Looks right at me. “It’s Kieran’s.”

The world stops.

Kieran goes very, very still. The gun lowers. Not because he believes her. Because if he doesn’t lower it, he’ll shoot her.

“You’re lying,” I say. My voice doesn’t shake. Shock does that. Freezes you.

“Am I?” Irina lifts her chin. Triumph in her eyes. “Eight weeks. Right before you, _w***e_. We were engaged. We had rights. He came to my bed the night before he ‘bought’ you.”

Lies. All of it. The letter said he saw me eight months ago. He wouldn’t—

“She’s lying,” Kieran says. Dead voice. But he’s looking at her stomach. Calculating. “I haven’t touched her in a year. Not since I caught her with my _sovetnik_.”

Advisor. She cheated.

Irina flinches. “You can’t prove that. But I can prove this is yours.” She pulls a paper from her purse. Ultrasound. “See? Volkov blood. The heir you owe the Bratva. Not some street—”

The slap echoes.

My hand burns. Her head snaps to the side.

“Don’t,” I say. Low. Cold. I learned that tone from him. “Ever. Call me that again.”

Kieran stares at me. Then he smiles. Slow. Proud. Bloody.

“That’s my wife,” he tells Irina.

Irina holds her cheek. Red. Matching the cast. “You’ll regret this, Kieran. The _vory_ won’t accept a barren queen when there’s a son—”

“The only baby he’s putting in me is mine.” I step forward. Kieran’s hand lands on my waist. Not stopping me. Claiming me. Backing me. “So unless you got pregnant by touching yourself to his picture, that’s not his.”

Kieran barks a laugh. Actual laugh. “Viktor.”

“Sir.”

“Get Dr. Petrov. Now. Full panel. Paternity test. In front of me.” His blue eyes cut to Irina. Ice. “If you’re lying about my blood, I’ll break the other wrist. Then your neck.”

“And if I’m not?” She’s sweating.

“Then you’ll have the baby.” He shrugs. “In Siberia. Alone. Because the child will be raised Volkov. But you won’t be its mother. You won’t be anything.”

She pales.

“Viktor. Remove her. Put her in the downstairs room. No phones. No windows. Dr. Petrov tests her in one hour.”

Viktor drags her out. She’s screaming. “You can’t do this! The council will—”

The door slams.

Silence.

I’m shaking now. The shock wore off. “Kieran—”

He turns. Gun drops to the floor. He’s on me in two steps. Hands on my face. Frantic. Searching. “Hey. Hey, look at me. _Milaya_. Look at me.”

“Did you—”

“No.” His forehead hits mine. Hard. Desperate. “No. Not her. Not in a year. Not since I saw you at the ballet. I swear on my mother’s grave. I swear on _you_.”

I believe him. God help me, I believe him.

“Okay,” I breathe. “Okay.”

“I should have killed her at the gala.” His thumb strokes my cheek. Where I slapped her. “You shouldn’t have to touch trash.”

“I wanted to.” I cover his hand with mine. “She said I was barren. She said you’d replace me.”

Kieran goes still. Then: “Come here.”

He walks us backwards. To the wall of windows. Moscow waking up. Sunrise bleeding gold over the city he owns.

He drops to his knees. Again. Third time.

His hands splay on my stomach. Over his t-shirt. Over bare skin beneath.

“Listen to me, Alina Volkov.” _Volkov_. Not Sokolov. He’s already changed me. “I don’t want an heir. I don’t want a son from her. I don’t want the Bratva line.”

He looks up. Eyes burning.

“I want _yours_. Someday. If you want. A girl with your laugh. A boy with your eyes. Or no one. Just you. For fifty years. In this bed.”

His lips press to my stomach. Hot. A vow.

“You are my family. You are my blood. You are my everything.”

Tears burn. “Kieran—”

“Say you believe me.”

“I believe you.”

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

He stands. Kisses me. Slow. Deep. Like he’s sealing it.

Viktor’s voice crackles on the intercom. “Boss. Dr. Petrov’s here.”

Kieran doesn’t break the kiss. Just reaches out. Hits the button.

“Send him in,” he says against my lips. “And Viktor?”

“Sir?”

“If that test is positive, you buy a plane ticket to Siberia. One way. For her.”

“And if it’s negative?”

Kieran smiles against my mouth. Devil’s smile.

“Then you buy two tickets.”

*END CHAPTER 8*