Page 84 of Secret Heir

I don’t remember getting outside. I don’t remember the ride back to my apartment. I just remember sitting on my bathroom floor, still in the lingerie I wore to seduce him, and vomiting until there’s nothing left.

The man I love is a killer. A traitor. A monster.

I spend a day in my apartment, calling in sick to work, jumping at every sound and waiting for Maksim to show up at my door, knowing I was there.

He calls and texts me, but I refuse to answer them.

On the second day, I wake up nauseous. It’s not the soul-deep nausea of horror, but something physical that sends me running to the bathroom again.

My period is late. It’s been late for over a week, but I’ve been too distracted to notice.

No. Please, no.

The pregnancy test costs twelve dollars I can’t really afford. I take it with trembling hands, and when those two pink lines appear, I sink to the bathroom floor for the second time this week.

Because irony has a sick sense of humor, I’m pregnant.

I’m carrying Maksim Sokolov’s baby, and I just watched him murder someone and plot to kill his own brother.

The choice crystallizes with brutal clarity: stay with the man I love and raise our child in this world of violence and betrayal, or run and keep my baby safe.

I choose to run.

It takes me three days to plan. I clear out my bank account. There’s not much, just the two thousand dollars I’ve been saving for emergencies. I buy a fake ID from a guy my roommate knows and become Sarah Mitchell, complete with a social security number. I pack one suitcase with clothes and essentials, leaving everything else behind.

On the fifth day after that night in the warehouse, I get on a bus to Philadelphia and disappear.

I never see Maksim Sokolov again.

Until he finds me eight years later.

“Aria!”

I’m on the floor of the garage. I don’t remember falling, but my back is against the wall and I’m gasping for air that won’t come.

Maksim is crouching in front of me, his hands on my shoulders, his handsome face creased with concern. His gray eyes—the same eyes I fell in love with, the same eyes that looked so cold and empty in that warehouse—are searching my face.

“Aria, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

I realize I’m crying. My face is wet with tears and I’m trembling.

“I—” I can’t get words out. All I can think about is the memory of blood on concrete and cold voices discussing murder.

“You’re scaring me.” His hands cup my face, forcing me to focus on him. “Are you hurt? Is it the baby?”

The baby. Our second baby. The one that’s tying me even more firmly to this man I don’t know if I can trust.

“I saw a spider,” I blurt out. “A big one. It startled me.”

It’s a weak lie, pathetic even, but it’s all I can manage.

Maksim’s expression shifts from concern to something more assessing. He doesn’t believe me—I can see it in his eyes. But he doesn’t call me on it either.

“A spider.”

“I hate spiders. They scare me. I have severe arachnophobia.” I’m babbling, trying to cover the panic. “It was huge with long legs and it jumped at me. Like this.” I mimic my hands jumping at my face.

“Okay.” He helps me stand, his hands gentle but firm. “Let’s get you inside and away from the spiders.”