Chapter 21: Sierra

He hates me now. I know he does. Can I handle that, especially in my condition? I've grown to like him so much; how can we both stay in the same house when he hates me? That's gonna be torture. Guess I sorta deserve that.

The ward was dimly lit, filled with beeping machines and soft whispers as I lay back on an examination table. My top was yanked up to reveal my belly while my eyes were fixed on my husband.

Please, just look at me.

He wouldn't; his gaze was upon the doctor whose sharp eyes shimmered behind a pair of sleek, silver-framed glasses. The name embroidered on the lapel of her crisp white lab coat was Dr. Everest, and she was a beautiful woman whose blonde hair was pulled back into a bun. Her fingers were perfectly sheathed into a pair of pale blue latex gloves mirroring her professionalism.

I knew better than to think my husband was drawn to her pretty face. No, he was still very mad at me and was simply avoiding eye contact.

As Dr. Everest worked, gliding the transducer across my exposed belly, I continued to try to catch my husband's eyes, but he wouldn't look at me. Now, his eyes drifted from the doctor to the screen where a fuzzy gray image was being displayed.

I was glad that I had gotten to the warehouse just in time to stop Artem from killing the wrong man. Niall was not an innocent man—neither of them were, quite frankly. But my father was innocent of this crime Artem had accused him of, with good reason, of course.

But now, what I had feared for a long time had finally caught up with me. The cat was out of the bag, and I'd almost lost a lot because of it. Artem would have pulled that trigger if this thing with my stomach hadn't happened when it did.

I had never seen him this angry before, and to think all that rage was transferred to me. It was so scary, and I was certain that he hated me so much now. Why else couldn't he look at me? Maybe if I wasn't pregnant with his child, he would have killed me. I'd have been dead meat by now.

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 say babies ?" My brows rose in surprise.

"Way to steal the fun," she replied with a chuckle. "But yes, I did say 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 to say 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.

"That was my natural instinct at play," I said. "Niall Donovan might be an asshole, but he's still my father, and I couldn't let you kill him, especially when I knew there was someone out there turning you two on each other." I exhaled sharply. "Niall has other children that he's more concerned about; he has the mafia that takes up most of his time and attention. But in his own twisted way, he still loves me—I know that to be true. He's not father of the year, but he's still my father, whether I like it or not."

Artem sighed softly, rubbing his eyeballs.

"It's ironic how my mom took me away from Niall Donovan as a child to keep me safe from all this violence, yet here I am, caught right in the middle of it all. It's like I've come full circle. The very thing she tried to protect me from is the same thing I'm dealing with now…as your wife," I said, drawing in a deep breath as I watched him stare blankly at me. "Say something. Please ."

"What do you want me to say, Sierra?" His gaze didn't waiver one bit.

"I don't know… anything . Just say something," I said, locking eyes with him. When he didn't reply, my heart broke. "You hate me now, don't you?" This was a rhetorical question, although a positive response would have been nice. "I get it. I deserve it."

Emotional blackmail. It often worked, but I wasn't sure it would get the anticipated reaction from a man like Artem Tarasov.

He just continued to stare, his expression blank.

"I know what it's like to grow up without having both parents' love. It sucks. Been there, done that," I said, shaking my head as my hair swished behind me. "No matter how hard I tried to pretend, there was a void my stepdad couldn't fill." I paused, watching the expression on his face soften. "I can't subject our kids to what I suffered. It wouldn't be fair on them. So, please, do not kick me out of their lives once they're born." I looked right into his hollow eyes, pleading with mine.

"Kick you out?" He smirked faintly and leaned forward. "No, no, no." Artem clicked his tongue as he grabbed my jaw with a gentle move. "You're mine. And I am never letting you go. For better, for worse, right? You're stuck with me now."

As relieved as I was to hear him say that, I couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something in his voice that hinted at a more sinister plan hidden beneath the surface.