38. Viviana

Thankfully, Mikhail's office door is unlocked. If it wasn't, I probably would have slammed face first into it, which would have lessened the overall effect. As it is, the door flies open hard enough it bounces off the wall and I'm steaming in the doorway.

Mikhail doesn't even look up.

He's sitting behind his desk, his hand wrapped around a crystal glass like it's the only thing keeping him on the ground. His knuckles are white.

"We need to talk."

"I'm busy," he grits out.

I slam his office door closed behind me. "Then we better talk fast."

Mikhail lifts his head slowly, moving with practiced ease that sends a shiver down my spine. His eyes meet and hold mine.

This is a good idea,I tell myself. I truly believe that. Even as the anger inside of me shifts into something flushed and uncertain. Even as I fidget from one foot to the other, trying to decide how to stand my ground while he's pummeling me with his icy blue eyes. Mikhail is my husband and we have to talk this out. I press my shoulders back and meet his glare with one of my own. "You can ignore me if you want, but?—"

"Apparently, I can't." He gestures to where I'm standing in the doorway.

I huff and continue. "But you can't ignore Dante."

"I was going to spend time with him, but you couldn't walk away. You can't tell him no."

"So you'd rather disappoint him than be in the same room with me?"

He leans forward, hissing his words with a shocking amount of venom. "I'd rather disappoint him than let you use yet another child to get my attention."

Baggage,I remind myself. If Anatoly was here, he'd remind me of that, too.

So many people in Mikhail's life have lied to him and manipulated him. He's trained to assume the worst in people. Even though his words land like a sharp jab to my sternum, I stifle the pain and try to rise above it.

Then, I very promptly tunnel directly underneath it.

"And I'd rather get a false positive on a pregnancy test than have another kid that you'll ignore whenever it suits you."

When they go low, you go lower.My life motto, apparently.

Heat crawls up his neck, which is the most reaction I've gotten out of him in days. It's intoxicating, even if it means he's pissed at me. At least this time, he's mad about something I've actually done.

"I don't even know why you're upset," I continue. "You didn't want this baby in the first place. It's not like you'd have time, anyway. You don't want to spend time with the kid you already have."

Between one blink and the next, the desk between us dematerializes. That's the only explanation I have for how Mikhail goes from sitting behind it to standing directly in front of me.

The energy pouring off of him is enough to press me back against the door and lodge whatever I was going to say next in my throat.

His eyes are black and his nostrils are flared. "You don't know a single fucking thing about what I want, Viviana."

It's hard to feel powerful when I'm cowering against the door, but I do my best. I have to. Mikhail is used to pushing people around and getting his way.

Now, it's my turn.

"I know you don't want to be sitting in this office alone. I know you could pick me up and throw me out this door if you actually didn't want me here, but you haven't."

He snaps his hand to my neck, banding his long fingers loosely around the column of my throat. "Keep talking and I will."

The frustration flowing through me congregates in the places where his body touches mine: my throat, the brush of his knee against my thigh, his hot breath on my temple. I swallow and I know he feels it against his palm. Mikhail Novikov is aware of his effect on people; on me most of all.

"Maybe I don't know what you want," I admit. "But you don't know how much I wanted that baby."

I'm not going to cry. I look over his head, focusing on the ceiling to send the tears flowing in reverse. This is my chance to tell him everything I wanted to say when I broke the news. I'm not going to sob through it.

"When Trofim was holding me captive, knowing I was carrying your baby was… It was the only reason I had to stay alive. I laid on that stupid bare mattress for hours, stroking my stomach, desperate to find a reason to take my next breath. It wasn't about getting you back, Mikhail, or having a bargaining chip. You didn't give me any reason to think I'd ever see you again."

I'm snarling my way through this confession. I'm taking the fragile pieces of my heart and flinging them at him like darts, hoping at least a few of them leave a mark.

"I didn't tell you when I started having doubts about the pregnancy because I wanted it, Mikhail. I wanted this baby, this life… you, me, and Dante. I wanted a fourth little star in our cluster."

Tears well in my eyes. I try to look away, but Mikhail's hand is like iron around my throat. It's not tight enough to choke, but it's enough to keep me exactly where he wants me.

If he wants me here at all.

"That false test is the only thing that got me through captivity. It's the reason I found the strength to survive and I will never, ever regret that." With nowhere else to look, I meet his dark eyes at last. "You didn't want the baby in the first place, so cheer up. You're free."

"I already told you, Viviana: you don't know a thing about what I want."

The fingers from his free hand dig into my thigh as he snaps my leg up and around his hip. He presses closer, his hard body melding against the soft curves of mine. I can feel what he wants prodding against my hip bone.

I slowly stretch onto my toes, sliding our bodies together. "Then t?—"

His eyes flash as he tightens his fingers around my throat. I can't speak. Can't move.

"You think I didn't want this baby?" His lips brush over mine. I can barely breathe, and I lean towards him like he's oxygen. "I could show you. I'll prove to you how much I wanted this baby."

"How?" I rasp.

We still have our clothes on and the friction is enough to have me panting. Black dots speckle the edges of my vision, but this would be a fine way to go.

Mikhail drops his lips to my ear and snarls, "I'll fuck another one into you right now."

He says it like a threat. Like I should be terrified.

In a way, I am.

I'm terrified he won't follow through.