Page 65 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

"No." The denial came out too fast, like my body had jumped in to protect the truth.

Isabella stared at me. "Then why don't you want to touch me?"

My jaw locked. If I really loved Elena and still let myself hurt her, then I was worse than my father. Fucking worse.

"Why aren't you talking?" Isabella forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "So I was right."

I had been ready to say Elena was good at playing the victim. That she bought Olga with tears, that she tried to turn me against Isabella. Those words used to come easy.

Now they stuck in my throat.

Elena had never asked me for a damn thing. When people misunderstood her, she didn't strike back first—she found reasons for me. Even when I never stood on her side. Not once.

"It all happened too fast," I said at last. "I wasn't ready."

"Ready for what?"

The question landed, and I couldn't find an answer that didn't peel me open.

Ready to admit I'd gotten used to sleeping in the same bed with Elena? Ready to admit every time I walked back into the manor, I checked whether the studio light was on before anything else? Ready to admit that when she'd fought back tears and asked me to stay that morning, I'd wanted—just for a second—to take back every cruel word?

None of it belonged in front of Isabella. None of it belonged in my own ears.

My phone sat just a few steps away. If I picked it up, I could ask Elena why she'd gone to the hospital, tell her the voice she'd heard wasn't what she thought. But I stood there anyway, still as stone. Not because I didn't care—because I knew if she asked where I was, I couldn't give an answer that wouldn't hurt her again.

I had already left her once. Now even an explanation felt like another betrayal.

The room had just gone dead quiet when a knock sounded at the door.

A female doctor came in holding a report.

"Mr. Morozov, Ms. Rossi." She opened the folder. "The additional tests are back. There's no serious issue with the arm or the forehead."

I saw Isabella exhale, like she'd been holding her breath for hours.

"And—there's one more result you need to know." The doctor paused. "Ms. Rossi is pregnant."

The sound in the room vanished, like someone had sucked the air out.

I stared at her. "What did you say?"

"Her bloodwork came back positive. It's early. Exact dating will need an OB follow-up and more testing."

I turned, slowly, to Isabella.

Her face went blank too. She looked down at her belly, her good hand hovering in the air for a few seconds before it finally settled there.

"Is the baby going to be okay?" Her voice shook.

"No abdominal pain, no bleeding—that is good. But she needs to stay overnight for observation." The doctor looked at me, automatically filing me under father. "No alcohol. Any medication has to be cleared. She'll need someone taking care of her the next few days, and we should schedule her first prenatal appointment as soon as possible."

I still hadn't pulled myself out of the word pregnant.

The doctor handed me a sheet of instructions. "As her husband, you need to watch for abdominal pain, dizziness, or bleeding. If anything seems off, call immediately."

"No." One word.

The doctor blinked at me, then pushed her glasses up. Isabella looked at me too, and something like disappointment flashed in her eyes.