Page 72 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

I opened the second attachment.

The divorce terms were calm, almost generous. Property. Cash. Trusts. Numbers big enough that I'd never have to worry about money again for the rest of my life. He was willing to give me everything.

Except himself.

The husband's signature read Kiryan Morozov. Clean strokes. Strong. Exactly like the way he signs documents in his study. I stared at the familiar handwriting until my eyes started to ache.

The last attachment was a black-and-white early ultrasound image. Isabella's name was printed at the bottom, along with the date from early this morning. The diagnosis line said early pregnancy, follow-up required.

She was pregnant too. Kiryan's child.

Those two facts finally answered every question I'd been choking on since last night. He hadn't come back because he loved me. He'd come back to finish a goodbye.

My chest hurt in waves. Kiryan's marks still stained my neck and collarbone, proof of just how stupid I'd been.

"Elena?"

Olga pushed the door open, breakfast on a tray in her hands. The second she saw my face, she set it down on the nightstand.

"What happened?"

I tried to say nothing. My lips moved, but no sound came out.

Olga sat on the edge of the bed. She only needed one glance at my phone screen. Her face changed instantly.

"That bastard." Her fingers visibly shook. "Isabella is pregnant?"

I nodded, hollow. I'd still been planning to tell Kiryan I was pregnant, and he already had the woman who fits his life better, carrying his child.

"I'm calling Kiryan," Olga said, turning away.

"Don't." I grabbed her arm.

"He needs to come back and explain."

"He already explained," I said, pulling up the divorce agreement and handing it to her. "He signed it."

Olga stared at the signature, her brow tightening.

"Wait until he comes back," she said. "At least ask him to his face once."

"And then what?"

That stopped her.

"If he says the recording is real, do I really need to hear him throw me out in person? If he denies it, do I have to do this again, like always, and watch him choose between me and Isabella?"

My voice sounded calm, so calm it scared even me.

"He's already chosen. A hundred times, Olga."

At the birthday banquet, he'd chosen to soothe Isabella. When the photos surfaced, he'd chosen to explain things for Isabella.

Now they had a baby. A man and a woman who were always supposed to end up married finally had the perfect reason to go back to each other. From the start, I'd been the wrong piece forced into the wrong place.

"I'm always the extra one," I whispered, like I was talking in my sleep. "The one left behind."

Olga crouched in front of me and took my hands.