Page 59 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

I think about that. God, the stress she must have been under for five years to keep calling me by a different name.

“Kirill also said he’s my husband,” I say to address that next.

My sister’s face reddens. “Well…”

“You knew that, too?” I whisper harshly. “About Kirill and me?”

My sister closes her eyes briefly, as if she’s bracing herself. When she opens them again, there’s guilt there.

“Married, no. We thought you had gotten engaged before the accident. Kirill sent Ares a video on New Year’s Eve,” she admits.

That was months ago.

“A video?” I repeat.

“You were in a park. With Kirill,” she says, no longer cushioning the truth. “You were showing off a ring. I assumed you weren’t forced.”

I grip the edge of the mattress as her confession threatens to send me spiraling. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

Her jaw tightens with a flicker of hardness beneath her usual warmth. “For this exact reason,” she says roughly. “I knew it would overwhelm you. You weren’t ready.”

I can’t argue with that. I wasn’t. Who would be ready for something like this?

“There was a little girl,” I say, the memory of her cutting through everything else. “In the library. She said her name was Violet.”

Lourdes blinks several times.

“And she said…” My voice fractures, splinters under the weight of what happened next. “She said her mother’s name is Sandrine.”

A blush creeps across my sister’s cheeks. “Let’s wait until your medication arrives.”

My heart thumps against my ribs. “You knew I also had a daughter?”

“No,” she says immediately, shaking her head. “Kirill kept that part from us. We didn’t know about the child. Until just now.”

I let out a breath that scrapes my lungs on the way out. “I don’t believe it. I would know if I gave birth to a child.”

Would I?

My hand moves instinctively to my stomach, pressing the soft flesh that’s been there since I woke up in the hospital. I try to feel something, some echo of pain. There’s nothing unfamiliar from a few days ago.

But Lourdes is watching me now with a strange, searching look.

“You do have more of a belly than I remember,” she says cautiously. “You were a string bean when I left for college.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking,” she replies, an unfamiliar edge in her voice. “Sandrine, I know you don’t remember anything before the accident, but you were dating Kirill Volkov, and you never told me. You got pregnant and didn’t tell me. You got engaged, married, and had a baby, and you didn’t tell me.”

Each sentence cuts deeper than the last. Every word is the truth but also distorts everything I thought I knew about myself. But all I knew about myself this time around was what others told me.

I never imagined I had a husband and a child somewhere. I trusted Dad and Lourdes to tell me the truth. But it looks like I was living a secret life with the heir to the Bratva.

“In that video you saw…” I swallow. “What did I look like?”

Lourdes gives a soft smile. “I recognized your smile. You looked very happy. Like you were in love. And so did he.”

My chest tightens painfully because now I think he hates me. But I don’t voice that.