The gown was a silent conspiracy. It was a deep emerald green, a rich, audacious color that seemed to glow in the soft light of the bedroom.

The fabric, a heavy, luxurious silk, was cut to hug every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination. I stood before the full-length mirror, my hands resting on the gentle, undeniable swell of my stomach.

Five months. Five months of staying hidden in Vladimir’s fortress, five months of my life being absorbed by his world, and five months of this ...