Morning sunlight spills through the curtains as you lay comfortably in bed.

Or at least, as comfortably as possible when Ronan is practically wrapped around you.

His arm is locked around your waist from behind, one hand resting over your stomach despite the fact you're only two weeks pregnant.

You shift slightly.

His grip immediately tightens.

"Ronan."

"Hm."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Good."

You roll your eyes.

The past two weeks have been ridiculous.

Every morning, his chef receives an entirely new list of foods supposedly beneficial for pregnant women. The poor man has probably spent more time researching pregnancy nutrition than most doctors.

Breakfast is no longer breakfast.

It's a carefully curated menu approved by Ronan Markov himself.

Fruit. Protein. Tea.

Anything remotely healthy.

And somehow, it always ends up delivered directly to your bed.

Because apparently walking downstairs is now forbidden.

A knock sounds at the door.

"Come in."

One of the maids enters carrying a tray loaded with food.

The second she sets it down, Ronan pulls you closer against his chest again.

You stare at the tray.

Then at him.

"Did you seriously have them bring breakfast upstairs again?"

"Yes."

"I can walk."

"I know."

"Then why—"

"Because they can carry it."

You laugh.

Ronan doesn't.

He's completely serious.

"You've become impossible."

"You got pregnant."

"That doesn't mean I can't function."

His hand slides protectively over your stomach again.

"Debatable."

You gasp in mock offense.

Before you can argue further, the bedroom door opens again.

Kolya walks in first.

Yan follows behind him.

Both men stop.

Both men take in the sight.

You buried beneath blankets.

Ronan wrapped around you like a possessive python.

Breakfast in bed.

And the Bratva boss refusing to let his wife move more than three feet unassisted.

Yan's lips twitch immediately.

Kolya looks toward the ceiling.

Very interested in the ceiling.

"Morning," you say cheerfully.

"Good morning," Kolya replies smoothly.

Yan lasts approximately three seconds before grinning.

"So the rumors are true."

Ronan narrows his eyes.

"What rumors."

Yan looks delighted.

"That you're keeping her imprisoned."

You immediately laugh.

Kolya sighs.

"The staff has started calling this room the dragon's dungeon."

Silence.

Then—

You burst out laughing.

Even Yan has to look away.

Ronan looks entirely unimpressed.

"The dragon's dungeon?" you repeat.

Yan nods.

"According to the maids, nobody has seen you downstairs in days."

"Because somebody won't let me leave."

Ronan ignores that.

Kolya folds his arms. "One maid claimed you attempted to go to the kitchen yourself."

"I did."

"And?" Yan asks.

You point a finger at Ronan.

"He sent three people after me."

Yan immediately loses the battle and starts laughing.

Even Kolya's expression cracks slightly.

Ronan looks at both of them like he's considering firing someone.

"She's pregnant."

"She's two weeks pregnant," Yan counters.

"Exactly."

Nobody knows what that means.

Including Ronan.

But apparently it's a valid argument.

You shake your head.

"I swear, everyone thinks I'm trapped up here."

"You are trapped up here," Yan says.

"Thank you."

Ronan glares at him.

Yan wisely takes half a step behind Kolya.

The second-in-command remains completely calm.

"To be fair," Kolya says, "the staff pool currently has bets on when she'll escape."

You laugh so hard you nearly spill your tea.

Ronan does not.

"Nobody is escaping."

That only makes Yan laugh harder.

The feared Bratva boss.

The terror of Moscow.

The man who can silence a room with a glance.

Reduced to keeping his pregnant wife under what the estate has affectionately named house arrest.

And judging by the arm still locked firmly around your waist—

The rumors about the dragon's dungeon aren't ending anytime soon.