I shake the distracting thoughts, swinging toward his computer. To my shock, there’s no password. My pulse quickens as I log in. His desktop is tidy, a few neatly labeled folders scattered across the screen. I hesitate for a second, fingers hovering over the mouse, heart hammering as if I’m about to trespass into a sacred place.
But I can’t stop myself.
I blink at the folder labeled with my name—Noelle: Background Information. My hand hovers over the mouse, hesitant, almost afraid to click, and yet curiosity wins.
Inside, my breath catches. The files are…thorough. Everything I’ve ever lived through seems to be laid out in neat rows: my parents, my childhood, the chaos I barely survived. Most of it is familiar—things Niko has told me over time, carefully, sparingly. But there’s more, much more.
There are files about my foster homes, detailed accounts of each placement, who looked after me, the little victories and the long, quiet defeats. Notes on my high school friends, the boys I dated, the small moments I thought were mine alone but somehow now seem cataloged for someone else’s eyes.
My chest tightens as I scroll further. There’s my college life, each semester accounted for, my grades, the scholarships I worked so hard for, the nights I stayed up studying, the people I trusted, the ones I didn’t.
And then…my life at the Rusnak clinic. Everything I did there, who I interacted with, the schedules, the patients, even the mistakes and near misses. It’s intimate, exposing, and strange—but somehow not invasive. I can tell it’s meant to understand me, to keep me safe, not to control me.
I lean back in the chair, heart racing. Niko has followed me through my life without me even realizing it, piecing it together carefully, quietly, like a puzzle he wanted to solve just to protect me.
A shiver runs down my spine. It’s unsettling and comforting all at once. He knows me better than anyone—not just my fears, but my patterns, my life’s tiny threads. And somehow, knowing that, I feel…cherished. Truly seen.
I continue scrolling, my curiosity heightening. I come across shocking pictures that knock the breath from my lungs. There she is—my mother—surrounded by people I immediately recognize as part of the Rusnak Bratva. My pulse quickens. My fingers hover over a photo, and I notice a small star marked beside it, a neat note written in Niko’s handwriting: Kirill Seinoff.
A chill ripples through me. My mother, tied to the Bratva…and this Kirill person, a name Demyan mentioned earlier. My chest tightens as I realize the reach of her past, how it threads into my present in ways I never imagined.
I stare at the photo, trying to process it all—the life I thought I left behind, the chaos I believed I’d escaped, the shadow of Anton and his manipulations. And yet, beneath the shock, beneath the fear, there’s a strange warmth: Niko’s diligence, his obsession with knowing me fully, his silent promise to protect me from everything he can.
My phone buzzes on the desk, cutting through the silence like a knife. I pick it up, stomach twisting, and see the message from the same restricted number that’s been haunting me:
“He won’t come back, but I can help you find out more.”
Chapter 20 – Niko
The city is just waking up, but I’ve been moving through the shadows for hours. Tires hum against wet asphalt as I drive into the underground garage of the high-rise. My hands grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary. Every muscle in my body is tense, wired, waiting. Anton’s ghost is everywhere I look, though I know he’s still out there somewhere.
The elevator keycard slides through my pocket with a click. I press the button, and the private doors glide open like a secret gate. The familiar hum of the lift fills my ears as I descend—or is it ascend?—toward the floor that keeps what I value most safe.
I step inside, scanning the empty space, the sleek metal walls reflecting the hard angles of my own silhouette. Every step toward the penthouse feels deliberate, calculated, like walking into a chessboard where every move could decide a life.
I think about last night, the raids, the traps set, the leads chased to dead ends. Anton slipped through every one of them. Damn him. Rage and frustration churn under my skin, but deeper than that…there’s the pull toward the woman waiting for me above. Noelle.
The elevator doors slide shut behind me. The hum quiets, leaving only the sound of my heartbeat, steady, controlled. I’m home. And yet, part of me feels empty without her in my arms. Every second spent apart from her is a reminder of what’s at stake, a reminder of what Anton is trying to take from me.
The lift jerks softly as it rises, and I brace myself, letting the silence stretch. In a few moments, I’ll open the door and see her again. And I’ll make sure she never feels unsafe—not while I breathe.
My fingers flex at my sides. He won’t get her. Not while I’m alive. Not while I’m Niko.
The elevator pings at my floor. The doors slide open, and the private world I’ve built for her—and for us—lies just ahead.
I step out of the elevator, boots clicking softly against the polished floor. The penthouse is quiet, almost unnaturally so, and my gut tightens immediately. Something’s off.
I move toward our room, expecting the familiar sight of her curled up in bed or sipping coffee by the window, that little spark of life that keeps me steady. But it’s empty. The sheets untouched. The scent of her gone. I call her phone, but her number doesn’t connect. I force myself to relax.
I check the terrace next, scanning every corner, every shadow. Nothing. The wind stirs the curtains lazily, but there’s no sign of her.
Panic prickles at the edges of my mind as I move from room to room, checking the guest rooms, the kitchen, even the study. Sasha is there in one of the guest rooms, fast asleep, but Noelle? Noelle isn’t anywhere.
My pulse spikes. Where the hell is she?
I rush through the penthouse, my mind racing through every possibility, every scenario. My chest tightens, breath coming shorter. Every second I waste here without her—without knowing she’s safe—feels like a lifetime.
Noelle.
