The cab rolled away from the hotel like any normal morning ride, the city waking in lazy rhythm.
I sat rigid in the back seat, fingers curled around Vanya’s small hand, staring straight ahead while my mind ran in frantic circles.
Seraphina would wake in a few weeks, healthy, furious, and still the perfect alliance bride.
The Orlovs would demand the wedding go ahead the moment she could stand.
If anyone ever discovered Dmitri was the one who put Seraphina in that hospital bed, the entire coast would burn in revenge.
He risked everything—alliances, power, even his own life—because he could not stand the thought of marrying anyone else in his lifetime but me.
Such maddening devotion.
He loved me this much, yet during our marriage, he had shown nothing but hate. Obsessed, yes—but not in the way a normal couple loves.
His obsession was cruel, possessive, and sharpened by what he believed my family had done to his, a poison that twisted every act of his heart.
And yet... a traitorous, shameful part of me wondered:
If he loved me like this, how could he also despise her so completely?
How could a man destroy everything around him for me, and still leave me trembling with fear instead of warmth?
It was maddening. Infuriating. And terrifying.
Because the more I tried to separate devotion from cruelty, love from obsession, the more I realized I couldn’t.
And the part of me that feared for my life also feared what it would mean if he ever truly claimed me, body and soul, without restraint.
And what if I had said yes yesterday?
What if I had walked back into that lounge, dropped to my knees, and told him everything?
“I never died. Ruslan faked it all. This is your son. I still love you, even though I hate you.”
Would those storm-grey eyes have softened? Or would they have glinted with fury and disbelief, calling me a liar and having me shot for the insult?
The cab suddenly veered sharply left, leaving the main coastal road and plunging down a narrow, tree-lined private lane I didn’t recognize.
My blood froze.
“Hey!” I snapped, sitting bolt upright, panic rising in my throat. “This isn’t the way to the airport!”
The driver met my eyes in the rear-view mirror and smiled, slow, deliberate, and ugly in a way that made my stomach drop.
“No, miss Pen. This is the private road to Mr Volkov’s estate.”
Vanya’s hand jerked violently in mine, eyes wide.
I could feel his pulse racing, his tiny body tensing like a spring ready to snap.
I swallowed, forcing a calm I didn’t feel, and whispered to him, “Hold on, baby. Just... hold on.”
Then I turned my attention back to the driver, my pulse spiking with a cocktail of fear and fury. “This better be some joke... or a prank,” I snapped, my voice slicing through the pre-dawn silence like shattered glass.
“Turn around, Mr. Right. Now.” Every syllable was loaded, trembling with rage I couldn’t fully contain.
“Only following orders, ma’am.” The driver’s grin was terrifyingly calm, as he pressed harder on the accelerator. Gravel pinged against the chassis with every tire rotation. “You can write to your husband in Greece and tell him coming home anytime soon just became... complicated.”
