Right next door.
With...
My gaze fell on Sofia, that little girl with brown eyes.
Five years old.
Red hair.
Brown eyes.
All the pieces clicked into place in that moment.
Chapter Eight
Anna
"Sofia, sweetheart, breakfast is ready!"
I set the scrambled eggs and toast on the table, glancing at the clock. Seven o'clock. I needed to be at the office by eight-thirty.
"Sofia?" I called again, but there was no response.
Strange. Usually she'd come running at the first whiff of food.
I walked to her room and pushed open the door—empty.
The bed was neatly made, her favorite bunny still perched on the pillow.
"Sofia?" A note of panic crept into my voice.
Bathroom? Empty.
Living room? Nothing.
My heart began to race. Where could she be?
That's when I heard voices drifting in from the yard.
A child's voice, and... a man's deep baritone.
My blood turned to ice.
Nearly stumbling over myself, I rushed to the back door and threw it open—
The sight that greeted me shattered my entire world.
Sofia stood by the fence, chatting with the man next door.
He crouched before her, dark hair catching the morning light, tall frame unmistakable, and that face—even in profile, it stopped my heart cold.
Alexander Volkov.
No.
No, no, no.
This couldn't be happening.
