ASTRID
The city slips by in streaks, the quiet hum of the SUV doing nothing to settle my nerves.
I sit in the back seat, curled into the leather like it might soften the edges of the day. Across from me, Yuri sits still as stone. Hands resting on his knees, curled into fists.
I can’t stop stealing glances at him. The softness he had in the hospital—the awe, the joy—has vanished. What’s left is a calculating coldness; a man locked in strategy mode. His jaw ticks. His gaze narrows on the window like he’s reading a battlefield in the skyline.
I shift, smoothing a hand over my belly. Twins. I still can’t quite believe it.
“Alright,” Yuri says suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. “You’re moving into the mansion.”
I frown, surprised. “What?”
“It’s the only place where I can control every variable. You’ve seen it. I can keep you safe there.”
“You mean...livethere?”
He nods once. “You’ll have your own wing. Full medical. Guards. Everything.”
I chew my bottom lip. “I’ll need a few things from my apartment first. My work laptop, some clothes, personal items.”
He doesn’t like that. I can see it in the way his eyes narrow at me. “You can grab essentials,” he says eventually. “But I’m going with you, and you need to do it quickly.”
I glance out the window again. My stomach is in knots, and not just from the adrenaline that still hasn’t fully dissipated. The USB drives are still at my place, hidden, but not secure. If Yuri sees them...
He can’t. Not yet.
The SUV slows, then stops in front of my building. We get out, and Yuri scans the street, his posture shifting into something lethal. He reaches under his jacket, pulls out a sleek black pistol, and checks the chamber.
“Wait here,” he says. He disappears into the building, gun drawn.
A minute passes. Then two.
When he returns, his tone is clipped. “It’s clear. Let’s be quick.”
I follow him inside, every creak of the stairwell making my skin crawl.
He closes the door behind us, bolting the lock and sliding the chain. He posts by it like a sentinel—watchful, unshakable. The sheer tension in his body, the way his fingers flex near the trigger, is terrifying. But also comforting. I don’t doubtfor a second that if someone came through the door with bad intentions, they wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.
“Five minutes,” he says, without looking away from the peephole.
I nod and move fast.
In the bedroom, I go straight to the bookshelf. I reach for my copy ofAnna Karenina, open it, and lift the hollowed center. Nestled inside are the USB drives. They look so innocent. Like they couldn’t possibly hold anything worth killing over.
I slip them into the inner pocket of my bag, then grab my laptop, chargers, phone, prenatal vitamins, and a few items of clothing. Everything else can wait.
I pause. My eyes drift around the room.
My room.
The soft duvet I picked out on a whim. The photos on the wall. It’s not much and it’s not glamorous. But it’s mine. My space. My life.
And it’s ending.
I sit down, suddenly unsteady. My legs feel weak, my hands are trembling. And then the tears come.
I didn’t expect them but should have. Everything crashes down at once. The alley. The knife. The babies.My body folds forward, elbows on knees, palms covering my face as I cry.
