“Not you.”
My gaze locked on my father.
“Not them.”
Harris.
“Not anyone.”
My father’s lips curved slightly.
Unmoved. Unbothered.
Unimpressed.
He leaned forward on the sofa, elbows resting on his knees, fingers steepled together like a man negotiating business — not family.
His smile was thin.
“You underestimate leverage, daughter.”
His gaze dropped to the baby in my arms.
“See that little bundle you’re clutching so protectively?”
His eyes gleamed.
“She’s a beautiful weakness.”
My heart slammed violently against my ribs.
My grip tightened instinctively around my child.
“Refuse our deal,” he continued calmly, “and she becomes the sole target.”
He shrugged slightly. “Simple mathematics.”
The words detonated inside me.
My vision blurred red.
My breath hitched, turning uneven.
“Did you just threaten a five-day-old baby?”
I turned on Ruslan, disbelief burning through me. “And you’re going to stand there and let them threaten your own daughter? In your own house?”
Ruslan’s jaw locked instantly, a muscle ticking beneath the strain.
His gaze shifted between my father and Harris — calculating.
Then his eyes settled on me.
“You’ve made it very clear the child is yours alone,” he said quietly.
There was no anger in his tone. No mockery.
Only hurt.
