Minutes stretch into an eternity; the sun fades. I hear distant voices, low and urgent, emanating from what I assume is Viktor’s office. I find myself drawn toward the sound, a morbid curiosity overriding my instinct to hide. I need to know. I need to understand what I’ve been dragged into.
I creep down the hallway, my footsteps muffled by the thick Persian rugs. The voices grow louder, sharper, filled with a tension that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. I stop outside a heavy, dark wood door, slightly ajar, a sliver of light escaping from within. I can’t see much, but I can hear. And what I hear chills me to the bone.
“This was not a warning shot,” Viktor continues, his voice laced with venom. “This was an attempt to take her from me. To takemychild. This is a declaration of war.”
My breath hitches.Mychild. Notourchild. The possessiveness in his tone is absolute, terrifying. He sees the baby as his, and by extension, me—a possession. The thought sends a fresh wave of despair through me, even as a part of me recognizes the chilling truth of his words. They tried to kill me. And he sees it as an attack on him.
Viktor’s voice, usually a low rumble, is now a dangerous snarl. “Find every last fucking bastard involved. I want names. I want faces. I want them brought to me.”
A chorus of gruff voices responds, a mix of Russian and heavily accented English. They are his men, his soldiers. The air vibrates with their collective anticipation, their readiness to obey.
Despite my fear, despite the fact that I don’t want to hear any more, I stay. I’m desperate to listen, to know what’s going to happen, who came after me, and I’m desperate to know if Viktor has a plan. I hide when Viktor’s men file out after he’s given his orders before creeping back to listen to the realization that there might be more to all of this than mere chance, even Peter’s “accident.”
The last of Viktor’s men finally walks out, and I wait. It’s quiet inside for a long moment, until I hear Viktor’s bark.
“Iliya!”
“Da,moi Pakhan,” Ilya’s deep voice responds.
“Secure the perimeter. Double the guards. No one in, no one out, unless I give the direct order. And keep Leah and the childsafe. At all costs. If anything happens to them, I will hold you personally responsible.”
“Understood.” Iliya’s voice is unwavering, his loyalty unshakable.
Footsteps approach the door. I scramble back again, pressing myself against the wall, trying to disappear into the shadows. I don’t want them to know I was listening. I don’t want Viktor to see the fear, the horror, in my eyes.
The door opens, and Iliya steps out, his gaze sweeping the hallway. For a terrifying moment, his eyes land on me, but he gives no indication that he saw me. His face remains impassive, a blank mask. He simply turns and walks away, his footsteps fading down the hallway.
My legs feel like jelly, my heart still hammering against my ribs. The information I just overheard is a heavy weight, squeezing the air from my lungs.
Peter’s accident wasn’t an accident. It was a murder attempt. And today, I was supposed to be next. A target in a war I didn’t even know existed—a battle for power, for control, for Viktor’s throne. And I’m pregnant with his child, the ultimate leverage.
I make my way back to the living room, my mind reeling. The gilded cage now feels even more confining, more dangerous. I’m not just Leah anymore—I’m a pawn, a symbol, a target. And the life growing inside me is a prize, a weapon in a brutal game.
I sink onto a plush armchair, my hands instinctively going to my belly. The baby. Innocent, vulnerable, completely unaware of the storm swirling around us. I have to protect it. But how? I’m entirely out of my depth.
Viktorwillprotect us, and I believe him. But his rage and possessiveness are a double-edged sword. They bind me to him, but they also promise a fierce, unwavering shield.
The hours that follow are a blur of quiet activity. Eliza is escorted in, still in her after-school volleyball uniform, her eyes wide and frightened.
More men arrive, their presence a silent, watchful perimeter around the estate. I see them through the windows, moving with purpose, their faces grim. The house, already immense, feels even larger, a fortress within a fortress.
Later, a woman, older and stern-faced, introduces herself as Anya, the house manager. She leads Eliza and me to a suite of rooms on the second floor, far grander than anything I’ve ever seen. A spacious bedroom with a king-sized bed, a private sitting area, and a luxurious bathroom. It’s all impeccably decorated, tasteful, and expensive.
“This will be your room, and your daughter’s,” Anya states, her voice clipped. “We will arrange for some of your belongings to be brought over from your apartment.”
My apartment. The thought sends a pang through me. My home. Now, just a memory.
Hand in hand, Eliza and I walk into the bedroom, the plush carpet muffling our footsteps. A large window overlooks a garden out back. From here, I can see the distant glint of the security cameras, the subtle movements of the guards.
We’re safe. But at what cost?
The evening passes in a haze. Anya brings us a light dinner, which I barely touch, though Eliza inhales it with her usualgusto. My mind is too preoccupied, replaying the overheard conversation, piecing together the fragments of this dangerous new reality.
A shadowy player. Someone pulling strings. Someone who wants to dethrone Viktor. And they’re willing to use me, to use my child, to achieve their goal. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, but I smile brightly when I realize Eliza is watching me.
I have to be strong for her. I have to protect her.
As night falls, the house settles into a quiet hum. We’re unpacking boxes that have magically shown up with our belongings—clothes and some of Eliza’s toys. But even with our quiet industry, every creak of the house, every distant sound, makes me jump. My senses are on high alert, attuned to every potential threat.
