I heard the gunshots. Heard his body hit the ground.
How did he get here so fast? And why didn't he tell me?
Hannah’s crying intensifies. Nikolai shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable with her distress. He doesn’t know how to handle this. Doesn’t know her.
He doesn’t know his own daughter!
“Lauren.” He steps closer, voice dropping. “We need to go. Now.”
I look up at him. My hand moves before I can think better of it.
The slap cracks through the room.
His head turns with the impact. He takes it without protest, eyes closing briefly before he looks at the floor.
“Bastard.” My voice shakes. “Explanation. Now.”
When he looks up again, something in his expression cracks. For just a brief moment, I see the man I fell in love with beneath all that cold control.
Pain.
He’s in pain.
“Aslanov knows I’m alive.” His voice is rough. “That puts you in danger. I'll explain everything, but we have to move.”
A thousand questions riot in my head. I want answers. I deserve answers.
But Hannah is still crying, and there’s a dead man in my living room, and Nikolai is asking me to trust him.
And despite everything—despite the lies and the grief and the betrayal—some traitorous part of me already knows what I’m going to do.
The same thing I’ve always done when it comes to Nikolai Rogov.
I follow.
Chapter Seven
Nikolai
I keep my eyes on the road, knuckles tight around the steering wheel.
My fists are cut up from the fight—nothing broken, but they’ll bruise by morning. The other guy won’t be so lucky.
Lauren sits rigidly in the passenger seat, arms folded across herself, chin resting on her hand as she stares out the window. She hasn’t looked at me since we got in the car.
It stings, but I don’t blame her.
Let her process, mudak.
I glance at her briefly, guilt carving through my chest like a blade. She wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Hannah. I know that. The only reason she’s sitting in this seat instead of standing in that apartment demanding answers is because her daughter needed her to move.
Lauren’s eyes are red-rimmed, swimming with a confusion and anger so deep it’s become something else entirely. Something I put there.
“Did you kill him?” she asks quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. She doesn’t want Hannah to hear.
I shake my head. “He was a just mercenary. Paid to do a job.”
She absorbs this without comment, turning back to the window.
