A state-of-the-art surveillance system that covers every inch of the property.
Motion sensors, pressure plates, armed guards at every entrance.
It’s a fortress, just as I intended.
Sophia sits propped up in bed, her laptop balanced on her knees despite my protests.
She’s supposed to be resting, but she insists on reviewing the security plans, on having some say in the prison I’m building around her.
“This is excessive,” she says, not for the first time. “Mikhail, there are guards outside our bedroom door. I can’t even go to the bathroom without an escort.”
“The doctor said no stress.” I move to adjust her pillows, but she waves me away. “I’m eliminating all possible sources of stress.”
“You’re suffocating me.” Her voice is quiet, but I hear the frustration beneath it. “I understand you’re scared. I’m scared too. But this…” She gestures at the room, at the guards visible through the doorway. “This isn’t living. This is existing in a cage.”
Guilt twists in my gut, but I push it aside. “It’s temporary. Just until you’re past the danger period.”
“And then what? We go back to our old life, with you returning to your violent ways?” She closes the laptop with more force than necessary. “Or do we stay locked in here forever, safe but miserable?”
I don’t have an answer for her.
The truth is, I don’t know what comes next.
All I know is that I can’t lose her.
Can’t lose our baby.
Everything else is secondary.
A knock at the door interrupts us.
Melinda enters, carrying a tray with tea and toast.
She’s been staying with us since the hospital, keeping Sophia company during the long days of bed rest.
“How are you feeling?” Melinda asks, setting the tray on the nightstand.
“Like a prisoner,” Sophia mutters, but she reaches for the tea gratefully.
Melinda shoots me a look that clearly says“I told you so.”We’ve had several conversations about my security measures, about how my protectiveness is pushing Sophia away rather than keeping her safe. But she doesn’t understand.
She’s never had to protect someone she loves from the kind of threats I face daily.
“I’ll give you two some time,” I say, heading for the door. “I have calls to make.”
“Mikhail.” Sophia’s voice stops me. “We need to talk. Really talk. About all of this.”
“Later,” I promise, though I’m not sure I can keep it. “Rest now.”
I close the door behind me and lean against it, my eyes closed.
The weight of responsibility presses down on my shoulders like a physical thing.
How do I balance keeping her safe with giving her the freedom she needs?
How do I be the father our child deserves while still being the pakhan my organization requires?
The next two weeks pass in a blur of security briefings and medical consultations.
