Page 118 of Cruel Obsession

A son. I have a son.

If he’s mine.

My brain stutters, unable to process this new reality colliding with the crisis already unfolding.

The doctor clears his throat. “We suspect it may not have been an accident.”

“What do you mean?” My question emerges mechanically while my mind splinters in different directions.

“The police will provide more details. What you need to know now is that she named you as the father of her baby. Aside from being premature, he’s a healthy boy. His name is Aleksandr Laurov.”

My mind goes completely blank. “That’s not possible.”

“The birth certificate has your name on it, sir,” he says with studied patience. “By law, we must release the child to you unless you formally contest paternity. You’re welcome to do a DNA test, Mr. Laurov. But legally, you either take the baby home, or we will have to place him in a childcare center. Then you’d have to start the adoption process should the DNA test confirm he’s your son.”

I grip the edge of my desk as I fight for stability. The irony is savage enough to draw blood—I’ve spent years avoiding fatherhood, haunted by the image of Mishka’s small body growing still, convinced I’d only destroy any child unlucky enough to be mine.

Now, I have one dropped into my world without warning.

Rosanna dead. A baby—my son—waiting for me. Mirabel missing. All in one fucking day.

“Mr. Laurov? Are you still there?”

I force myself to focus. “Yes. When can I see him?”

“You can come to the NICU anytime. There’s paperwork to complete before release, but you’re welcome to meet your son now.”

“I’ll be there.” I end the call, my hand trembling with the force of my grip.

For a moment, I stand perfectly still, the beast within me howling for release. The part of me shaped by my father wants blood, wants to tear through the city until I find Mirabel, leaving corpses in my wake. The part of me that still remembers Mishka’s laugh knows I need to think clearly, strategically.

Right now, there’s a newborn baby waiting in a hospital to meet his father. And a woman locked God knows where, waiting for me to save her.

Both of them my responsibility.

Both of them need me.

And my life just changed in the blink of an eye.

Chapter Forty-Two

Mirabel

I come to gagging, my lungs fighting for air.

Fragments of consciousness piece together, but nothing makes sense.

Where am I?

What happened?

My brain refuses to form coherent thoughts, everything scattered and wrong. The taste in my mouth is copper-rich, unmistakable. Blood. My own blood. I’ve bitten my tongue during whatever happened to me. And something else too—a chemical bitterness at the back of my throat. They drugged me.

They.

Who are they?

Memory flashes: walking out of Dad’s house, waiting for the Uber. The black vehicle pulling up. A group of men approaching. The acrid taste of chloroform overwhelming me before I could even scream.