Page 11 of The Bratva Stalker and His Pregnant Bride

He’s a miniature hurricane of endless energy, sporting a mop of messy black hair and a pair of striking, brilliant blue eyes that make my heart squeeze every single time I look at him.

“Dino hungry, Mommy!” he protests, skidding to a halt near the kitchen island, his cheeks flushed with mischief.

“Dino can eat his pretend breakfast on the rug,” I reply, my voice softening with affectionate amusement as I chase him down, sweeping him up into my arms. He squeals, wrapping his small arms around my neck, and I press a warm, lingering kiss into his hair.

For the rest of the world, I’m Ashley Kang—the untouchable, razor-sharp CEO of a global logistics empire. I make decisions worth millions, negotiate with ruthless port directors, and command a room with a single glance.

But in this house, in this quiet morning routine, I’m just Mommy. Here, the armor is stripped away, leaving only the fierce, boundless love I have for my son. He is my entire world, the anchor that keeps me grounded no matter how chaotic my professional life gets.

With Ethan perched on one hip, I expertly navigate the kitchen, pouring myself a much-needed cup of black coffee while checking an urgent shipping manifest on my tablet with my free hand.

“Ashley, you need to eat something other than caffeine today,” Maya says, walking into the kitchen with an iPad cradled in her arm and a look of exasperated fondness on her face.

Maya has been my assistant and confidante for years, one of the very few people who sees the shift between my corporate persona and my motherhood.

“I’ll grab a protein bar on the way,” I murmur, setting Ethan down on his booster seat and sliding a plate of sliced strawberries and pancakes in front of him. “What’s the schedule looking like for this morning?”

“It’s packed,” Maya warns, tapping her screen. “First, you have the operational review with the European shipping heads at nine. Then, the real fun begins. At ten-thirty, we have a preliminary meeting with a new corporate client. They’re looking to contract us for a highly sensitive, high-value international operation. Massive budget, zero margin for error.”

“Sounds like our specialty,” I say, leaning against the counter and taking a slow sip of my coffee. “Who’s the client?”

“A high-level operations and corporate logistics firm,” Maya replies, scrolling through the brief. “They’ve been incredibly discreet. Most of the paperwork went through their right-hand operations manager, a man named Kaplan Dyke. But the principal owner is supposed to be attending the meeting today to finalize the operational terms.”

“I got syrup on Dino!” Ethan shrieks suddenly, holding up a very sticky, very red plastic toy with a look of utter tragedy on his face.

I let out a soft laugh, grabbing a damp paper towel and swooping in to save the day. “Crisis averted, buddy. Go wash your hands while Mommy gets ready for work.”

He scrambles down from the chair, running toward the bathroom with his green dinosaur trailing behind him.

“You should get moving,” Maya says gently, checking her watch. “The traffic near the office is going to be brutal, and you know how much you hate being late.”

“I’m going,” I say, draining the last of my coffee.

I head upstairs to change, shedding my comfortable morning clothes for my battle armor: a tailored, sharp cream blazer, matching trousers, and a pair of sky-high designer heels. I pull my dark hair back into a sleek, flawless ponytail, leaving my expression composed and completely professional.

Before I leave, I kneel down to Ethan’s height, kissing his forehead and holding him close. “Be good for the nanny, okay? Mommy will be home for dinner.”

“Stay, Mommy,” Ethan says suddenly, his little hand reaching out to grab the hem of my cream blazer.

The bright, playful energy from a moment ago evaporates, replaced by a sudden, heavy quietness as he looks up at me with those wide, brilliant blue eyes. “Play dinos with me. Don’t go to the big office today.”

My heart aches, a familiar, sharp pang that every working mother knows all too well. I kneel back down to his height, gently smoothing his messy black hair away from his forehead.

“You know Mommy has to go help run the ships, sweetie. But I promise I’ll be back before you know it.”

Ethan looks down at his sticky green dinosaur, his little shoulders slumping slightly. “Billy at preschool has a daddy who plays soccer with him when his mommy goes to work,” he murmurs, his voice small, innocent, and entirely devoid of malice. He tilts his head up, searching my face. “Do I have a daddy, Mommy? Where is he? If he was here, you could stay.”

The question hits me like a physical blow to the chest, knocking the air straight out of my lungs.

For a split second, the sterile, low-lit penthouse suite from four years ago flashes behind my eyes. I feel the ghost of a heavy, tattooed hand on my waist, hear a low, gravelly voice whispering krasavitsa against my skin, and see a pair of striking, piercing blue eyes—the exact same shade as the ones looking up at me right now.

I force the rising tide of unresolved, chaotic emotion back down into the dark, locked box where it belongs. My expression remains entirely controlled, my voice steady and soothing as I cup his soft cheek.

“You have me, Ethan,” I say softly but with absolute, unwavering certainty. “And I have you. You aren’t lacking a single thing, okay? I am your mommy, and I am everything you will ever need. I can play soccer, I can play dinosaurs, and I can run a company. We are a team, just the two of us. Understand?”

Ethan studies my face for a long second, detecting the fierce, absolute protective heat in my tone. Slowly, a small smile returns to his face, and he nods. “Yeah. Just us.”

“That’s my boy,” I whisper, kissing his forehead again.