Page 12 of The Bratva Stalker and His Pregnant Bride

“Hey there, little sunshine!” a warm, gentle voice calls out from the hallway.

Margaret, our kind, silver-haired nanny, walks into the kitchen with a bright smile. She immediately spots Ethan’s sticky hands and laughs. “Oh dear, it looks like Tyrannosaurus Rex had a very messy breakfast. Come along, Ethan, let’s get you cleaned up before we start our drawing today.”

“Bye, Mommy!” Ethan chirps, his temporary melancholy forgotten as he grabs Margaret’s hand and lets her lead him toward the bathroom. He loves her, and I’m grateful to have found a nanny like her.

I stand up, smoothing down the front of my blazer as Maya steps up beside me, her eyes filled with quiet, supportive understanding. She doesn’t say a word about the exchange, and I’m grateful for her silence.

“Let’s go,” I say, my voice sliding effortlessly back into my crisp, authoritative executive register. “We have a meeting to run.”

We walk out of the townhouse and step into the waiting car, the door shutting out the warmth of my home as the city’s concrete jungle rushes past. I stare out the window, my mind already locking onto the operational details of the morning, fiercely determined to let nothing—and no one—breach the fortress I have built around my son and myself.

It isn’t the first time Ethan has asked about his father, and I know it won’t be the last. But as long as I have breath in my body, I will make sure he never has a single reason to feel like he is lacking. I will be his mother, his father, his protector, and his biggest champion.

I don’t need anyone else. We don’t need him.

By the time the car pulls up to the towering glass facade of Kang Global Logistics, the mother who wipes syrup off plastic dinosaurs is completely gone. I step out of the vehicle, the sharp click of my designer heels on the concrete sounding like a battle cry.

The transition is seamless. As I stride through the lobby, my staff sit up straighter, nodding respectfully. I command this space, and I dominate every square inch of it.

I head straight into my first meeting with the European shipping heads. For ninety minutes, I dissect their operational delays, slash unnecessary expenditures, and redefine our Mediterranean trade routes with cold, mathematical precision. I don’t raise my voice once; I don’t have to. The sheer authority in my delivery is enough to keep everyone in line.

By ten o’clock, I am back in my private office, immediately transitioning into prep mode for the ten-thirty meeting. I review the file Maya left on my desk. The client, operating under the umbrella of a private security and maritime logistics firm, has an incredibly lucrative contract on the table. It’s high-risk, but the margins are astronomical.

I take a slow sip of my lukewarm black coffee, reviewing the final clauses of our standard non-disclosure agreement. Everything is in order.

At exactly ten-twenty-five, the door to my office opens. Maya steps in, holding a tablet to her chest.

“Ashley, the representatives from the firm are already seated in the main executive boardroom,” she says, her voice low. “They arrived a few minutes early. Kaplan Dyke is there, along with the principal owner.”

“Perfect,” I say, setting my coffee cup down. I smooth the front of my cream blazer, checking my reflection in the window one last time. My hair is sleek, my makeup is flawless, and my armor is firmly in place. “Let’s go sign a contract.”

I walk down the wide, carpeted corridor toward the executive boardroom at the end of the hall. I feel focused, completely grounded, and prepared for a standard, high-level business interaction. I’ve dealt with arrogant men, powerful oligarchs, and demanding clients my entire career. Today is no different.

I reach the heavy frosted-glass doors of the boardroom. Maya opens them for me, and I step inside, a professional, polite smile already forming on my face.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Thank you for—”

The words die in my throat.

The air in the room instantly turns to ice. My heart stops, seizing violently in my chest as the ground beneath my sky-high heels seems to liquefy.

Sitting at the head of the long mahogany table, flanked by a rugged man with a military posture, is a man in a flawless, dark tailored suit.

Broad shoulders. A mass of dark hair. Strong, scarred hands resting flat on the glass tabletop.

He slowly tilts his head up, and a pair of striking, piercing blue eyes lock onto mine.

Samuel.

The recognition is immediate, violent, and absolute on both sides. The lazy, casual charm he carried four years ago is entirely gone, replaced by a cold, predatory sharpness that radiates off him in waves.

The breath is knocked straight out of my lungs. The sterile office, the contracts, the billion-dollar deal—everything melts away into a deafening silence. The past has just collided with the present, and neither of us is prepared for the impact.

Chapter 6 – Samuel

For a fraction of a second, the world grinds to a sudden, violent halt.

Across the long mahogany table, standing in the doorway of her own boardroom, is the woman who has spent four years existing as a phantom in the back of my mind.