Page 19 of The Bratva Stalker and His Pregnant Bride

“And you were the overworked barista who kept bringing me free refills because you thought I was going to pass out on the table,” I murmur, the fondness of the memory warming my chest.

“I was,” Maya agrees, her eyes glowing with affection. “I watched you sit in that booth day after day, fighting like a lioness to save what the world now knows as Kang Logistics. When you finally looked up and told me you needed an assistant but could only pay me in promises and leftover pastries, I didn’t even hesitate. I quit my job the next morning.”

“I still don’t know why you did that,” I say, looking at her with quiet gratitude. “It was such a massive risk.”

“Because I saw who you were,” Maya says firmly, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “I saw your fire, your brilliance, and your heart. I knew right then that wherever you were going, I wanted to help you get there. And look at us now. We built this. From a corner booth in a cafe to a global firm. We’ve stood by each other through the absolute worst of it, Ash.”

Her words anchor me, pulling me back from the edge of the anxious, dark thoughts that have haunted me since the boardroom. She’s been my rock through every transition—the corporate battles, the late nights, and the terrifying, beautiful journey of becoming a mother.

“I couldn’t have done any of this without you, Maya,” I say softly, my voice thick with emotion. “You’re the family I chose.”

“And I’d choose you all over again,” she replies warmly, clinking her mug gently against mine. “So, do me a favor. Trust the fortress we built. Trust that you are strong enough to handle whatever difficult clients or stressful contracts come our way. You aren’t alone anymore. We do this together, remember?”

“Together,” I repeat, the word settling deep in my chest like a shield.

Maya takes a slow sip of her tea, her gaze lingering on me over the rim of her mug. The comfortable silence stretches for a moment before she sets her drink down on the coffee table.

“You know, Ash…” She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing with that sharp, analytical look she only uses when she’s trying to solve a high-stakes problem. “You say we’re in this together, but you’ve been entirely locked in your own head for the past three days. Your behavior completely shifted after that client meeting on Monday. Did something happen in there with Mr. Rusnak after I left?”

My throat goes dry. I stare down at the chamomile leaves floating at the bottom of my cup, struggling to find the words. How do I even begin to explain the seismic shift that occurred in that room?

I can’t.

I can’t tell her that Samuel is the ghost who has haunted my thoughts for four years. I can’t tell her that he’s the father of the little boy currently whispering to a plastic dinosaur in the other room. But more than anything, I can’t tell her the terrifying truth that has been clawing at my chest ever since I saw his name on that contract.

Samuel Rusnak.

I know that name. I know exactly what kind of blood runs through his veins. The Rusnaks aren’t just high-level corporate logistics providers; they’re a powerful, ruthless Russian bratva family operating in the States. I know firsthand how rugged, stubborn, and relentless they can be because my best friend, Sofia Morozova, is married to one of them.

I was right there when Lukyan Rusnak claimed Sofia as his. There was no negotiation, no compromise, and no escaping it. When a Rusnak decides something belongs to him, it’s final.

A cold shiver traces its way down my spine, freezing the blood in my veins. If Samuel ever finds out about Ethan…if he looks into those brilliant blue eyes and pieces together the timeline…would he do the same? Would he swoop in and claim my son, tearing my entire world apart with the absolute, unstoppable force of his family’s empire?

“Ashley?” Maya’s voice cracks through my spiraling thoughts, pulling me back to the warm living room. I realize I’ve been staring blankly at my tea for far too long.

When I don’t immediately respond, a look of soft realization crosses her face. “Is this…is this about what Ethan said days ago? About his father?”

I quickly set my mug down, my movements slightly too hurried, too rigid. “No,” I say, dismissing the idea with a sharp wave of my hand. “Absolutely not. I’ve already come to terms with that aspect of my life, Maya. It’s a closed chapter. It doesn’t affect me anymore.”

My tone lacks any real conviction, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears, but I push through it, plastering a tight, professional smile on my face. “It’s just a stressful week. The contract is demanding, and—”

A sharp, demanding buzz from my phone cuts me off.

I reach over to the side table and pick up the device. I expect it to be an automated notification from the port authority or a late-night email from our European division.

Instead, the lock screen displays a text from an unknown, encrypted number.

My thumb hovers over the screen before I slide it open. The message is short, simple, and completely devoid of context.

You can build your walls as high as you want, my darling Ashley. You still belong to me.

The air is instantly sucked out of the room. My breath hitches, the phantom warmth of a low, gravelly voice whispering that exact word echoing in my ears.

“Ash?” Maya asks, her voice tense. She must have seen the way the color drained from my face, the way my fingers tightened around the edges of the phone until my knuckles turned white. “What is it? What does it say?”

Without a word, I turn the screen toward her.

Maya leans in, her eyes scanning the brief text. Instantly, her posture changes, her shoulders squaring as a deep, protective concern flashes across her features. “Who the hell is that? Is someone stalking you?”