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“Just relax, dear,” the nurse is saying as I feel myself being shifted and manipulated. “This will all be over before you know it.”

Time becomes fluid, meaningless. I drift in and out of awareness, catching fragments of conversations around me that make no sense. Medical terms float above me like bubbles I can’t quite catch. Concerned voices murmur about “possible cranial trauma” and “temporary amnesia.”

Someone mentions a name I should know but doesn’t register— it slides away before I can grasp its significance. Mythoughts scatter like leaves in a breeze, impossible to collect or organize. The medication makes everything feel distant, as though I’m experiencing the world from underwater, sounds muffled and distorted.

When I surface again, the quality of light in the room has changed. It must be later in the day— evening perhaps, though I have no real sense of time passing. Something’s different. There’s a presence in the room.

Pain shoots through my eyes as I rotate toward the chair beside my bed— the man sitting in it makes my pulse skip. But it’s not because of the heady cologne or expensive Armani. The tailored suit can’t disguise the predator beneath— muscles coiled beneath Italian wool, jaw carved from granite. Dark hair, strong features, intense eyes fixed on me with an unsettling focus that makes my skin prickle. Something about him seems familiar, like a word on the tip of my tongue that I can’t quite grasp, a half-remembered dream slipping away.

I bite my lower lip, fighting against the fog in my mind, trying to place where I might have seen that face before. The steady beep of hospital monitors seems to fade into the background as those eyes— dark and knowing— hold mine with an intensity that feels almost invasive.

But along with that vague familiarity comes something else— a deep, instinctive unease that makes my heart rate spike. Yet again, the monitor betrays my reaction with faster beeping, the electronic tattletale announcing my discomfort to the room.

His expression changes slightly— concern? Worry? I can’t read him. There’s something calculated in the way his features shift, like he’s selecting the appropriate response rather than feeling it naturally.

My fingers seek out the hospital blanket once more, finding something to anchor me as that unsettling gaze continues its assessment. I’ve always trusted my instincts, and right now, they’re screaming at me to be careful.

“Stella,” he says softly, reaching for my hand. “How are you feeling?”

I pull away before he can touch me. I don’t know why, but everything in me screams that I shouldn’t let him near me. The monitor beeps faster still.

“Who…?” My throat feels dry again. “Who are you?”

A strange expression flashes across his face so quickly that I might have imagined it. He sits back, his hands falling to his sides. “I’m Aleksei,” he says, his voice carefully controlled. “I’m the father of your baby.”

No.

That can’t be right.

It doesn’t feel that way.

I stare at him. The words should mean something. Should trigger something. But there’s nothing— just that same unsettling feeling of wrongness that I can’t explain. My hand moves protectively over my stomach.

“Oh…” I exhale. “That… that’s good, then.” It’s not good, though. Nothing about this is good.

He nods slowly, as if he expected this. “You’ve been through a lot, and you’re confused. It’s okay,zaychik. You’ll be better once you’ve had some rest.”

The Russian endearment makes me wince, though I don’t know why. He notices— of course he notices— and something dark passes behind his eyes.

“Yes,” I say feebly because I don’t know what else to say. My hand remains on my stomach, feeling the slight movements of the baby within. At least that feels real, feels right. Everything else is like trying to read a book with half the pages torn out— fragments that don’t connect, stories without beginnings or endings.

The only thing I do know is that I’m carrying the child of a man who somehow makes me feel terrified.

And I have no idea why.

Chapter Four

Aleksei

I watch Stella stir in the hospital bed, her eyelids fluttering open as she fights her way back to consciousness.

The harsh fluorescent lights cast shadows across her face, making her look more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen her. I resist the urge to smooth the hair away from her face. Touching her seems too… intimate, somehow.

My chest tightens as her eyes finally open and find mine. For a moment, we just look at each other. Tears begin to stream down her face, and I feel a strange twitch in the corner of my eye. Something’s wrong. The way she’s looking at me—it’s like she’s seeing a stranger.

“Stella,” I say, reaching for her hand, which is clenching around the hospital blanket. “How are you feeling?” She tugs her hand away, and I feel it like a physical pain.

“Who… Who are you?” she whispers.