Page 17

I sit at my desk, the soft clicking of my keyboard filling the otherwise quiet room. It’s peaceful, almost too peaceful. The hum of the laptop feels like a comforting lullaby as I finish up another marketing project for a client. It’s nothing glamorous, but it pays the bills. More importantly, it keeps me hidden.

The ringing of the doorbell interrupts my focus. That must be the food I ordered. I push my chair back and stand, glancing toward the crib as I walk past. Tyler’s tiny form is curled up, his chest rising and falling with each breath, so peaceful, so innocent. His little hand twitches in his sleep, as if he’s dreaming.

A pang of warmth floods my chest. Tyler is the one thing that keeps me grounded. Everything I’ve done since leaving New York, since running away from Timur, has been for him. This life may not be what I imagined, but it’s safe. At least, safer than it would be if Timur knew about him.

I open the door and exchange a quick smile with the delivery guy. He hands over the bag, and I shut the door behind me. The mundane routine of it all has become my safe space—work, Tyler, cooking dinner or ordering takeout, repeat. The monotony is comforting in its own way, like I can finally control something in my life.

After setting the food on the kitchen counter, I take a deep breath and let my mind wander. This is my new life, my quiet life, hidden away from the chaos and fear I used to feel every day. Here, in this small town, nobody knows who I really am. Nobody knows I’m supposed to be Jennifer Jewels, the girl who worked for Empire City Estates and who had a fling with the most dangerous man in New York.

I sink into the chair at the table, My mind drifting to Tyler. He’s not awake yet, but he will be soon. My little boy, with his thick dark hair and piercing eyes. The resemblance to Timur is undeniable. Every time I look at Tyler, it’s like I see pieces of his father staring back at me, reminding me of the life I ran away from.

I can’t help but wonder how long I can keep this up. How long until Tyler starts asking questions about his father? When he’s older, what will I tell him? What happens when it’s time for him to go to school? Will I have to explain why he doesn’t have a dad? Will people ask questions? The thought terrifies me.

Sometimes, I think about what would happen if Timur found us. Would he even care? Would he be furious that I kept his son from him? Or would he simply do what he always does—take control of the situation, take Tyler away, and leave me with nothing?

The thought sends a shiver down my spine. I push it away, focusing on the now. For now, Tyler is safe, and that’s all that matters. I can’t afford to think about Timur, about the danger that constantly lingers just outside my carefully constructed walls. It’s exhausting, always being on edge, always looking over my shoulder, but the monotony helps. Routine is my shield.

Once Tyler’s awake, I put him into his highchair so we can eat. He lets out a soft coo, and I smile, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“Hey, sweet boy,” I whisper. “You ready to eat?”

He babbles in response, his tiny hand reaching out for me. I love this. Just sitting here, talking to him, watching him learn and grow. It makes everything—running, hiding, the fear—all worth it.

I glance at the clock, realizing how quickly the day has passed. It’s strange how time seems to blur together when every day is the same. I don’t mind. I’d take this quiet, monotonous life over the constant fear of being found any day.

After lunch, I sit with Tyler on the couch, watching him play with his toys. His laughter fills the room, and for a moment, I allow myself to believe that this is it—that this is all I’ll ever need. There’s always that nagging thought in the back of my mind. Will I ever truly be free of Timur?

When I was pregnant, I imagined a different kind of future for Tyler. I imagined him playing with friends, going to school, having a normal childhood. Now, I’m not sure what his future will look like. Can I keep him hidden forever? Or will I have to face the truth, the danger that lurks just beyond the horizon?

The doorbell rings again, snapping me out of my thoughts. I tense, the familiar dread creeping back in. It’s probably nothing. Just the delivery guy, maybe they forgot something. Every time that bell rings, a part of me fears the worst.

I stand, heading for the door, and take a deep breath before opening it.

Just routine. That’s all this is.

Except my heart stops as I swing the door open, because there he is—Timur. His sharp blue eyes pierce through me like a cold blade, and his presence fills the room before he even steps inside. He looks just like I remember him, commanding and ruthless, dressed in a dark suit that molds perfectly to his broad frame. Behind him, a couple of his men stand like statues, watching silently.

I swallow hard, my pulse racing in my ears. I thought I’d gotten away. I thought I was safe.

“Jennifer,” Timur says smoothly, his voice sending a shiver down my spine. Without waiting for an invitation, he steps into my home, like he owns the place. “Why do you always run?”

I take a step back, instinctively pressing myself against the wall, trying to put distance between us, but he keeps closing in. The air grows thick with tension, the kind of tension that makes it hard to breathe, hard to think. His eyes, dark and cold, never leave mine.

“I—” My voice cracks, my words dying on my lips as I struggle to make sense of what’s happening. All I can think about is Tyler, just a few feet away. I pray he stays asleep.

Timur takes another step closer, his expression unreadable, but his eyes flicker with something—something dark. “Tell me, Jennifer. Why did you leave? What made you think running would change anything?”

I shake my head, tears welling in my eyes as I meet his gaze. There’s no way out of this. No lie that can save me. I have to tell him the truth, no matter how much it hurts.

“My mother,” I finally say, my voice trembling. “She was a police officer.”

Timur’s brow furrows slightly, but he remains silent, waiting for me to continue.

“She was killed in a shootout. A shootout with the Russian mob,” I say, the words tumbling out, heavy with grief and anger. “I don’t know who did it. It could have been anyone. It could have been one of your men.” My eyes dart toward the silent figures standing near the door before returning to him. “It could have been you.”

Timur’s jaw tightens, his expression unreadable, and the silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. My heart pounds painfully in my chest, and I feel the tears sting my eyes. I’ve hated him for so long, and now, standing here, I finally understand why. It’s not just because of who he is. It’s because of what he represents.

“That’s why I ran,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I couldn’t stay. I didn’t want to be anywhere near you or anyone like you.”

His face remains cold, unreadable, as if my confession means nothing to him. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe he’s incapable of understanding how much I lost.

“Yet here we are,” he says slowly, his voice dripping with venom, “you betrayed me. You ran to the Italians.”

It’s not a question. It’s an accusation, and it cuts through me like a blade. My breath hitches, and I feel the weight of my guilt crashing down on me, suffocating me.

“How much did they pay you?” Timur steps closer, his face inches from mine now, his eyes flashing with barely contained anger. “How much did my life mean to you?”

I shake my head frantically, my vision blurring with tears. “I didn’t have a choice,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I needed an escape, not money .”

His gaze hardens, and he grabs my arm, pulling me closer until I’m pressed against his chest. “An escape?” he repeats, his voice rising with disbelief. “Betraying me was your way out?”

“I didn’t betray you!” I cry, my voice breaking. “I didn’t want to! I had no choice. You don’t understand—”

“I don’t understand?” Timur’s voice is sharp, and I can feel the heat of his anger rolling off him in waves. “You think I don’t know what it feels like to be turned on by someone I trusted?”

His words slice through me, and I shrink back, the tears spilling down my cheeks. He’ll never understand. He’ll never see how desperate I was, how terrified I’ve been every single day. How could he? He’s lived his entire life in control, never afraid, never powerless.

“I was scared,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper. “I was terrified. You have no idea what it’s like to live in fear every day, wondering if someone’s going to come after you or worse….”

Timur’s expression doesn’t change, but I can feel the tension between us shift, growing darker, more dangerous.

“So what,” he says softly, almost mockingly, “you thought I wouldn’t find you?”

I bite my lip, feeling the panic rising in my chest again. I don’t know how to answer him. I don’t know what to say. He’s right. I’m not safe. I was never safe.

Timur’s grip on my arm tightens slightly, and he leans in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “You can’t escape me, Jennifer. You belong to me.”

I feel the cold wall pressing against my back as I inch away from Timur. My heart pounds so violently I can barely think, each beat a reminder that he’s too close—far too close for me to escape. His eyes burn with something fierce, something dangerous, and I know he’s losing control.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Timur’s voice is low, threatening, as he takes another step toward me.

My throat tightens, my breath quickening with fear. I try to back up farther, but there’s nowhere else to go. The wall is unforgiving behind me, and Timur’s towering presence leaves me no room to run.

“Please… don’t hurt me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible as tears prick at the corners of my eyes. Every muscle in my body tenses as I wait for what’s coming next.

For a split second, Timur doesn’t move. Then, faster than I can react, he reaches into his jacket, and my heart nearly stops. He pulls out a gun, the metal gleaming in the dim light. Before I can process what’s happening, the barrel is pressed firmly against my abdomen.

Terror floods through me, my hands instinctively moving to cover my stomach, as if that could protect me. “No… please,” I beg, my voice shaking uncontrollably. “Please, don’t kill me.”

His grip tightens on the gun, and I can feel the hard edge of the barrel digging into my skin through my clothes. I’m shaking now, my body trembling uncontrollably. I squeeze my eyes shut, praying this isn’t happening.

“You think I want to kill you?” His voice drips with venom, the anger in his words unmistakable. “After everything, you think that’s what I want?”

I flinch at his tone, unable to stop the tears from slipping down my cheeks. “I-I don’t know what you want,” I stammer, my voice barely a whisper. “You’re scaring me.”

“Good.” Timur’s voice is sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. “You should be scared, Jennifer. You betrayed me.”

With a sudden, rough jerk, Timur grabs me by the arm and pulls me forward. I stumble as he forces me down the hallway, my legs weak beneath me. His men follow behind us, silent shadows that make the walls seem to close in even more. My heart pounds with each step, dread filling every corner of my mind.

Timur stops, turning to face me, his eyes blazing. “Do you even understand what you did?” His voice rises, the rage he’s been holding back finally slipping out. “Do you have any idea how much I cared about you?”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. He cared about me? I stare at him, stunned, trying to make sense of what he just said. Did he mean to say that? It doesn’t sound like something Timur would admit, certainly not like this. His eyes are wild, and he’s not the same composed, intimidating man I once knew.

“I…,” I start, but the words die in my throat. What can I say? My mind is reeling, trying to grasp the meaning behind his outburst, but I can’t. It doesn’t make sense. None of this does.

Timur shoves me against the wall again, harder this time, his breath hot against my face as he towers over me. “You thought you could just leave? Disappear and never face me again?” His voice is seething with fury, but underneath that rage, there’s something else. Something raw. “You were wrong.”

I open my mouth to speak, to say something—anything that might calm him down—but my thoughts are jumbled, my fear too overwhelming. All I can do is shake my head, tears spilling down my face.

Before I can even begin to respond, the sharp sound of a cry pierces the tense silence. My blood runs cold.

Timur’s expression shifts, confusion flashing across his face as he glances toward the sound. “What’s that?” he asks, his tone suddenly laced with suspicion. His eyes narrow, and he turns his head toward the room where Tyler sleeps.

Panic shoots through me like lightning. I step forward, trying to block his view, but Timur’s gaze locks on to the door. He looks back at me, his eyes dark with realization.

“Jennifer,” he says slowly, his voice taking on an icy edge. “Who is that?”

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. There’s no escape now. He’s about to find out everything.

Chapter Eighteen - Timur

I press the barrel of the gun harder against Jennifer’s abdomen, watching as her face contorts in terror. There’s something intoxicating about the way fear courses through her. The way her body trembles beneath my grip, the helplessness in her eyes—it’s power. Control. I like breaking her, watching her spirit shatter under my hand.

She’s mine. She always has been, and I won’t let her forget it.

Her lips quiver as she tries to form words, but before she can speak, the sharp sound of a cry fills the air. My grip on her falters as the noise cuts through the tension. A baby’s cry.

Jennifer’s eyes widen in panic, and for the first time, I see a different kind of fear flash across her face. “Please… leave us alone,” she begs, her voice desperate. Her hands move toward me, but my men grab her, pulling her back before she can stop me.

Ignoring her pleas, I turn toward the source of the cry, my curiosity piqued. There’s something in her voice, a crack in her defiance, that tells me whatever’s in that room is important—something she’s been hiding from me. My jaw clenches as I stride toward the door.

“Timur, no!” she screams, struggling in their grasp, her voice breaking. “Please, don’t go in there!”

My men hold her tighter, their eyes trained on me for orders. I don’t need to give any. I know they’ll keep her in place. She’s not going anywhere.

I push the door open, and my eyes land on a crib in the corner. The crying stops almost immediately as I approach. It’s a baby boy, no more than nine months old. He stares up at me with blue eyes the same shade of mine. He has Jennifer’s messy hair, her petite nose. The sight of him makes something twist inside my chest, a feeling I don’t recognize.

The baby’s tiny fists grip the edge of the blanket as he watches me. There’s no more crying, just the quiet, innocent gaze of a child who knows nothing of the world he’s been born into. For some reason, the sight tugs at something deep within me—a part of myself I didn’t even know existed.

I take a step closer, my gaze fixed on the boy. He’s… quiet now, completely still, as though my presence calms him. The soft rise and fall of his chest, the way he watches me with those big eyes—it stirs something I haven’t felt in years. Something dangerously close to affection.

Turning slowly, I look back at Jennifer, who’s standing frozen in the doorway, held back by my men. Her face is pale, tears streaking down her cheeks. She knows what I’m thinking. She knows the question that’s about to leave my lips.

“Whose child is this?” My voice is cold, but inside, a storm is brewing. There’s only one answer that makes sense, but I need to hear it from her. I need her to admit it.

Jennifer swallows hard, her eyes darting between me and the baby. The fear on her face is unmistakable, but there’s something else now. A kind of resignation, like she’s about to give up the last piece of herself that she’s been hiding.

She hesitates for a moment, and then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she says, “He’s your son.”

The room falls silent.

My son.

The words hang in the air like a weight, pressing down on me. I turn back to the crib, staring at the small boy lying there, his tiny chest rising and falling in time with the soft sounds of his breathing. My son.

A rush of conflicting emotions surges through me—anger, confusion, disbelief—but beneath all of that, there’s a strange sense of… pride? I push the thought away, refusing to let it take root. This child is a complication. An obstacle. I don’t have room for sentiment.

This changes everything.

I turn back to Jennifer, her tear-streaked face now contorted with desperation. She looks ready to collapse, her body trembling as she stares at me, waiting for my reaction. She must think I’ll kill her now, that her betrayal has sealed her fate. Maybe it has.

“How long?” I ask, my voice cold and measured. “How long have you been keeping this from me?”

Jennifer sobs, her knees nearly buckling as she tries to answer. “Since I left,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “I didn’t… I didn’t want to bring him into your world. I thought… I thought it was safer this way.”

Safer? The thought ignites something dark inside me. She took my child, my blood, and kept him hidden from me. Ran from me, betrayed me, all while carrying my son. My hands clench into fists, and I force myself to take a breath, to not let the rage take over completely.

“I told you, Jennifer,” I say, stepping closer to her, my voice low and dangerous. “You belong to me, therefore so does he.”

Her eyes widen as I close the distance between us, towering over her as I speak. “You thought you could hide from me, keep this secret?” I grab her arm roughly, pulling her toward me.

She tries to speak, to beg for mercy, but I cut her off with a growl. “Don’t even think about running again. Because this time, I’ll find you. There won’t be any more mercy.”

The sound of the baby crying breaks through the tense silence between us. My grip loosens slightly on Jennifer’s arm as the baby’s cries grow louder, more desperate. His small, innocent voice fills the room, and for a moment, the rage inside me softens, just a little.

Jennifer’s eyes dart toward the crib, her maternal instinct kicking in as she tugs against my hold. “Please,” she whispers, her voice trembling with urgency. “Let me go to him.”

I stare at her, my jaw clenched. For a brief second, I consider keeping her pinned here, making her feel the weight of her decisions. But the baby’s cries tug at something deep within me, something unfamiliar and unsettling. I release her arm.

“Go,” I say gruffly, stepping back. “You’re not leaving this room. They stay by the door.” I motion to my men, who stand silently by the entrance, their eyes sharp and watchful.

Jennifer rushes to the crib, scooping the baby into her arms with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the chaos and violence swirling around us. She cradles him against her chest, her face softening as she shushes him, trying to calm his cries. I watch her, my gaze hardening as I fight back the conflict raging inside me. She lied. She ran. But she’s the mother of my child, and that complicates everything.

“He’s scared,” Jennifer murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper as she strokes the baby’s head. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

I take a step closer, my eyes narrowing as I look down at the small bundle in her arms. His tiny fists clutch at her shirt, and the sight stirs something in me—something I can’t fully understand. This is my son. My blood. He has no idea what world he’s been born into, no idea of the violence and darkness that surrounds his existence. I know that now, more than ever, they both belong to me.

“You and the baby are coming back with me,” I say firmly, my voice leaving no room for argument.

Jennifer’s head snaps up, her eyes wide with defiance. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she says, her voice shaky but resolute. “This is my life now. You can’t just waltz in here and—”

I cut her off with a harsh laugh. “You think you have a choice in this? You think after what you did, after keeping my son from me, that you get to decide?”

Her grip tightens around the baby, and I see the panic rise in her eyes. She’s afraid, but she’s also stubborn—something I both admire and despise in her.

“I’m not going back to New York,” she says, her voice quieter now, almost pleading. “I’ve built a life here. I have a job, I have—”

“You have one hour to pack your things,” I interrupt coldly, stepping closer until I’m towering over her again. “You won’t need to work. You’ll dedicate yourself to me and to our child. That’s your life now.”

She shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes again as she cradles the baby tighter. “Timur, please. You can’t just—”

“One hour, Jennifer,” I repeat, my voice low and dangerous. “Don’t make me ask again.”

She looks down at the baby in her arms, her expression torn between fear and resignation. I can see the wheels turning in her mind, the conflict in her eyes. She wants to fight back, but she knows she’s cornered. There’s no escape this time.

The baby’s cries have softened now, his tiny hands clutching at Jennifer’s shirt as he looks up at her with wide, innocent eyes. I watch them both, my anger simmering just beneath the surface, but as I look at my son—my flesh and blood—I feel something unfamiliar. A flicker of something softer, something almost protective.

I take another step closer, my gaze shifting from Jennifer to the baby. His small face is a mirror of hers, but there’s something in his eyes that reminds me of myself. The realization hits me harder than I expected, and for a moment I feel… something. Something beyond the rage and the need for control.

“He’s mine,” I say quietly, more to myself than to her. “He’s… mine.”

Jennifer looks up at me, her eyes filled with uncertainty. “That’s right, he’s our son,” she says softly, her voice trembling with emotion.

I don’t respond. Instead, I reach out, brushing my fingers lightly against the baby’s cheek. His skin is soft, warm, and for a fleeting second, I feel something close to tenderness. I quickly pull my hand back, shoving the feeling down as I harden my expression once again.

I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed as I watch her move around the room, packing her things. She’s quiet, her movements quick and efficient, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands shake slightly when she reaches for something. She’s nervous, terrified even. Good.

She throws some clothes into a bag, her back to me as she avoids looking in my direction. There’s someone stationed in every room of this place, and she knows it. There’s no escape this time. No more disappearing in the middle of the night like she did before. Not again. Not with my son in tow.

The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. I don’t speak, and neither does she. I don’t need to say anything. My presence alone is enough to keep her on edge.

As she reaches for the closet, something catches my eye. A dress, hanging among her more practical clothes. It’s different, more revealing, something meant for a night out. The fabric is a deep shade of red, silky and elegant, with a plunging neckline. My jaw clenches as I take it in.

“Why do you need something like that?” I ask, my voice low but sharp.

Jennifer freezes for a second, her hand still on the dress. Slowly, she turns to look at me, her eyes wide. “I… I went out last month,” she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper.

My gaze narrows, my anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You went out?” I repeat, taking a step closer to her. “In that?”

She nods, swallowing nervously. “It was just a night out, with some friends. That’s all.”

I don’t like the idea of her out there, dressed like that, without me. My chest tightens, a possessive rage bubbling up inside me. The thought of her wearing something so sexy, something meant to draw attention, while I wasn’t there to keep her in check…. It makes my blood boil.

“Pack it,” I order, my voice rough. “It’s for my eyes only. No one else gets to see you in something like that.”

Jennifer bites her lip, turning back to the closet and pulling the dress off the hanger. She folds it carefully and tucks it into the bag. I watch her every move, the tension between us growing with each second that passes.

“Have you been with other men?” I ask suddenly, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

She spins around, eyes wide with shock. “No,” she blurts out, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I haven’t… not since you.”

My fists tighten at my sides, the rage simmering down just a little. I needed to hear that. I needed to know that no one else has touched her, that no one else has had her since the night we were together.

“Good. It stays that way.”

She doesn’t respond, her eyes dropping to the floor as she turns back to her packing. I can see the conflict in her, the way she’s struggling to accept what her life has become. She hates me for what I do, for what I am, but there’s no denying the pull between us. No denying that, despite everything, she’s mine.

As she continues packing, I move closer, watching her carefully. She tries to ignore me, but I can see the way her body reacts to my presence. She’s not as indifferent as she wants to be.

“You’re coming back with me, tonight,” I say quietly, my voice almost gentle now. “You’ll do as I say. You’ll stay with me, take care of our son, and you’ll stop running. Do you understand?”

Her shoulders tense, but she nods, her voice barely audible as she mutters, “I understand.”

She zips up the bag and places it by the door, straightening up and finally meeting my eyes. There’s fear in her gaze, but something else too. A flicker of defiance, of resistance.

I don’t mind it. She can fight all she wants. She can resist. In the end, she’ll learn.