Page 19

I sit on the edge of the bed, watching my son as he sleeps, his tiny chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. The room is quiet, the only sound the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the distance. My nerves are frayed, my thoughts a tangled mess of fear and uncertainty. We’re here, in Timur’s mansion. For what? What’s going to happen to us now?

Tyler stirs in his sleep, a soft sigh escaping his little lips, and I gently brush a hand over his head, trying to find some comfort in his peacefulness. He looks so much like Timur—too much, almost. It’s in the shape of his eyes, the curve of his jawline, and every time I look at him, I’m reminded of the man who brought us to this point.

My chest tightens as I think about Timur. If he wanted to hurt us, he would have already done it. He’s ruthless, yes, but if he wanted us gone, we’d be gone. So why bring us here? Why now, after all this time?

My stomach twists with anxiety. He’s not a man who does anything without a reason, and that scares me even more. What could he possibly want from us?

The door creaks open, pulling me out of my thoughts. An older maid steps in, her face as cold and harsh as I remember. I had seen her before, during that first night in his mansion. She didn’t like me then, and it’s clear she doesn’t like me now. Her eyes flicker to Tyler briefly, before settling back on me, her mouth set in a thin, disapproving line.

“Mr. Sharov wants to see you,” she says, her voice clipped and formal. “In his room.”

My heart skips a beat. Timur wants to see me? Now? I glance back at Tyler, still fast asleep, and my protective instincts flare. I want to stay here with him, keep him close, but something tells me that refusing to see Timur won’t end well. I swallow my fear, nodding at the maid.

“I’ll be right there,” I say, my voice shaky despite my efforts to sound composed.

The maid gives a curt nod before turning and leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind her. I sit there for a moment, just staring at Tyler, trying to collect myself. My heart races, and a thousand thoughts swarm my mind. I don’t know what to expect when I go to Timur’s room, but I know one thing for sure—I can’t show weakness. Not in front of him.

I lean down and press a kiss to Tyler’s forehead, whispering a quiet, “I’ll be right back.” I don’t know if I’m reassuring him or myself, but I need to believe it.

Standing up, I smooth down my shirt and take a deep breath. My legs feel heavy as I walk to the door, a sense of dread weighing me down. With every step, my pulse quickens, my mind running wild with possibilities. What could Timur possibly want from me now? Does he want to make me pay for running? For keeping Tyler from him? Or does he have some other plan in mind—something I can’t even begin to imagine?

I make my way through the mansion, the halls eerily quiet. It feels like a prison. Lavish, yes, but a prison all the same. The memories of that night—of how I left him without a word—linger in my mind, filling me with a sense of foreboding. He’s probably still angry about that. And now that I’m here, with his son, I can only imagine what he’s thinking.

Finally, I reach the door to his room. The door is closed, and for a moment, I just stand there, staring at it. My hand hovers over the wood, hesitating. I steel myself, taking a deep breath. I can’t show fear. I have to be strong, for myself and for Tyler.

With trembling fingers, I raise my hand and knock softly on the door, the sound echoing in the silence.

The door opens with a soft creak, and Timur stands there, filling the doorway with his imposing presence. His sharp blue eyes lock on to mine, and for a second, I can’t move. My heart is pounding in my chest, but I force myself to step inside.

“Come in,” he says, his voice calm, almost too calm. It sends a shiver down my spine as I walk past him, feeling the heat of his gaze on my back.

The room is dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn closed. It’s luxurious, of course, but there’s a coldness to it—just like him. I stand awkwardly in the middle of the room as he closes the door behind us. The click of the lock feels final, like there’s no turning back now.

“Sit,” he says, motioning to a plush armchair near the fireplace.

I sit down, my body tense. I have so many questions, so many fears, and the weight of them presses down on me. I know better than to let them show too easily. Timur stands in front of me, arms crossed, his gaze never leaving mine. It’s unsettling, the way he looks at me like he’s waiting for something—waiting for me to break.

“What are you planning, Timur?” I finally ask, my voice trembling just slightly. “I mean, what happens now?”

He watches me for a long moment before he speaks, his tone measured. “I think you already know, Jennifer. You ran, you hid, and you kept my son from me.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” I whisper, my voice barely above a breath. “You…you killed Russel in front of me. How was I supposed to stay, how was I supposed to tell you anything after that?”

Timur’s expression hardens, his eyes narrowing as he takes a step closer. “Russel deserved what he got. You… you should’ve told me about him—about my son—before any of this.”

“I was going to,” I say, my heart racing as he moves even closer. “I was going to tell you. That night, at the gala… I planned to, but then….” My words falter as his scent surrounds me, fresh and masculine, clouding my senses. He’s so close now, I can barely breathe.

“You ran,” he finishes, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You ran from me, and now, you’re out of choices.”

His hand reaches out, and I can’t help the way my body reacts to him, heat rushing to my skin. His fingers brush my chin, tilting my face up so I have no choice but to meet his eyes. My heart hammers in my chest as our faces are just inches apart, his breath warm on my lips. My stomach tightens with a mixture of fear and undeniable attraction.

“Why did you run?” he asks again, his tone softer this time, almost teasing. “You knew you couldn’t hide from me forever, didn’t you?”

I can’t answer him, not with words. My body betrays me as I lean ever so slightly into his touch. The space between us crackles with tension, my skin tingling from the heat of his closeness. Every instinct in me is screaming to push him away, to fight against this, but my body doesn’t listen. My mind is clouded, lost in the intensity of the moment.

“Here is my plan,” he says softly, his voice dark and commanding. “We’ll be married by next week.”

His words send a shock through me, and I jerk back slightly, my eyes wide. “What?” I breathe, trying to process what he just said. “Married?”

“Yes,” he says, his expression unwavering. “We don’t raise children out of wedlock. That’s not how it works for Bratva. You’ll be my wife.”

I shake my head, stunned, trying to push through the haze of his words. “I… I’m not ready for something like that. We can figure out another way. We don’t have to—”

“There is no other way,” he interrupts, his tone final. “I don’t care if you’re ready. This is happening. I plan to raise my son, and you will be by my side as my wife. The decision is made.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I feel a wave of helplessness crash over me. I want to fight, to scream that this isn’t fair, that I can’t just be forced into this, but deep down, I know I have no power here. Timur has control over everything.

“You can’t just force me into this,” I whisper, feeling the walls close in around me. “You can’t.”

He leans in, his lips brushing my ear as he speaks, his voice low and dangerous. “I absolutely can.”

His breath against my ear sends a shiver down my spine, every word laced with a dangerous edge that both frightens and excites me. His fingers trail down my arm, the touch so light yet so commanding that it makes my pulse race. I try to steel myself, but being near him, feeling his presence so close, weakens my resolve.

“You went to the Italians,” Timur says, his voice low but filled with disbelief. “Of all people, you trusted them?”

I open my mouth to explain, but nothing comes out. He’s so close now that it’s hard to think straight, let alone defend myself. The truth is, I was desperate. How do I explain that to someone like him? Someone who commands respect and fear, someone who always has control?

He leans in farther, his lips grazing the skin of my neck. “That’s probably the worst part, that you went to them,” he whispers, his fingers now curling around my waist, pulling me closer until there’s almost no space left between us. “Once we’re married, all of it will be forgiven.”

His words should terrify me, but instead, they ignite something deep inside. A yearning I’ve tried to bury since the first time he touched me. I don’t want to feel this way about him, yet I can’t seem to help it. His presence is overwhelming, his touch addictive.

“Timur,” I breathe, trying to sound firm but failing miserably. “This isn’t fair.”

“Fair?” He smirks, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear before trailing his hand down my cheek. “I don’t care about fair, Jennifer. What matters is that you’re mine. Once we’re married, no one will dare touch you. Not the Italians, not anyone.”

His lips brush against mine, just enough to tease, and I can feel my body reacting before my mind catches up. There’s an ache deep inside me, a longing that his touch only intensifies. I know I should push him away, but my body betrays me, leaning into him instead.

His fingers tighten on my waist, pulling me closer still until I’m flush against him. “Did you let another man touch you?” he growls, his breath hot against my lips. “Tell me.”

“No,” I gasp, shaking my head, desperate to make him understand. “I already told you. No one.”

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice laced with satisfaction as his mouth captures mine in a rough, demanding kiss. His lips press harder, more possessive, and I melt against him. There’s no use fighting it. I don’t want to fight it. The fire in his touch consumes me, and all I can do is surrender to it.

My fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer as the kiss deepens, as if some part of me craves him just as much as he craves me. His hands move down my back, possessive, as if he’s staking his claim, and I can’t help the moan that escapes my lips.

“I’m glad you didn’t let another man tarnish you,” Timur says against my mouth, his voice dark and filled with desire. “Only I get to see you like this.”

My heart races at his words, the heat in his touch, and for a moment, I forget everything else. The danger, the betrayal, the looming marriage—it all fades away under the weight of his lips, the urgency of his touch.

He lifts me effortlessly, his hands gripping my thighs as he carries me toward the bed. My pulse quickens, my breath hitching as he lowers me onto the mattress. His body hovers over mine, his eyes dark and filled with a hunger that makes my skin tingle. I feel the heat between us, the intensity of his gaze pinning me in place.

Then, just as his hands move to the hem of my shirt, just as my breath catches in my throat in anticipation, he pauses. His eyes flicker with something dangerous, something playful.

“Not yet,” he says, his lips curving into a wicked grin as he pulls back, leaving me breathless and frustrated.

“What?” I stammer, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I try to process what’s happening. “What do you mean?”

He leans in close again, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he whispers, “You’ll have to wait, sweetheart. Until our wedding night.”

The smug look on his face sends a fresh wave of heat through me, and I feel my face flush with both desire and frustration. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and it infuriates me. Yet, there’s a part of me that’s almost relieved he stopped. Maybe I need the time to process everything, to figure out how I feel.

His fingers trace a slow, deliberate path down my arm before he finally steps away, leaving me lying there, aching for him. He watches me for a moment, his gaze lingering on the rise and fall of my chest, the way my body trembles from his absence.

“I told you,” he says, his voice low and filled with dark amusement. “You belong to me now, Jennifer. Body and soul. I’ll take my time with you. Make sure you never forget it.”

He straightens, adjusting his shirt as if nothing happened, while I lay there, my body still humming with need. “Get some rest,” he says, his tone now businesslike. “You have a big week ahead of you.”

I watch him walk out of the room, the door closing softly behind him, leaving me in the heavy silence. My heart still races, my body aching for the touch he denied me, but my mind is a storm of confusion. I pull myself up into a sitting position, running my fingers through my hair as I try to steady my breathing.

How can he just leave me like this? Like nothing happened.

I pull my knees to my chest, resting my chin on them, staring at the door. He’s impossible to understand. One minute, he’s ruthless, threatening, and possessive; the next, he’s telling me to rest, as if he actually cares about my well-being.

The weight of his words sinks in.

A big week ahead.

He’s planning our wedding, and there’s nothing I can do about it. No way out.

I glance toward the window, the soft glow of the moonlight spilling into the room, casting shadows across the floor. The reality of my situation is suffocating. I’m trapped in his world, bound to him whether I like it or not. The worst part? There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to fight it.

With a frustrated sigh, I lay back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Whatever happens next, I need to be strong. For me and for my son.