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15

Viktor

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the faint scent of toast, grounding me in the quiet of the morning. I sit at the head of the long oak table, the dark liquid in my mug still steaming as I take a slow sip. My eyes wander to the frost-covered window, the city just waking beyond the glass. It’s the only moment of calm I’ve had in days.

The sound of footsteps interrupts my thoughts, and I glance up. Alina and Yelena enter, their movements synchronized in that twin way they can’t seem to shake. Their expressions are a mix of curiosity and concern, and I know this isn’t a casual visit.

"Good morning," I greet, my voice steady but devoid of warmth.

They nod in return, their gazes sharp as they take their seats across from me. Alina folds her hands neatly in her lap, while Yelena leans forward, her elbows braced on the table.

The silence stretches, punctuated only by the faint clink of my mug as I set it down. Yelena is the first to speak, and her tone is probing. "We need to talk about the investigation."

My grip on the mug tightens ever so slightly. Of course, that’s why they’re here. I meet their eyes, taking a moment to compose my thoughts. The heaviness of their presence and the weight of my responsibility settle like an iron chain across my chest.

“How is the investigation going?”

I set the coffee cup down, the faint sound echoing in the otherwise silent room. Yelena’s gaze burns into me, unyielding, her blue eyes demanding answers I don’t yet have.

"The lead at the strip club didn’t pan out," I respond, my voice carrying the hint of frustration I can’t quite suppress. "The person I suspected doesn’t seem to have any connection to our father’s death."

Yelena raises a brow, clearly unimpressed. "So, what now? Are we back to square one?"

I inhale deeply, forcing myself to remain calm. "Not entirely. I’ll retrace my steps and dig deeper. There’s something there—I just haven’t uncovered it yet."

Alina’s quiet presence anchors the room, but even she looks at me with concern. I hate this—being the one without answers. For years, I’ve prided myself on control, on knowing the terrain before I step onto it. Now, I feel like I’m groping through the dark, and it’s eating me alive.

Yelena exhales sharply, her frustration palpable. "We need answers, Viktor. Dad deserves that."

I nod, my jaw tightening. "And he’ll get them. I swear on his memory, I won’t stop until I find the people responsible."

As the words leave my mouth, the conversation shifts in my head to something else entirely. Scarlett. Her name crashes into my thoughts like a rogue wave, and for a moment, I lose focus.

The revelation of her pregnancy is a weight I didn’t anticipate, an uninvited guest in the chaos of my life. She’s carrying my child—a fact that defies logic and shakes the foundation of who I am.

"Viktor?" Yelena’s voice snaps me back to the present, her brows furrowing at my distraction.

"There’s something else you guys should know."

Alina tilts her head, curiosity sparking in her eyes. "What is it?"

I lean back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest. "Scarlett. The woman from the club that I questioned ... she’s pregnant. With my child."

The words taste foreign on my tongue, as if they don’t belong to me. I expect outrage, disbelief—maybe even scorn. But the room falls silent, the weight of my confession settling heavily over us all.

Alina’s brows shoot up, her mouth parting slightly in surprise. She exchanges a glance with Yelena, who looks just as stunned.

"Wait," Alina says, leaning forward. "A stripper is pregnant? With your child?"

I nod curtly, unwilling to elaborate.

Her expression shifts, skepticism replacing surprise. "How certain are you that it’s yours?" she asks, her tone cautious but probing.

"She was a virgin a few weeks ago," I state plainly, my voice devoid of doubt. "I’m the only man she’s been with."

“A virgin stripper?” Yelena scoffs. “Now I’ve seen it all.”

“She was there to raise money for her mother’s illness.”

Alina blinks, taken aback by my response. Her hands fidget with the edge of her sweater, a telltale sign of her inner turmoil. "And you trust her? You’re sure she’s not ... manipulating you somehow?"

"Scarlett has no reason to lie," I reply, my tone firm. "She didn’t even want me to know. She told me because she had no choice."

Yelena leans back in her chair, her arms crossed. "So, what now? You’re going to play house with a stripper?"

I glare at her, my jaw tightening. "Scarlett isn’t just a stripper. She’s innocent in all this, and she’s carrying my heir. That’s all you need to know."

My voice hardens, leaving no room for argument. "Scarlett stays under my protection. End of discussion."

Alina studies me, her expression softening as if she sees the weight I’m carrying. "You’re serious about this," she says, her voice quieter now.

"Damn right, I’m serious," I snap, though the anger isn’t directed at her. "Our father is dead, and now I have a child on the way. I won’t let anyone else in this family fall victim to the world we live in."

The room falls silent, the gravity of my words sinking in. Alina nods slowly, her skepticism giving way to understanding. Yelena, however, remains guarded, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Fine," Yelena says at last, her tone clipped. "But don’t let this distract you from finding Dad’s killers."

"It won’t," I assure her. "But protecting Scarlett and the baby is now part of my mission. And I will not fail."

Scarlett

The bathroom tiles are cold against my knees, and the faint smell of disinfectant does nothing to mask the acrid taste in my mouth. My stomach churns violently, another wave of nausea threatening to empty what little is left. Morning sickness—though it seems relentless at all hours—is just another cruel reminder of the changes I never asked for.

I clutch the edge of the toilet, my breath shallow and uneven. Sweat slicks my forehead, and tears prick the corners of my eyes. The humiliation of being this vulnerable in a strange place worries me. I feel like I’m unraveling, piece by piece.

A soft knock echoes through the bathroom door. I don’t have the strength to answer, hoping whoever it is will leave me alone. But the door creaks open, and light footsteps approach cautiously.

"Are you okay?" The voice is gentle, feminine, and laced with concern.

I try to respond, but another heave cuts me off. My body betrays me as I retch again, emptying nothing but bile. I hear the shuffle of fabric, and then a warm hand presses against my back.

"It’s okay," the voice soothes, soft but steady. "Just breathe."

I don’t know who she is, but in this moment, I don’t care. Her presence is a lifeline, anchoring me to something solid as my body rebels against me.

After what feels like an eternity, the nausea subsides. My head hangs, my energy sapped. A glass of water appears in my peripheral vision, and I take it gratefully, my trembling fingers brushing against hers.

"Thank you," I manage to whisper, my voice hoarse.

She smiles, her expression warm and reassuring. "Let’s get you back to bed."

The woman guides me to the bed, her movements calm and deliberate. Once I’m settled, she pulls a blanket over me, her kindness catching me off guard.

"Who are you?" I ask, my voice hoarse and still shaky from the ordeal. My suspicion simmers beneath my gratitude. "And what are you doing in my bathroom?"

She chuckles softly, pulling a chair closer to sit by the bedside. "I’m Alina," she says. "One of Viktor’s sisters."

I blink, trying to process her words. Of course, Viktor would have family, but it never crossed my mind that I’d meet them.

She notices my confusion and offers an explanation. "I wanted to meet you," she continues, her tone light. "I knocked but got worried when you didn’t answer. Then I heard you in the bathroom and figured you could use some help."

Her honesty disarms me, and I nod slowly, relaxing slightly under the weight of her gaze.

Alina adjusts her seat, crossing her legs elegantly. There’s a poise about her, a quiet confidence that puts me at ease despite the strangeness of the situation.

"I’m sorry if I startled you," she says, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Her blue eyes mirror Viktor’s, sharp yet kind. "But I thought it was time we met. After all, you’re carrying my future niece or nephew."

Her words make my chest tighten. The reminder of my pregnancy feels like a slap and a lifeline all at once.

"Thank you," I mumble, glancing away. Gratitude laces my tone, but so does unease. I’m not used to this—to kindness without ulterior motives.

"You’re welcome," Alina replies, her smile never wavering. "And for the record, morning sickness sucks. I can’t imagine going through it in an unfamiliar place."

Her casual comment pulls a weak smile from me. The tension in my shoulders eases for the first time in what feels like forever.

“Do you have children?”

The shocks in her eyes confirms the answer before she even opens her mouth. “Hell no.”

“Then how do you know what morning sickness feels like.”

“Books and movies,” she smirks, and I smile.

As the minutes pass, Alina’s warmth chips away at my walls. She asks about how I’m feeling, her tone genuinely curious, not prying. I find myself opening up, albeit cautiously.

"Honestly?" I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know what’s happening, or how my life got so ..." I trail off, searching for the right word.

"Complicated?" Alina offers, her smile sympathetic.

"Yeah," I sigh. "Complicated."

She nods, her expression understanding. "Trust me, you’re not alone in that feeling. This family has a way of making life ... interesting."

Her light humor makes me laugh a little, and for the first time, I feel a flicker of connection.

"So," Alina begins, her tone casual but her eyes keen. "What’s the story with you and moy starshiy brat?"

“What now?”

“My big brother,” she laughs.

Damn, this girl is beautiful. Good looks must run in their genes.

I hesitate, the question catching me off guard. My fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket as I search for an answer. "It’s ... complicated," I admit, the word once again summing up the mess my life has become.

She tilts her head, waiting for me to elaborate.

"I met him once," I say finally, my voice steady but tinged with uncertainty. "It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t supposed to be anything. And now ..." I gesture vaguely, as if the enormity of the situation could be summed up in a single motion.

Alina listens intently, her expression unreadable. "He can be ... difficult," she says after a pause. "Because he’s been through a lot. But if he’s keeping you here, it means he sees something in you. Viktor doesn’t do anything without a reason."

Her words linger, leaving me wondering if she’s trying to reassure or warn me.