Page 102 of Ruthless Addiction

His small hands fisted in her sweater, gripping her like a lifeline. “Mommy...” he whispered, voice trembling from tears and fear, still raw from the night’s chaos.

She kissed the top of his head. “I’ve got you, baby. I promise. No one will ever take you again.”

My heart hammered—relief tangled with fury—as I watched Penelope reunite with her son. The bond between them was unmistakable, raw and fierce, and it dredged up everything I had failed to be.

I had failed as a father.

Penelope had borne me a son, only for him to be stolen at birth by her father. And despite all my influence, all my power, five years had passed and I had done nothing—could not save my child, could not even kill the men who took her from me.

What kind of man does that make me?

A failure.

Slowly, I descended the grand staircase, each step deliberate, controlled. My eyes didn’t leave them—Pen kneeling, Vanya clinging to her, fragile yet unbroken. I could see the remnants of her tears streaking her cheeks, but there was fire there too, a defiance that refused to bow.

When I reached the bottom, Pen lifted her gaze, meeting mine. Her eyes were wet, but unyielding. There was a storm in her expression, tempered only by the tenderness she held for her son.

Vanya peeked out from behind her, those wide, trusting eyes searching for safety. I crouched to his level, lowering my voice to a calm, steady tone. “You’re safe now,” I said, every word iron-wrapped. “No one takes you again. Not tonight. Not ever.”

He studied me for a long, heart-stopping moment—small, solemn, assessing. Then he nodded once, a slow, deliberate gesture that felt like a lifetime of trust condensed into one fragile movement.

Pen stood, gathering him into her arms with the precision and care of a mother who had fought for this moment. “Our room?” she asked quietly, voice tight with restrained emotion.

I nodded toward the master suite, words unnecessary. “All three of us,” I said simply, the weight of the night settling over us.

She didn’t argue. She never argued when it came to Vanya.

We moved through the hall together—Pen carrying Vanya, steady and strong despite the exhaustion, me a careful step behind, shadow and shield.

Every step up the staircase echoed like a drumbeat, counting down the fragile peace we had reclaimed.

I stayed close enough to catch them if they faltered, far enough to give the illusion of distance.

The master bedroom doors opened to reveal the space I hadn’t occupied fully in years: a massive bed draped in black silk sheets, the fireplace already crackling with amber light, casting long, flickering shadows across the room.

The windows framed the dark lake beyond, moonlight glinting on the water like shards of broken silver.

Pen paused in the doorway, letting the room wash over her.

Her chest rose and fell in a quiet rhythm, taking in the space, the warmth, the safety it symbolized.

Vanya wriggled from her arms and ran toward the connecting door on the left—his room. Toys were scattered in playful chaos, a night-light shaped like a moon glowing softly.

He pressed his tiny hand to the door frame, looking back at her before slipping inside.

Pen watched Vanya leave, then turned to me, eyes steady but her voice low and haunted. “Three months,” she said, each word heavy with unspoken promises—and threats—before her gaze swept the master bedroom.

She lingered barely ten seconds, then moved through the connecting room to Vanya’s room, leaving me hollow. Of course—her child always came first.

I followed like a shadow, unsurprised to find Penelope already seated on the edge of the sofa in Vanya’s toy-strewn room, spine straight despite the exhaustion etched into her posture.

Vanya perched beside her like a sentry who refused to leave her side. She brushed a curl from his forehead with slow, soothing strokes, the kind born of long nights and unspoken fear.

“Are you hungry?” she asked softly.

Vanya shook his head with exaggerated seriousness. “I ate at the Orlov mansion,” he said, a faint note of pride in his voice, as if surviving that place were an achievement. “They gave me pasta.”

“They wouldn’t dare poison him,” I said as I stepped fully into the room.