Page 90 of Ruthless Addiction

Viktor Orlov, the Orlov Patriarch.

Old. Broad. Unyielding. His iron grip closed around Vanya’s arm, halting him mid-step, dragging him backward toward the doors like a possession instead of a child.

Something inside me broke completely.

I ran.

I didn’t think. I didn’t breathe.

Five steps—maybe six—before the guards surged forward in a wall of muscle and brutality. Hands seized me everywhere—arms, waist, shoulders—pinning me in place with terrifying efficiency.

“No!” I screamed, thrashing wildly. “Vanya! Mommy’s here!”

I kicked, twisted, clawed, nails raking skin, heels scraping against the gravel as raw panic tore through me. My body moved on instinct alone, feral and desperate, every cell screaming the same truth:

That is my child.

“Let me go!” I sobbed, voice breaking apart. “Let me go, you monsters! He’s scared—he’s just a baby!”

Vanya cried out again, reaching for me as Viktor hauled him back, his small body shaking with sobs.

“Mommy!”

The sound ripped straight through my chest.

Seraphina watched it all with cool fascination, arms folding neatly across her chest.

“Careful,” she said lightly, like she was commenting on the weather. “You’ll upset him even more.”

I fought harder, lungs burning, vision swimming with tears and rage. “I swear to God,” I screamed, voice raw and shaking, “if you hurt him—if you touch him—I will burn this entire family to the ground.”

My son fought too.

Small fists pummeled Viktor’s thigh in useless, desperate blows, his little body straining with everything he had. “Mommy!” he screamed, voice cracking into sobs. “Let me go to my mommy!”

The sound gutted me.

Viktor didn’t slow. He didn’t even look down. One iron hand clamped around Vanya’s arm as he dragged him towardthe mansion doors, his grip impersonal, practiced—like a man who’d moved human cargo before.

“No—no, stop!” I screamed, my voice tearing apart. “That’s my baby!”

Vanya twisted, reaching for me, fingers grasping air. “Mommy! Please!”

Then the doors swallowed him.

The heavy stone and iron shut with a final, echoing boom that reverberated through the courtyard like a gunshot.

Seraphina stepped directly into my line of sight.

Perfectly timed.

She was tall—taller still in heels—and she positioned herself with deliberate precision, blocking the doors completely. Every time I tried to crane my neck, shift sideways, catch even a glimpse of him—she mirrored me effortlessly, an elegant wall of silk and cruelty.

“Vanya!” I screamed past her shoulder, my throat raw. “Mommy will get you, okay? You won’t sleep there tonight, baby—I promise!”

For a heartbeat, I heard him.

Muffled now. Distant.