Page 22 of Sexting the Bratva Boss (Text to Touch)

Eva

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, pulling me from sleep. I cracked open my eyes to find Ruslan's side of the bed empty.

"Ivanka?" I answered groggily.

"Oh my God, Eva! You're like a superstar now!" Ivanka's excited voice practically burst through the speaker. "I just saw all the news about you—social media is going crazy! Congratulations, babe, you actually did it. You made your dreams come true."

I couldn't help but laugh. "You're being dramatic, Ivanka. How are you doing?"

"Working on a new show, and I'm finally not playing eye candy!" she said with a laugh. "Not as glamorous as your situation, though. My dear movie star, you owe me dinner when you have time!"

"Absolutely, anytime you want," I smiled, feeling that warm, fuzzy feeling you get from real friendship.

We caught up for a few more minutes, and after hanging up, I leaned back against the headboard, feeling a rare sense of contentment and satisfaction.

It felt amazing to finally have my hard work recognized.

"I thought you were going to let me rest for a few days," I said, sitting in the passenger seat of the Rolls-Royce, watching palm trees blur past the window.

"You will," Ruslan kept his eyes on the road, "but first I have somewhere to take you."

The car eventually stopped in front of a sleek, modern glass building on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood. I looked at him, confused—this wasn't any production company I recognized.

"Come on." He opened my door.

We walked into the building where a sharp-dressed woman in a business suit immediately approached us. "Mr. Yvannov, Miss Stone."

I followed Ruslan through the bright, spacious lobby. The walls displayed the name of an entertainment company I'd never heard of—Stellar Entertainment.

"This place is—" My confusion was growing by the minute.

"Your new beginning," Ruslan answered casually.

He led me through the building like a king surveying his domain, floor by floor. This place had Hollywood's most cutting-edge post-production studios, private screening rooms, executive lounges for talent, and a full gym. Everything screamed expensive and brand new.

Finally, we entered a massive room that looked like the backstage of a haute couture show. About a dozen people were standing around, and they all stopped what they were doing when they saw us.

"This is your styling team going forward—the best in the business," Ruslan introduced them. "They'll handle all your public appearances."

The legendary stylist I'd seen countless times in magazines was now smiling and extending his hand to me. "Miss Stone, I'm Jett Thorn, head of the team. It's an honor to work with you."

My brain went completely blank. I could only mechanically shake his hand. Ruslan went on to introduce my exclusive PR team, media team, and a legal team consisting of three top-tier attorneys.

Every single one of these people was a legend in the industry. And now they were all standing here, ready to work exclusively for me.

"So Stellar Entertainment—you created this company for me?" I finally found my voice in the executive office, my heart full of shock and gratitude I couldn't even put into words.

"Your talent deserves a dedicated company," he said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Your next project's director is Elliot Voss," Ruslan added. "He'll bring out all your potential."

Elliot Voss. That name exploded in my brain like a bomb. The genius director who'd made my favorite film, Elegy of the End Times!

"He never collaborates with major studios—how did you—" I stared at him excitedly. "How did you manage that?"

Those deep blue eyes looked at me steadily.

"I took him to dinner at Nobu," his voice was matter-of-fact, like he was describing something trivial. "Then I told him I'd bought the global rights to all his early work and was planning to release a 4K restored Blu-ray collection, with all proceeds going directly to him."

My heart clenched. As an actress, I knew better than anyone what those early, unmarketable works meant to an artist—they represented a person's purest dreams. This was more devastating than any high-dollar contract, hitting right at an artist's soft spot.

In that moment, looking at this man in front of me, what I felt wasn't just gratitude, but something deeper—a mix of admiration and attraction that made my heart race. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his lips.

The script Elliot Voss had prepared for me was called Echo Alley.

"This role is very challenging," Elliot explained. "She's not a victim in the traditional sense, but a complex, multi-dimensional female character. Her awakening process is full of self-doubt and fear, but ultimately she chooses to face the truth."

I flipped through the script, getting more excited with each page.

This was pure film noir. My character, Norah, was a waitress struggling in LA's underbelly, with deadly charm and a complicated past. She gets pulled into an elaborate murder plot, navigating between venomous wealthy men, corrupt cops, and mysterious private investigators.

The character was full of contradictions and tension. She was both prey and predator. Both victim and manipulator.

This was exactly the kind of role I'd been dreaming of—deep enough, layered enough.

"You have one week to prepare," Elliot warned. "We start shooting in a week, and it's going to be intense. You need to have a deep understanding of the character before we roll cameras."

"No problem, I'll be thoroughly prepared," I said firmly.

For this role, I completely immersed myself in preparation.

Besides studying the script, I had to handle ongoing promotion for my last project. The team Ruslan had assembled for me was invaluable. Every red carpet, every interview—my styling was flawless, my answers were airtight.

After a long day, I came home to the mansion and collapsed exhaustedly on the couch. Ruslan was dealing with some urgent company business and wouldn't be home tonight.

I habitually opened my phone to check when my period was due, then froze.

According to my tracking app, my period was a full week late. My cycle was always regular—it never ran more than three days late. A sense of dread immediately gripped my heart.

No way. Impossible.

I immediately jumped up from the couch and restarted the app, but it wasn't wrong.

A full seven days.

My breathing started getting rapid, and cold sweat broke out on my forehead.

Pregnant? The moment that word surfaced in my mind, it felt like lightning splitting me in half.

I rushed to the door, ready to make a pharmacy run, but just as my hand touched the doorknob, I realized the pharmacy would be closed at this hour.

I'd have to wait until tomorrow.

I didn't sleep all night.

The next morning, I bundled myself up completely. Black bucket hat pulled low, sunglasses covering half my face, plus a plain mask.

The pharmacy was on the corner. I walked in quickly, my heart pounding.

I felt like everyone who passed me was staring, judging.

Like a thief, I hurried to the shelves, quickly grabbed two different brands of pregnancy tests, then randomly grabbed some vitamins and cold medicine as cover before rushing to the checkout.

"Need a bag?" the cashier asked.

"Yes, thanks," I said in a low voice, handing over cash.

The cashier looked at me twice, making me duck my head guiltily.

Thankfully, she didn't recognize me, just made change and said, "Have a nice day."

I practically fled the pharmacy, my palms sweating.

The whole thing took less than three minutes. But to me, it felt like a century.

Back at the mansion, I rushed straight to the bathroom and locked the door. Thank God Ruslan had flown to New York to handle some real estate project.

I tore open the packaging, my hands shaking with nerves. I even read the tiny instruction sheet three times before understanding it. I followed the steps, then came the endless waiting.

I sat on the toilet lid, staring at the pregnancy test on the counter. I could hear my own heartbeat thundering like drums. Time had never moved so slowly.

One minute. Two minutes.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It's fine, I'm just overthinking. Stress and irregular schedules can delay periods.

Three minutes. I took a deep breath and picked up that little plastic stick that would determine my fate.

Two lines. Bright red, unmistakable lines .

With trembling hands, I picked up the other brand and tested again. Still two red lines.

The pregnancy test slipped from my hands and clattered to the floor as I collapsed.

In that instant, it felt like all sound in the world disappeared. My brain went completely blank, only those two glaring red lines spinning and expanding in front of my eyes. Panic wrapped around my throat like a hand, making it impossible to breathe.

How could this happen? Why?

I'd been taking the morning-after pill every time, I remembered every time.

Wait.

Memories flashed like movie scenes. It was during the most hectic week before wrapping the film.

One late night, Ruslan and I hadn't been intimate in so long that we completely lost control.

The next morning at 5 AM, I was woken by my alarm and went straight to set for a full day of intense shooting.

By the time I remembered, it was two days later.

I frantically took the pill, but it was obviously too late.

Regret and terror gnawed at my heart like two venomous snakes.

My life, my career that had finally gotten on track...

I was Hollywood's rising star, about to have a brilliant future! I couldn't appear in public at this crucial moment with an illegitimate baby bump!

That would be a scandal. That would be destruction.

But my hand unconsciously moved to my flat stomach. Here, a little life was quietly growing. He was mine and Ruslan's child. This realization sent a strange, wonderful flutter through my heart.

But that flutter lasted less than a second before being completely crushed by harsh reality.

What exactly was my relationship with Ruslan? It was an unspoken transaction. He gave me resources and protection, and I pleased him with my body and companionship. There had never been any promises about the future between us.

Would he want this child?

I didn't dare think about it. I could even imagine his reaction when he heard this news. Maybe he'd give me money to quietly handle this "problem." Or maybe he'd allow me to give birth, then take the child away to be raised as some insignificant company heir.

And I would become nothing more than one of his many possessions—a breeding attachment.

No. I would never allow that.

I wouldn't use a child to trap anyone. And I wouldn't let this unexpected arrival ruin my career. My acting career was earned through blood, tears, and sweat. It was the only thing in this world I could depend on.

I had to terminate this pregnancy.

Once that thought emerged, it took root and grew wildly in my mind, determined to completely cut out what little compassion and softness I had left.

My child, I'm sorry. Tears finally fell uncontrollably from my eyes. But I quickly wiped them away and got up from the cold floor. My gaze became unusually calm, even cold.

I opened my laptop and started searching for LA's most discreet, top-tier medical facilities that could provide absolute privacy protection for celebrities. I found a clinic in Beverly Hills whose website promised one hundred percent confidential VIP services.

I picked up my phone and dialed the appointment number. My fingers were still trembling slightly, but my voice was unusually steady.

"Hello, is this Beverly Hills Concierge Medicine? I need to schedule an early pregnancy termination procedure."

The nurse on duty asked about my basic information in a formulaic tone.

"Yes, ma'am. What's your gestational period?"

"My period is seven days late. I tested positive today."

"Please provide your name and contact information."

I gave my name and left my cell phone number and email.

"Okay, ma'am. We have quite a waiting list. The earliest we can schedule you is in two weeks, June 10th, at 9 AM. Does that time work for you?" The nurse's voice showed no change.

I closed my eyes. "Yes. "

"Perfect. Your appointment is confirmed. We'll send relevant pre-procedure instructions to your email in encrypted form. If you experience any discomfort, please contact us immediately."

I hung up.

The appointment was confirmed. In two weeks, this unexpected little life would be gone. My heart sank into a bottomless abyss with this successful appointment. I felt like a cold-blooded executioner about to drown my own child.

My hand moved to my stomach, my heart breaking. I'm sorry, little one. Mommy doesn't have the ability to protect you right now, to give you a complete family.

Tears blurred my vision again as I sobbed uncontrollably.