Page 28 of Sexting the Silverfox Daddy

Cassie

At four in the morning, I gave up on sleep.

All night, I'd tossed and turned, my body weighed down by a heavy, gnawing ache in my gut, like a cold anchor chaining me to a waking nightmare.

Every time I closed my eyes, Gennady's back—rigid, wounded, desperate—burned into my mind.

"Maybe you don't have to pretend to love me anymore.

" Those words sliced through my heart like a dull blade, over and over, each cut sharp and raw.

I sat by the window, hugging my knees, staring out at the estate's perimeter.

The guards' shadows flickered in the morning mist, a constant reminder of the danger lurking beyond these walls.

But the real threat wasn't out there. It was inside me, growing, a secret that felt like a shadow swallowing my peace.

My phone sat on the nightstand, and I stared at it for what felt like hours. I needed my mom. I needed her voice, her comfort, something to ground me.

My fingers, cold and trembling, dialed her number. The ringing stretched on forever until her sleepy, raspy voice came through. "Cassie? Baby, what's wrong? It's so early…"

Her concern broke me. "Mom." My voice cracked, tears spilling out.

"Oh, my sweet girl, are you crying?" Mom's voice sharpened, sleep gone. "What happened? Who hurt you?"

"Mom, I-" I took a shaky breath, trying to choke back the sob in my throat. "I'm pregnant."

The line went silent. Then, a sharp, stifled gasp. "Oh, my baby!" Her voice trembled with heartache. "Are you sure?"

"I think so. Nausea, vomiting, my period's late." I wiped at the tears streaming down my face. "Mom, I'm so scared."

"Don't be scared, honey," she said, her voice wrapping around me like a warm blanket. "I'm right here. Does he know? Gennady?"

My body shook, teeth chattering. "No. Mom, I haven't told you. He's not just a businessman. He's a mob boss. Like the people who killed Dad."

The silence that followed was deafening. I heard something clatter faintly on her end, like she'd knocked something over. "My God," she whispered, her voice quaking with fear. "Cassie, are you safe? Has he hurt you?"

"He hasn't hurt me," I said, managing a bitter smile. "He says he loves me, wants to protect me. But Mom, I don't know if I can trust him. I'm terrified if he finds out about the baby, he'll control me even more."

The thought of his suffocating possessiveness sent a chill down my spine.

Mom was quiet for a long time, her soft, muffled sobs piercing my heart like needles. "Mom?"

"I'm sorry, baby," she said, sniffling. "I just want to hold you right now. My little girl, so young, facing this all alone, when you need someone to lean on."

Her crying set off my own tears, hot and relentless. "Mom, what do I do? I'm falling apart."

"Do you love him?" she asked, her voice soft but steady.

"I love him," I said without hesitation, fierce and reckless, like diving headfirst into a fire. "So much it's driving me crazy. But I don't know if he loves me or just the idea of owning me."

"And the baby?" Her question cut straight to the core. "Do you want this child?"

My hand drifted to my flat stomach, fingers brushing the fabric of my nightgown. A strange, subtle connection stirred there, beneath the fear—a deep, primal pull. "I do," I said, my voice firm despite the chaos. "Even with everything so messed up, I want this baby."

"Then that's enough," Mom said, her tone suddenly strong, resolute. "Cassie, if you want this child, that's the most important reason to keep going. I'm behind you, no matter what."

"But Mom," fear gripped me again, "what if he doesn't change? What if he sees this baby as just another way to tie me down?"

"Cassie, listen," she said, her voice warm but fierce. "You remember your dad? He made mistakes, took wrong turns. But when he found out about you, he changed. For us, he tried to be better."

"Dad changed?" I asked, stunned.

"Yes," she said firmly. "Men need a reason sometimes, something big enough to make them see what really matters. This baby might be that reason for Gennady—a chance for him to rethink himself, your relationship."

"But what if he doesn't want to?" My voice broke. "What if the baby and I don't mean enough to him?"

"Then you'll have your answer," she said, gentle but brutal. "But you can't keep this secret forever, Cassie. It's not good for you or the baby. You need to let go of the stress."

I closed my eyes, exhaustion crashing over me. "I know, Mom. I just need time… some courage to face what might happen."

"Take your time, but remember," she said, her voice full of unconditional love, "whatever you decide, I'm your safe place. If you need to come home, if you need me there, just say the word. I'll be on the first flight to you."

"Thank you, Mom," I choked out, warmth flooding through the fear. "I love you."

"I love you, too, baby. More than you can ever know."

The call ended, and the world went quiet again. I sat by the window, my hand resting on my stomach, feeling the faint presence of the life growing inside me—Gennady's and mine.

The realization was overwhelming. Fear of the unknown, of the dangers outside, clung to me.

But there was also a strange, powerful warmth, a sense of belonging that anchored me.

This child needed a father. And I needed to know if Gennady could change for us—not to quit his world overnight, but to loosen that chokehold of control that was suffocating me.

I took a deep breath, the morning air laced with the estate's floral sweetness.

It filled my lungs, but my chest felt heavy, like a boulder was crushing me.

His words from last night—"Maybe you don't have to pretend to love me anymore"—played on a loop, each replay squeezing my heart tighter.

His pain, his despair, they were real. He thought I didn't love him anymore, thought I was punishing him with coldness.

God, if he only knew how much I love him.

If I kept this up, kept hiding, our relationship would die in this misunderstanding. I'd watch the man I love slip away, consumed by pain, until there was nothing left of us.

No more waiting. For the baby, for our love, I had to act.

I stood, dizziness hitting me, but I steadied myself and headed to the closet, my hands shaking. This choice felt like a sword hanging over me—ready to carve a path to something new or cut everything we had to pieces.

My fingers brushed over the clothes, stopping at the pale blue dress. Gennady once said it made me look like an angel. Maybe that soft blue could spark a memory of the woman who first stole his heart, remind him I wasn't just his possession but the woman he fell for.

In front of the mirror, I studied myself. Pale, with dark circles under my eyes, but in those eyes—washed clear by tears—I saw a flicker of something I hadn't in a while. Hope. Determination. The courage of a woman about to become a mother.

I touched my stomach, feeling the faint pulse of life.

Deep breath. The air was crisp, sweet with flowers, cool with the dawn.

My blood surged, my heart pounded. I wasn't the scared woman curled by the window anymore.

I was a mother-to-be, ready to face the storm for love, for freedom, for the life inside me.

It was time.

No more running, no more hiding. No more letting fear and doubt control my fate.

I opened the door, heart pounding with nerves and hope, ready to find Gennady and tell him everything.

But when I reached the bottom of the stairs, standing at the living room doorway, my world froze.

Gennady sat on the sofa—the one where we'd shared countless moments of closeness. But he wasn't alone. A blonde woman was beside him, not across the room, not at a polite distance, but so close her knee nearly brushed his leg.

It was her. The woman from the anonymous photos. I'd never forget that face.

Her hand rested on his forearm, her golden hair cascading like a waterfall, her blood-red silk top glinting in the morning light. She looked radiant, like a perfect doll.

And Gennady wasn't pushing her away.

My blood turned to ice.

For a moment, time stopped. I stood on the last step, gripping the banister, my breath caught in my throat.

Then she saw me.

Her lips curved into a slow, predatory smile—not friendly, but the kind a cat gives a canary. Her eyes gleamed with triumph, a silent taunt: I knew you'd see this.

"Oh," she said, her voice syrupy sweet, dripping with fake curiosity and a hint of mockery. "You must be Cassie."

Gennady whipped his head toward me, his green eyes wide with shock, guilt, and something else I couldn't read. The three of us froze, locked in a twisted triangle.

My heart hammered, blood roaring in my ears, drowning out everything else. I wanted to speak, but my throat felt stuffed with cotton. I wanted to move, but my legs were lead.

The blonde—Ginnie—glanced between us, like she was savoring a scene she'd scripted. She shifted, leaning even closer to Gennady, her red silk brushing his suit. "Hi, Cassie. I'm Ginnie, Gennady's friend." Her voice was laced with fake concern. "You look pale. Trouble sleeping?"

I hated her smug tone, the way she sat there like she owned the place, like she belonged on that couch next to Gennady.

Most of all, I hated myself—standing there like some idiot who'd stumbled into someone else's territory, torn apart by shock, humiliation, and a rage that felt like it could rip me in half.

Gennady stood slowly, Ginnie's hand sliding off his arm. He took a step toward me, his face cautious, like he was approaching a spooked animal. "Cassie," he said, his voice soft, laced with an uncertainty I'd never heard before.

"Don't," I snapped, finding my voice, holding up a hand to stop him. "Don't talk to me like that right now."

He froze, his hands dropping to his sides, his jaw tightening like it was carved from stone. "This isn't what you think," he said.