Page 154 of Sweet Obsession

Even Misha hadn't noticed I’d stopped drinking wine then. That I lingered longer in the bathroom with trembling hands. That I held my stomach sometimes when no one was watching—like it might anchor me.

Now I’m six weeks pregnant. I know that for certain. And the weight of it hits me differently.

It wasn’t a surprise. Misha never used protection. Not once. We were fire and gasoline, reckless and raw. So no, this wasn’t unexpected. But it was still unplanned. And I wasn’t ready to let him know. Not like this. Not when he was halfway gone already.

Ever since he returned from that blood-soaked hellhole Chernov dragged him to, broken ribs, infected wounds, burn scars on his back—he hadn’t truly come home. Not to me.

He was alive, yes. Crowned Pakhan. Respected. Feared. But not... present.

Most nights I slept alone. Curled into cold sheets that used to hold him. I left the lamp on until two, hoping he’d walk in. That he’d sit at the edge of the bed, kiss my knee like he used to, say,“Move over, Malyshka. I missed my girl.” But all I heard were the distant footsteps of his guards in the hallway.

I understood power came with a price. But did it have to cost us?

So I reminded him. Of the contract. Of the twelve months I signed away under pressure, under fear, under the illusion that I had no choice. In five days, that contract would expire.

But Misha? He didn’t even flinch.

He looked up from his desk, surrounded by blueprints and bloodied ledgers, and asked if I wanted to watch a film with him that night. I said yes. I even wore lipstick.

We watched the film in silence. He didn’t touch me once. And by morning, he was gone again. Another strategy meeting. Another alliance. Another war that no longer existed.

So I asked myself the question I’d been avoiding for weeks:

How could I raise a child in this kind of silence?

How could I bring a baby into a home where love only lives in shadows? How would he have time for a child when he barely sees me?

Vargas cartel is still out there, yes. My father too. But they’re ghosts now. Misha rules Yakutsk. And yet, he’s still fighting battles like he hasn’t noticed peace arrived and brought a crib with it.

And a part of me still wonders... will he ever take revenge on my father for what was done to him?

But vengeance can’t raise a child. Obsession isn’t the same thing as love. And I deserve more. My baby deserves more.

If we ever get back together, if it has to be different. He has to ask. Properly. Propose. Engage. Marry me with my consent. Not with a contract. Not with force. Not with threats and locked doors.

And yes, I still love him.

But sometimes, loving someone means letting them go.

I miss Gabriella. I need to see her. I need to remember who I was before all this blood and power and pain. Maybe I need Colombia more than I realized. If I have to raise this baby alone... so be it.

The knock on the door startled me.

“Come in,” I said, brushing tears off my cheek before they could betray me.

Sofia stepped in with a soft frown, holding a silver tray. “You didn’t eat breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” I said, voice tighter than I meant it to be.

“Dinner is ready downstairs.”

“I’m fine.”

She didn’t leave. Instead, she crossed the room and sat beside me, like a mother would. Gentle. Patient. Too wise for the lies I was trying to live with.

Her voice was low. “I know what it looks like when a woman is carrying. And you, my dear... you look like a storm trying to hide a heartbeat.”

I stiffened. “I’m not—”