Page 128 of Twisted Addiction

The woman who preserved his empire.

And shattered me in the process.

I was no longer his wife.

I was Penelope—carrying a life pure and untainted, a fragile pulse that deserved a world free from the scars he had left behind.

I pushed off the bed, pacing the narrow room.

The carpet scratched against my bare feet—rough, grounding, real.

I needed to think.

The fortune on that black card wasn’t salvation—it was danger disguised as wealth.

Dmitri’s men could trace it.

My father could smell it.

Every dollar carried blood on its surface.

I stopped by the window, pushed it open. The night air cut through the stale heat of the room.

New Jersey stretched before me—neon-lit streets, faceless people, a new city that knew nothing of Penelope Volkov.

A blank canvas.

But freedom, I realized, was heavier than chains.

Chapter 29

PENELOPE

Four months had passed since I’d escaped my father’s mansion, since betrayal had become my shadow.

Now, I lay on the narrow hospital bed in a New Jersey ICU, the antiseptic tang biting at my nostrils, the relentless beeping of monitors echoing like a countdown.

Thirty-two weeks. That’s all my baby had held on for—and now my water had broken prematurely.

The Russian medications had kept me alive, kept the baby stable, but fear clawed at me with every contraction.

Pain gripped me like iron bands.

My muscles burned, my body trembled, sweat slick against my skin, and every push felt like scaling a mountain that refused to give way. “Push, ma’am!” the senior nurse barked, her voice sharp, commanding, slicing through the haze of agony.

I tried again, and again, but three hours in, my body had betrayed me entirely.

Humiliation and exhaustion tangled with the pain—I’d soiled the sheets. The nurses had cleaned, changed, and smiled professionally, but the shame burned hotter than any contraction.

Dr. Patel leaned close, her dark eyes sharp and steady behind glasses that reflected the harsh hospital lights.

“Ms. Romano, you’re not progressing,” she said, calm but cutting. “The baby is showing signs of distress. Prolonged laborincreases risk—hypoxia, infection. I recommend a cesarean. It’s the safest way for both of you.”

I gasped, trembling, voice hoarse from hours of screaming. “Do it,” I rasped. “Anything... anything to get my baby out alive.”

The nurse’s hand squeezed mine, firm and grounding. “You’re doing amazing, Ms. Romano. We’ll get your little one here safely.”

She raised a hand, holding a clipboard. “But we’ll need a family member or legal guardian to sign the consent form, per hospital policy.”