Chapter 29 —Eva
Three Months Later
My belly was growing bigger by the day, and with it came a lot of pain in my bones and joints. I battled with mood swings all the time, not to mention the strange cravings that woke me up in the middle of the night.
I was in my third trimester and was approaching the delivery date at the speed of light. Every day when I woke up in the morning, I’d take about twenty minutes to imagine what it would feel like when I finally became a mother.
I would create fake scenarios in my head and bask in the bliss they brought. In all the scenes I cooked up in my head, I was happy with my husband and our child.
Demyon had proven that I had no reason to worry about a good role model for our kids. Judging by the way he treated me ever since the day he rescued me from those loan sharks, I had no doubt that he was going to make a great father.
He wasn’t just my protector; he was also my provider. He made sure I never lacked anything. Even in the middle of the night when I’d wake up craving something, he’d get out of bed and get it for me. Distance was never a barrier.
Sometimes, I wished I didn’t have to stress the life out of the poor soul. But it wasn’t like I had a choice; it was what the baby wanted. He hated it whenever I blamed the unborn child for my “craziness,” as he called it. Nevertheless, he always did as I wanted, even after complaining at times.
Demyon was the best thing that had happened to me. I never thought that I’d find so much peace and happiness with a man who once kidnapped and objectified me. At this point, it was hard to remember the times that I used to hate his guts because the only thing I felt for him was love.
I wasn’t sure how he did it, but he’d successfully snaked his way into my heart. Demyon Tarasov had proven to me that he was capable of affection as much as he was capable of destruction. I loved his dual identity; it was hot and sexy.
To outsiders, he was a wicked soul, feared and revered by many. But to me, he was the best husband in the world. If someone had told me a few months ago that I would eventually fall so deeply in love with this man, I most likely would have thought they were insane.
At first, it hadn’t seemed like there was going to be a happy ending for me. I thought my life was ruined and that I was done for. In all honesty, I’d already given up on myself, believing that as long as I was in this mansion, I’d never be free.
But fate had a different plan for me—for us.
I was so happy with Demyon Tarasov that I’d forgotten all about the man who called himself my father. I barely even remembered that he existed. Yes, his betrayal hurt me so much, and for a while, I thought it would take a long time to fully heal.
However, with Demyon’s help, I was able to carry on with my life. My father had made his choice; he’d chosen to abandon me, knowing what those loan sharks were capable of.
Initially, I wanted to believe he had gone looking for me at my dorm. I thought maybe by the time he disappeared, I was already entangled with Demyon and his world of violence. I wanted so badly for that to have been the case.
However, after a little digging, Demyon and I discovered that at the time he vanished, I hadn’t yet met the Bratva. This meant that he could’ve come for me; he could’ve taken me with him. But he hadn’t.
He chose to take all of his stuff and run, leaving me behind.
My heart had shattered when I found out what he did. It hurt me so much, especially because if I had gone with him, my life would’ve taken a different turn.
But on second thought, I was glad that he ran away alone. If he’d taken me with him, I never would’ve met Demyon. Yes, I wouldn’t have gone through the fire I went through—but I probably wouldn’t have been living a quiet life somewhere.
If I had gone with him, I would’ve spent a long time running and always looking over my shoulder. What kind of life would that have been?
With what I knew now, I was glad I’d gone through that fire.
It hadn’t consumed me. It had purified me, and from those burning flames, this version of me was forged.
This version had no fear and was secretly intrigued by violence and the idea of carnage.
It was almost like my husband’s evil nature was slowly rubbing off on me.
I found myself hating his enemies as though I were the one they offended directly.
I was gradually drawn to the darkness, like a moth to a flame.
Maybe that was the price of being the devil’s wife.
It warmed my heart whenever I helped him solve a Bratva-related problem. It made me feel like an evil genius. And I loved it. I loved sharing my thoughts on what I believed would positively affect the organization.
I’d grown attached to the Bratva and was willing to do anything in my power to help. Maybe it was because of all those times he’d taken me to their meetings.
The Bratva was my husband’s business, and my husband’s business was also my business. I’d learned a lot about the organization, what they stood for, and how they operated.
Yes, they were all criminals.
But they were also the necessary evil that society didn’t know it needed. The more time I spent with them, the more I started to think like them. As fascinating as that was, it was also scary. I knew that I would have to tread carefully lest I lose myself in a strange world.
With each passing day, my body grew restless and more tired as the child shifted inside me. Every moment was a reminder of what was to come—motherhood. I told myself that no matter what, I would be a much better parent than my father.
He did a wack job, and I promised my unborn baby that I wasn’t going to be like him. I wouldn’t follow in his footsteps. With a mother like and a father like Demyon, our child would be the luckiest kid in the world.
However, as I neared the delivery date, I couldn’t help feeling stuck between fear and anticipation.
That fateful evening, while Demyon was away for an urgent business meeting, I was left behind, surrounded by guards. He couldn’t take me with him because I was too fragile to be moving about.
According to the doctor, at this point, I needed all the rest and peace in the world. Demyon wouldn’t have gone for that meeting; he would’ve just sent Ilya to represent him. But these were high-profile clients who demanded that they meet with him in person.
Closing this deal would be a huge win for the Bratva, and I wasn’t going to be the reason he missed it. So, I convinced him to go, reassuring him that I would be fine. Besides, I wasn’t due for another few weeks.
I’d had no idea.
I had just gotten out of bed with my hands on my lower back when a sharp pain gripped my stomach. My face twisted in agony, an abrupt groan spilling from my lips.
At first, I wanted to dismiss it as one of those momentary pains. But then, it came again, this time sharper than before.
I grabbed one of the poles of the bed with one hand and my lower abdomen with the other. The pain was so unbearable that I could neither sit nor move.
“Olga,” I called, my voice low and shaky.
My legs were trembling beneath me, my chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. I thought that maybe if I stood still, the pain would cease, but it didn’t. Instead, it was growing by the second.
“Argh!” I groaned, my grip tightening around the pole.
I couldn’t explain the kind of pain in my stomach. It was alien to me, and it felt like it was draining the life out of my body. “Olga….”
There was no way she could hear when my voice was barely above a whisper. Tears filled my eyes as I stood there, unable to move. I felt something trickling down my thighs, and when I glanced down, I realized that I was bleeding from my vagina.
My breath hitched, and my eyes went wide in shock. With what little strength I had left in me, I screamed, “Olga!!!”
My voice, dripping with sheer pain and agony, echoed off the walls. Seconds later, the door swung open, and she barged in together with some maids and a few guards.
By the time they reached me, my dress was already soaked with blood. I felt lightheaded, and my vision was blurry. Olga was speaking to me, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. My heartbeat was slowing as the concerned voices around me faded into the background.
The sound of my own shallow breaths echoed in my head, the world tilting between light and dark.
I felt myself being lifted off the ground, but I was already drifting unconscious and couldn’t tell what was happening.
“Demyon…” I murmured to myself, my voice weak and inaudible.
The last thing I heard before passing out was, “There’s no time to take her to the hospital—the baby’s coming!”
With that, I closed my eyes, hoping to God that I didn’t lose my baby. Voices fell silent, and the world turned black.