Chapter Twenty-Eight
Stella
The leather seat feels cold against my cheek as tears stream down my face.
Through blurred vision, I watch my neighborhood disappear, each turn taking me further from the life I’ve built. My stomach clenches — from pregnancy or panic, I’m not sure anymore.
The rhythmic motion of the car pulls me back to that night ten years ago.
I was barely seventeen, cramped in the backseat of a different black car, watching St. Petersburg’s lights fade into darkness.
Dad’s jaw was set, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Mom kept looking over her shoulder, as if expecting pursuit.
Nick, Nikolai back then, pressed against me, confusion written across his young face.
Now I’m running again. No — being taken. Aleksei’s presence beside me radiates authority. He’s on his phone now, his in rapid Russian filling the space between us. The words wash over me, familiar yet foreign, like everything else about this situation.
The car slows, tires crunching on gravel. My chest tightens as massive gates swing open, revealing the sprawling mansion.
I wipe my face with my sleeve, a habit Mom always scolded me for. The thought brings fresh tears. She’ll never know she was going to be a grandmother. She’ll never hold this baby or sing lullabies or-
“We’re here.” Aleksei’s voice cuts through my spiral.
I stare in astonishment as the place looms before me. I’ve been here before, but in the cold light of day it seems so much more imposing.
The grand foyer swallows me whole as staff members materialize from nowhere, their faces carefully blank. Aleksei’s voice echoes, each command precise and cold.
“Left wing, third floor. The blue suite has been made up. Stock the kitchen with…” He rattles off a list of specific foods while I wrap my arms around myself, trying to become smaller.
“Your rooms are ready.” He doesn’t look at me as he speaks, checking something on his phone. “The left wing provides adequate privacy and security. My quarters are in the right wing.”
The physical distance he’s placing between us feels symbolic. Like he’s making sure I understand this is a business arrangement, not a relationship.
Because even though he hasn’t discussed it with me, I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening.
“I have matters to attend to,” Aleksei announces, already striding away from me. “Imelda will take care of you.” His footsteps fade, leaving me with strangers in this massive space.
“This way, Miss Stella.” The petite Filipina woman in front of me dips her head.
I follow the housekeeper through corridors that seem to stretch forever, past priceless artwork and antique furniture that blur together. Everything screams old money and power. The kind of wealth that makes my modest apartment feel like a child’s playhouse.
Imelda’s footsteps echo ahead of me as we climb another sweeping staircase. My legs burn from the effort — or maybe it’s just the morning sickness making everything feel like a marathon.
“You have very nice room, Miss. Best view of gardens.” Imelda’s accent wraps around the words carefully, like she’s handling delicate china. “Mr. Tarasov say make special for you.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. The hallway stretches forever, lined with identical dark wood doors. Everything feels too perfect, too polished. Like a museum where I’m not allowed to touch anything.
“Here, Miss.” Imelda produces an old-fashioned key, the brass gleaming in the soft lighting. “Blue Suite very private. Nobody disturb.”
The door swings open, and my breath catches. Sunlight streams through tall windows, shedding gold light across the room. A massive four-poster bed dominates one wall, draped in silvery blue fabric that catches the light like water. Fresh flowers perfume the air from crystal vases.
It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. It’s absolutely suffocating.
“Bathroom through there.” Imelda points to a door of frosted glass. “Kitchen down hall. I bring schedule for meals later.”
A schedule. Of course there’s a schedule. My hand drifts to my stomach unconsciously. How long am I supposed to be here? Until the baby arrives?
No. That’s unthinkable. As soon as he comes back, we’re going to settle this.
“Thank you,” I manage to whisper.
Imelda bobs her head and backs away, leaving me alone in this stunning prison. The door clicks shut with quiet finality.
I sink onto a navy-blue velvet chaise lounge, the fabric cool against my burning skin. Part of me wants to laugh, but I’m afraid if I start, it’ll turn into screaming.
“Cut it out, girl. You’re being pathetic.”
“Thanks, Boyana… for nothing,” I mutter. Standing again, I approach the French doors. Beyond the glass, an infinity pool stretches toward manicured gardens, its surface mirror-smooth in the afternoon light. The water reflects clouds drifting overhead, creating an illusion of endless sky.
My fingers trace the cool glass. Pristine hedges frame the pool area, their geometric shapes too perfect to feel natural.
Beyond them, towering oak trees form a living wall.
The branches sway slightly in the breeze, but the movement only emphasizes how still everything else is.
No gardeners. No guests. No signs of life at all.
The isolation is overwhelming. I press my forehead against the glass to steady myself. A sob builds in my throat, but I swallow it back. Then another comes, stronger this time. The glass fogs with my ragged breathing.
“Boyana,” I whisper, needing my sister more than ever. “What am I going to do?”
The tears come then, burning my eyelids. My shoulders shake as everything crashes over me at once. The last few months have been a nightmare; how much more could go wrong?
The perfect view blurs through my tears. Even the endless sky feels like it’s closing in.
I pull my phone from my pocket, desperate to contact Hannah, to hear a friendly voice. The “No Service” message mocks me. I try walking around the room, holding the phone higher, even pressing it against the window — nothing.
My fingers move automatically through the settings, checking carrier options and network configurations. The analytical part of my brain takes comfort in the systematic approach, even knowing it’s futile. Of course he’s thought of this. Of course there’s some kind of signal blocker in place.
Sinking onto the window seat, I spot a bookshelf tucked into an alcove. The titles catch my attention — medical journals, neuroscience textbooks, quantum physics publications. My fingers trail along their spines, recognizing titles.
“Introduction to Neural Networks,” I murmur, pulling out a familiar volume. “No way.” I shake my head. These aren’t my books; none of my things have been unpacked yet. What are the odds of finding a little treasure trove of science books in this place?
But this, at least, makes sense. Neurons firing in predictable patterns, chemical reactions following established rules. Unlike my life, which seems to have abandoned all logic.
Turning from the window, I head to the ridiculously big bed and curl up with the book, letting myself get lost in the complex theories. For a moment, I can pretend I’m back home. Before everything went wrong. Before I lost everyone.
The scientific terminology grounds me, gives my racing thoughts something concrete to focus on. It’s almost like having a conversation with Dad again, discussing medicine over dinner. He would have loved these books.
As the stress of the day takes its toll, the words begin to blur into one another. The textbook slides from my fingers as exhaustion creeps in. And so does he. Even the familiar comfort of science can’t keep my thoughts from drifting to Aleksei.
My skin burns, remembering his touch, the possessive way he claimed me that night at the party. The same night that created this baby.
I press my palms against my eyes, trying to block out the memories. He’s dangerous. A Bratva boss who deals in violence and fear. The kind of man I should be running from.
But my treacherous body remembers how safe I felt in his arms. How his presence filled every space, making the rest of the world disappear. The way his dark eyes saw straight through my defenses.
“Stop it,” I mutter, rolling onto my side. The silk sheets whisper against my skin, and I imagine his hands instead. My heart races, caught between desire and terror.
This man dragged me here without asking. Took control of my life like it belonged to him. I should be furious.
I am furious.
Yet part of me craves his strength, wants to surrender to that overwhelming force. The same part that melted at his touch, that still burns for him.
My eyes grow heavy as conflicting emotions wage war in my chest. The bed cradles me like a cloud, and despite everything, sleep pulls at me with irresistible force.
The silk sheets caress my skin as I drift deeper into a restless slumber.
In my dreams, strong hands trail down my sides, leaving fire in their wake. Aleksei’s presence surrounds me, that intoxicating mix of musk and masculine heat.
“ Milaya ,” his voice rumbles against my neck, the Russian endearment making me shiver. Dream-Aleksei’s touch is both gentle and demanding, his fingers tracing patterns across my heated skin.
I arch into his touch, my body responding to his presence even in sleep. The dream shifts and flows, reality blurring at the edges. One moment we’re in the blue suite, the next we’re back in that private room at his party, then somewhere entirely new.
His tattoos ripple as he moves over me, the black ink seeming to dance in the dim light. I reach up to trace the dagger entwined with roses on his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath my palm.
“Mine,” he growls, capturing my wrists and pinning them above my head. His dark eyes burn with possession, desire, and something deeper that makes my breath catch.
The weight of him presses me into silk sheets that feel cool against my feverish skin. His beard scrapes deliciously against my throat as he claims every inch of me with lips and teeth and tongue.
I whimper his name, lost in the sensations as dream and memory blur together. Every touch feels amplified, every kiss electric. His hands seem to be everywhere at once, drawing responses from my body that I didn’t know were possible.
The dream intensifies, colors swirling behind my closed eyes as pleasure builds…
My dream shifts yet again, becoming more vivid as memories of that night flood back. The private room at his party materializes around us — the cool surface of the desk against my heated skin, the dim lighting, the faint music filtering through thick walls.
I feel his hands on me again, exactly as they were that night. The way he’d stripped me, left me naked and vulnerable before him. Then lifted me onto his desk, scattering papers without care.
His fingers had traced fire up my thighs, seeking out the line of my pussy until I was writhing, desperate for him. And the hum of the vibrator… the jolt of pleasure that he’d drawn from me. I press my thighs together, clutching at the sheets.
“No…” I whisper, but it’s too late. The dream has me in its grip now.
His hard body covers mine, his powerful thighs pinning me to the desk. I squirm against him, feeling his cock, thick and heavy, nudging at my entrance. I try to spread my legs, needing to feel him inside me.
But he holds me down, one hand fisted in my hair, the other holding my wrists above my head. The position leaves me completely exposed. At his mercy.
I moan his name, the sound muffled by his mouth devouring mine. His kiss is relentless, demanding, our tongues tangling.
He breaks the kiss, looking down at me with dark, burning eyes. He stills above me, his breath hot on my face. I arch against him, rubbing my body against his, seeking friction, needing to feel him.
He rocks his hips against mine, and the hard length of him teases my entrance. I whimper, trying to move against him, wanting more.
With a groan, he reaches between us, wrapping his hand around his cock. I feel the broad head nudge at my opening, the slick tip breaching me.
“Look at me.” His voice is a command, and I obey.
Our eyes lock as he pushes inside, inch by relentless inch. I bite my lip, suppressing a cry. His jaw clenches as he watches me, studying my reaction.
“You like this, don’t you?” He teases my clit with a fingertip, swirling circles that match the rhythm of his hips.
I nod, breathless. “Yes.”
He eases out, then thrusts back in, setting a slow, deliberate pace. “You like being filled.”
“Yes.” The word is ripped from me as he thrusts deep, stroking that spot inside me that makes my vision spark. “More…”
His eyes burn into mine as he increases the pace, driving into me harder, faster.
“My greedy little devochka ,” he growls, his hand closing around my throat.
His grip on my throat chokes off my response, but I don’t need words to communicate my surrender.
My body bows beneath him, offering itself to him.
I wrap my legs around his waist, needing him closer, needing to feel him in every part of me.
He lets go of my throat, and his hand slides down my body, cupping my ass. He pulls me tighter against him, lifting me to meet his relentless thrusts.
I cry out, caught between pleasure and pain as he fills me completely, over and over. I’m surrounded by him, possessed by him.
“Good girl,” he grits out, his eyes locked on mine. “Take it all.”
The pressure builds, coiling in my core. My body clenches around him, milking his cock as I shatter into a million pieces.
“Yes! God, yes!” I cry out, my inner walls fluttering around him as my release crashes over me. “Aleksei!”
The sound of my own voice jerks me from sleep.
Shit!
What the hell?
I press my hands to my burning cheeks, trying to shake off the lingering sensations. My body still thrums with unfulfilled desire, making me acutely aware of the empty bed around me.
God.
What the fuck is wrong with you, Stels?
I squeeze my eyes shut. This is insane. It’s bad enough that I’m locked in this luxurious prison. But now, I’m obsessing about the man who’s imprisoned me.
I slump back onto the pillows, fighting back tears. I don’t know what’s worse. Knowing that I’m trapped here.
Or knowing that I still want him.