Chapter Four
Aleksei
I watch Stella stir in the hospital bed, her eyelids fluttering open as she fights her way back to consciousness.
The harsh fluorescent lights cast shadows across her face, making her look more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen her. I resist the urge to smooth the hair away from her face. Touching her seems too… intimate, somehow.
My chest tightens as her eyes finally open and find mine. For a moment, we just look at each other. Tears begin to stream down her face, and I feel a strange twitch in the corner of my eye. Something’s wrong. The way she’s looking at me—it’s like she’s seeing a stranger.
“Stella,” I say, reaching for her hand, which is clenching around the hospital blanket. “How are you feeling?” She tugs her hand away, and I feel it like a physical pain.
“Who… Who are you?” she whispers.
The words suck the air from my lungs. I furrow my brow, trying to process what’s happening. Who am I? The question echoes in my mind, heavy with implications I’m not ready to face.
“I’m Aleksei,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “I’m the father of your baby.”
“Oh.” Relief washes across her features, but it’s not the kind of relief I want to see. It’s the relief of someone receiving good news about a stranger. “That’s good then.”
My jaw clenches. She doesn’t recognize me. The woman carrying my child, the woman I’ve moved heaven and earth to protect, looks at me like I’m nobody to her.
I give a slow nod as I process this. Must be the shock. And the medication. It’s played tricks with her mind. “You’ve been through a lot, and you’re confused,” I tell her. “It’s okay, zaychik . You’ll be better once you’ve had some rest.”
“Yes,” she says, almost blankly. Her hand is resting over her belly. Over our child. As if she’s shielding that small life from something dangerous.
From me.
Blyad.
Not only does she not know me, but she doesn’t trust me, either.
“I’ll let you rest now,” I manage to say. I lean in to kiss her temple— a gesture that somehow comes as naturally as breathing— but she flinches away from me. The rejection stings more than I care to admit.
I stand up and leave the room before I can do or say something I’ll regret.
The corridor feels too small, too confined, the walls pressing in on me. My chest burns with an emotion that feels foreign to me. I need answers, and I need them now, before I tear this fucking hospital apart.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Dr. Malhotra appears, his white coat wrinkled from what must have been a long shift.
I guess that’s largely my fault. I’ve threatened his entire staff with death if anything happens to Stella or Bobik.
Dark circles shadow his eyes, and his shoulders slump with exhaustion.
Not that I give a shit about his comfort right now.
“Mr. Tarasov,” he greets me, his accent still crisp despite his obvious exhaustion.
“What’s happening to her?” I demand, my voice rasping with barely controlled fury. “She doesn’t know who the fuck I am!” My fists clench at my sides. If he doesn’t give me something useful, something that will fix this nightmare, I might just put him through the wall.
He gestures toward a quiet corner, away from passing nurses and orderlies.
“We’ve completed the scans and run a series of tests,” he begins, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses.
“It appears she’s experiencing temporary amnesia.
The trauma she endured has caused her brain to… protect itself, so to speak.”
“Protect itself?” I narrow my eyes on him and he shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
“Yes, well… When a person is exposed to severe stress, it can happen.” He purses his lips. “I’m assuming that the events which brought Miss Fermont to our care were… stressful?”
I gather my thoughts before answering. “Yes,” I finally say. “Stella was taken against her will by a… business rival with a grudge against me.”
“I see,” he says carefully. “And from her condition on arrival, I would assume there was violence involved. Her injuries…?”
“Yes,” I say tersely. “Her life was threatened, and she was held at gunpoint.”
“And beaten,” he adds.
My jaw sets. I do not need another reminder of how I failed her.
“Yes, Malhotra, she was kidnapped, threatened and beaten,” I grit out, my jaw clenched so tight I can feel the muscles straining beneath my skin.
Because this is the world I’ve brought her into.
The world I’ve ruled for most of my life with blood and power.
The world where people are taken and hurt because of who they’re connected to.
And there are parts of it that would implicate me in activities the good doctor doesn’t need to know about.
“Yes, this makes sense,” he says, adjusting his glasses with clinical detachment that makes me want to shake him.
“A traumatic event like this can trigger memory loss. It’s actually an incredibly sophisticated defense mechanism.
The brain essentially walls off traumatic memories to protect the psyche.
It’s quite remarkable, really, how the mind shields itself. ”
“But she doesn’t remember me at all,” I growl, my hands curling into fists at my sides. The rage I feel isn’t directed at him, but at the situation, at myself. “How is that protecting her?”
“The scan showed minor damage to her frontal lobe— the part of the brain that structures information. We expect her factual memory to be fragmented for a while.” He pauses, choosing his words carefully.
His clinical detachment is making my blood pressure rise with each passing second.
“However, the emotional centers of her brain are intact. This means while she may not remember specific events or people, she’ll retain emotional memories, feelings, moods. ”
“Meaning what, exactly?” I demand. My voice sounds low and controlled despite the storm raging inside me. My fingers flex at my sides, seeking something to grip, to ground me.
“She may not remember who you are or how you met, but she may well have the same feelings for you as before. They’re just… disconnected from their context.” Dr. Malhotra adjusts his glasses again, the gesture so maddeningly calm I have to force myself not to reach across the space between us.
I think about how she flinched away from me, the fear in those green eyes that once looked at me with desire, with something that was beginning to feel like trust. The memory cuts deeper than any blade. “And if those feelings aren’t positive?”
Something flickers across his face—understanding, perhaps. A moment of humanity breaking through his professional facade. “That’s also possible. Emotional memories can be… complicated.”
Complicated would be a fucking understatement.
I turn away from him, staring out the window at the manicured grounds of the clinic.
Complicated is what we were before. When I was keeping her in my home while our child grew within her.
This is something else entirely— something that I have absolutely no control over. I fucking hate that.
“Will her memory return?” The question comes out with more urgency than I like.
“Perhaps with time. We can’t make any guarantees, but there’s no significant physical damage to her brain. That’s a positive sign. For now, it’s likely temporary.”
I absorb this information, turning it over in my mind. “The baby.” My voice is tight with tension I can’t fully conceal. Stella may have forgotten everything, but that child is still there, still growing inside her.
“That was our first concern,” he assures me. “The baby is perfectly fine. And…” he allows himself a small smile, “we can now confirm it’s a girl.”
A girl.
My mouth opens and closes. The words leave my head spinning, but in the best possible way.
A daughter. I’m going to have a daughter.
For a moment, I forget everything else— the memory loss, the trauma, all of it.
I’m just a man learning he’s going to have a little girl.
Something unfamiliar swells in my chest, something I haven’t felt since Bobik was born.
It’s warm and terrifying all at once. A daughter with Stella’s green eyes, perhaps.
A tiny, fragile thing who will depend on me completely.
“And Bobik?” I ask, dragging myself back to reality. My mind is still reeling from the news about my daughter, but my son— my firstborn— remains at the forefront of my mind. “Do you have any updates on my boy?”
“The immediate danger has passed,” Malhotra says, sending relief surging through me.
His confident tone loosens something tight in my chest that I hadn’t even realized was constricting my breathing.
“He’ll need to remain in the sterile room for at least two weeks to prevent any infections, but he’s stable. ”
I exhale slowly, measuring my reaction.
Two children to protect now. Two lives utterly dependent on me. The weight of it settles on my shoulders— not unwelcome, but heavy nonetheless. My boy has survived the worst of it. That’s what matters for now.
He studies me for a long moment, his expression softening. “Mr. Tarasov, you need to go home. You’re exhausted, and having two loved ones in the hospital is taking its toll. Get some rest. Come back tomorrow with a clear head.”
I want to argue, to insist on staying, but even I can feel the bone-deep weariness setting in.
My body feels like lead, and the sharp edges of my thoughts have dulled to a dangerous fog.
This isn’t like me— I never show weakness, never falter.
Yet here I am, swaying slightly on my feet while a doctor tells me what to do.
“You’ll call if anything changes?” I demand, my voice slightly hoarse.
“Of course. I’m personally overseeing both of their cases. They’re in good hands.” Malhotra’s calm confidence is the only thing keeping me from ordering my men to surround this place.
I nod, knowing he’s right but hating it anyway.
The thought of leaving either of them makes my chest tight, but I’m no good to anyone in this state.
I’ve pushed through worse— gunshot wounds, knife fights, three-day negotiations— but this kind of helplessness drains something deeper than physical energy.
It strips away the control I’ve built my entire life around.
As I walk toward the exit, my mind races. A daughter. A little girl who will need protecting in this dangerous world I’ve built around us. And her mother, who looks at me like a stranger— or worse, like someone to fear.
The irony doesn’t escape me. Stella’s memory loss might be a blessing in disguise— she doesn’t remember anything from before.
Doesn’t remember how I practically locked her up.
Doesn’t know why she might want to hate me.
But the thought brings no comfort. Instead, it feels like another betrayal to add to my growing list.
I reach my car and sit behind the wheel, not starting the engine. The events of the past few days crash over me like waves— Bobik’s failed operation, Stella’s kidnapping, the shooting, and now this. It’s too much, even for me.
For the first time in years, I feel completely powerless. I can’t shoot my way out of this problem. Can’t threaten or bribe or manipulate the situation to my advantage.
All I can do is wait and hope— two things I’ve never been good at.
I start the car, its powerful engine rumbling to life. As I pull out of the hospital parking lot, I make myself a promise. Whether Stella remembers me or not, whether she ever forgives me or not, I’ll protect her and our daughter with everything I have.
Even if that means protecting them from myself.