Chapter Seven
Stella
It’s a new day.
I’m sitting on the plush sofa in the sitting room, with Aleksei beside me. He’s looking at me intently, surveying my face like he’s trying to read my mind. We sit in quiet contemplation for some time, allowing the surroundings to sink in.
I shift slightly, feeling the soft velvet of the sofa against my bare arms. Aleksei’s presence beside me is overwhelming, his body heat radiating across the small space between us.
God, he smells good…
The thought comes out of nowhere, and I push it away. This is no time to give in to the strange attraction I feel to him. There’s more at stake here. Things I need to understand.
I can feel his eyes on me, studying every tiny expression that crosses my face.
It’s unnerving how he seems to see right through me, as if he’s cataloging my thoughts before I’ve even registered them myself.
I resist the urge to fidget under his intense gaze, wondering what he’s looking for— or what he’s already found.
The room is oppressively beautiful— crystal chandeliers casting prisms of light across antique furniture, oil paintings in gilded frames, and velvet curtains that puddle on the polished floor. It’s the kind of luxury that should impress me, but instead, makes me feel small and out of place.
As I take in the opulence of the room, a faint memory surfaces— a suitcase filled with money. Me giving it to Aleksei. An overwhelming sensation of anxiety washing over me like ice water down my spine. My hands trembling as I pushed it toward him, his dark eyes unreadable, calculating.
The image is vivid but disconnected from any context, floating in my mind like a photograph torn from its album.
I try to grasp at the surrounding details— where we were, what words passed between us, why I was giving this man a bag of cash— but I can’t pin down the memory.
Just that single, crystalline moment remains, sharp-edged and unsettling, refusing to fit into the puzzle of my fragmented past.
There was something else in that suitcase too— something… I can’t recall what.
I turn to him, the question forming before I can consider its implications. “Did I give you any money here?”
His eyebrows lift slightly— surprise flickering across his face before his expression settles back into careful neutrality. “You paid off your brother’s debt.”
My stomach twists at his confirmation, another piece of the puzzle clicking into place. I remember the weight of that bag now, how my arms had ached from carrying it, how each stack of bills represented something I can’t quite grasp.
For Nick.
Always for Nick.
My brother. I remember that I have a brother, but I don’t know where he is right now. The word “brother” conjures a face— younger than mine, with the same green eyes but sharper features, a crooked smile that could charm anyone.
“Nick,” I say, the name emerging from somewhere deep in my memory. “Do you know where he is?”
Aleksei’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “No.”
There’s something in his tone— a finality that suggests this isn’t a topic he wants to pursue.
Why not?
His shoulders have tensed, his fingers curling slightly against his thigh.
I sense I shouldn’t push further, so I drop the subject.
Something about Nick clearly troubles Aleksei, and the way his jaw tightens when I mention my brother’s name makes my stomach knot with worry.
There’s history there— something Aleksei isn’t telling me.
In fact, I’m pretty sure there’s a lot Aleksei isn’t telling me.
My throat feels suddenly parched, my lips dry. The tension in the room makes it hard to swallow, and I need a moment to collect my thoughts.
“May I please have some water?” I ask, grateful for the excuse to change the subject.
My hands fidget in my lap as I wait for his response, wondering what secrets he’s keeping about Nick, and why the mere mention of my brother’s name can transform Aleksei’s expression from concern to cold detachment in an instant.
His expression softens immediately, the hardness in his eyes melting into something that looks almost like tenderness.
It catches me off guard, this sudden shift from intimidation to care, and I find myself drawn to the way his features transform— stern lines easing into something more approachable, more human.
“Of course. You must be hungry as well. I asked the cook to prepare something for you.” His voice has changed, too, gentler around the edges, and I realize how desperately I need both water and food.
My stomach gives a traitorous little growl at the mere mention of a meal, reminding me I haven’t eaten properly since this morning.
Remember you have a baby to feed too…
He rises with fluid grace and returns moments later with a glass of water.
I take it gratefully, our fingers brushing during the exchange.
The brief contact sends an unexpected jolt through me, and I nearly spill the water.
I drink deeply, aware of his eyes on me, watching with an intensity that makes my skin warm despite the cool liquid sliding down my parched throat.
When I’ve finished, I set the glass down on the nearby table with a soft clink. My hand trembles slightly— whether from hunger, nerves, or that unexpected touch, I’m not certain. My stomach feels hollow, a persistent ache reminding me that I’m responsible for two lives now, not just my own.
“What happened to me?” I ask, then touch my head briefly. “Nobody in the hospital would explain anything to me about it. What happened when…?” I pinch my lips together, knowing that this is going to open up something I may not want to know.
He studies me for a long moment before responding. “You were kidnapped. It was a traumatic experience, and it seems your brain has suppressed or deleted some of those memories.”
His words hang in the air between us, heavy and dangerous. My chest tightens as fragments of memories— flashes of darkness, muffled voices, the taste of fear— try to surface but slip away. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the room’s warmth.
“Kidnapped,” I repeat. “By whom? Why?” My voice sounds distant, as if it belongs to someone else.
Part of me wants to know everything, while another part recognizes that these blocked memories might be my mind’s way of protecting me from something unbearable.
Yet the questions tumble out, my need for answers overriding my caution.
“Gianni, your ex-fiancé,” he tells me, his voice hardening. “We took care of him.”
Gianni.
The name stirs something— a flash of dark eyes, a cruel smile, hands that grip too tightly. But the memory vanishes as quickly as it appeared, leaving me with nothing but an overwhelming sense of unease.
“Took care?” I repeat, uncertain what he means, although a small part of me suspects it can’t be good.
He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t press. There’s something in his expression— a darkness that warns me not to dig deeper. Instead, I ask the question that’s been weighing on me since I woke up in the hospital.
“And where is my family? My parents?” It feels impossible that there could be no one out there for me. A brother who’s in the wind. No sign of my mother or father, though I can feel their presence so clearly.
A long silence follows. Aleksei seems to be choosing his words carefully. “Gone,” he finally says.
The simple statement hits me with unexpected force.
Gone.
“Gone?” I repeat the word that’s ringing in my head.
“Yes, zaychik .” He puts a hand on my cheek, and I find myself pressing my face into his palm. “Some time ago.”
My parents are gone. Tears spring to my eyes as his words sink in. I have no memory of their deaths, no recollection of grieving them, yet the pain feels fresh and raw. I’m mourning people I can’t even remember.
“And who are you?” I finally ask, clearing my throat when my voice cracks. “To me, I mean.”
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications it seems neither of us fully understands. He meets my gaze, his dark eyes revealing nothing.
“Someone who wants to help you,” he says after a pause.
It’s not really an answer, yet something about it rings true. I sense there’s more— much more— but I don’t have the energy to press further. My head is beginning to throb again, and the emotional weight of everything I’ve learned is exhausting.
Aleksei seems to notice my fatigue. “What do you need right now?” he asks, his voice gentler than before. The hardness that usually defines his features softens just slightly, something almost tender beneath his guarded exterior.
He’s really quite beautiful, in a brutal kind of way.
I consider for a moment. What I need is my memory back, but that’s not something he can give me. The gaps in my mind feel like physical wounds, raw, fresh, and painful.
“I think I could use a long soak in the bath,” I say instead, running my fingers through my tangled hair. My body aches in places I didn’t know could hurt, and even though I’ve showered since I got here, it feels like the scent of the hospital is still clinging to me.
He nods, something flickering in his eyes— relief, perhaps, at the change of subject. Or something else entirely. His dark gaze lingers on me for a beat too long.
“Okay, wait for me.” His deep voice fills the space between us, and I notice how his hands flex briefly at his sides, as if he’s restraining himself from reaching out to me.
I want him to touch me…
I blink in surprise at wayward thought. I can’t understand how I could want him when I find him so unnerving.
As he rises to arrange my bath, I remain on the sofa, trying to reconcile the fragments I’ve gathered.
My parents are dead. I have a brother named Nick whose whereabouts are unknown. I was engaged to someone named Gianni, who apparently kidnapped me and tried to… kill me? And Aleksei— this intimidating, attentive man who watches me with such intensity— is… what is he? My protector? My lover?
The father of my child.
He’s keeping things from me— that much is clear. But whether it’s to protect me or himself, I can’t tell. All I know is that despite my confusion and wariness, there’s something about him that draws me in with an unnerving force. A pull that feels both dangerous and inevitable.
As I watch him hovering for a moment, I rest my hand on my swollen belly, taking comfort in the one relationship that still makes sense to me. Whatever else I’ve forgotten, this connection remains intact— this love for the child growing inside me.
My daughter.
Our daughter.
The rest will have to come back piece by piece, like assembling a puzzle in the dark. For now, I’ll have to trust the one person who seems to hold all the pieces.
Even if I’m not entirely sure I should.