Chapter 38 Mikhail
MIKHAIL
The hospital corridor stretches endlessly before me, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry insects.
My boots echo against the linoleum as I pace, each step a metronome counting the seconds since they took Sophia away.
Blood.
There was so much blood on her pants, on my hands, on the leather seats of the SUV.
I press my palms against my eyes, trying to block out the image of her face twisted in pain, but it’s burned into my retinas.
This is my fault.
The stress of our argument, my insistence on returning to my old ways, the constant threat hanging over us like a guillotine blade.
I did this to her.
To our baby.
“Mikhail.” Melinda’s voice cuts through my spiral. “You need to sit down. You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”
I ignore her, continuing my circuit.
Sit down?
How can I sit down when Sophia is in there, possibly losing our child?
When every second that passes without news feels like a knife twisting in my gut?
“Pacing won’t help her,” Melinda tries again, moving to block my path. Her blue eyes are red-rimmed from crying, but her voice is steady. “The doctors are doing everything they can.”
“It’s not enough.” The words come out as a growl. “I should have insisted on a private medical team at the house. Should have had specialists on call twenty-four seven. Should have—”
“Should have what? Wrapped her in bubble wrap?” Melinda crosses her arms. “This isn’t your fault.”
“Isn’t it?” I spin to face her, and she takes a step back at whatever she sees in my expression. “I brought her into my world. Forced her to marry me. Put her in constant danger. And now our baby might die because of the stress I’ve caused.”
“Stop it.” Her voice sharpens. “Sophia chose to stay with you. Chose to love you despite everything. Don’t dishonor that choice by taking all the blame.”
I want to argue, but the fight drains out of me. I sink into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs lining the wall, my head in my hands.
“Tell me about when you found out,” Melinda says quietly, sitting beside me. “About the baby.”
I lift my head to look at her. “Why?”
“Because you need to remember why you’re fighting so hard. Why this matters so much.”
The memory surfaces, sharp and clear. Sophia’s face when she told me, the mixture of fear and hope in her blue eyes.
The way my heart had stopped, then started again, beating faster than it ever had.
The overwhelming terror and joy that crashed over me in equal measure.
“I never thought I’d have this,” I say, my voice rough. “A family. A real family, not the twisted version I grew up with. When she told me, I felt like I’d been given something precious and fragile, and I had no idea how to hold it without breaking it.”
“You’re doing better than you think,” Melinda says.
Before I can respond, the door to the examination room opens.
A doctor emerges, still wearing her surgical mask, and my heart stops.
I’m on my feet instantly, closing the distance between us in three strides.
“How is she?” The question comes out strangled. “The baby?”
The doctor pulls down her mask, and I search her face desperately for clues.
She’s older, the lines around her eyes a testament to the long years spent here.
“Mrs. Artyomov and the baby are stable,” she says, and the relief that floods through me is so intense I have to grip the wall to stay upright. “But I need to be very clear about the situation.”
I force myself to focus, to listen, even though all I want is to burst through that door and see Sophia with my own eyes.
“Your wife experienced what we call a threatened miscarriage. She had some bleeding and cramping, which can be very serious at this stage of pregnancy.” The doctor’s expression is grave.
“We’ve managed to stop the bleeding, and the fetal heartbeat is strong.
But Mrs. Artyomov needs complete bed rest for the next several weeks.
No stress, no physical exertion, no excitement of any kind. ”
“How long?” My mind is already racing, calculating what needs to be done.
“At least until she reaches the second trimester safely. After that, we’ll reassess.” The doctor touches my arm gently. “Mr. Artyomov, I need you to understand how serious this is. Any additional stress could trigger another episode. Next time, we might not be able to stop it.”
The words hit me like bullets.
Next time.
There could be a next time, and our baby could die because I can’t keep Sophia safe from the chaos of my world.
“Can I see her?” I ask.
“Of course. But keep it brief. She needs rest.” The doctor steps aside, and I’m moving before she finishes speaking.
Sophia lies in the hospital bed, looking impossibly small and fragile against the white sheets.
Her black hair spreads across the pillow, and her face is pale, but her eyes are open.
When she sees me, tears spill down her cheeks.
“Mikhail.” My name is a sob.
I’m at her side instantly, gathering her into my arms as carefully as I can. She clings to me, her body shaking with silent tears, and I hold her like she’s made of glass.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers against my chest. “I’m so sorry. I should have been more careful, should have—”
“Shh.” I stroke her hair, my own eyes burning. “This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault.”
“The baby—”
“Is fine. The doctor said the baby is fine.” I pull back just enough to look at her face, to wipe away her tears with my thumbs. “But you need to rest. Complete bed rest. No stress.”
She nods, and I see the exhaustion in her eyes. “Take me home.”
“I will. I’ll take care of everything.” The promise forms in my mind even as I speak it.
I’ll create a fortress around her, an impenetrable shield that nothing and no one can breach.
Whatever it takes to keep her and our baby safe.
Three days later, I stand in the master bedroom of the new compound, watching as workers install the final security measures. Bulletproof windows.
Reinforced steel doors.
A state-of-the-art surveillance system that covers every inch of the property.
Motion sensors, pressure plates, armed guards at every entrance.
It’s a fortress, just as I intended.
Sophia sits propped up in bed, her laptop balanced on her knees despite my protests.
She’s supposed to be resting, but she insists on reviewing the security plans, on having some say in the prison I’m building around her.
“This is excessive,” she says, not for the first time. “Mikhail, there are guards outside our bedroom door. I can’t even go to the bathroom without an escort.”
“The doctor said no stress.” I move to adjust her pillows, but she waves me away. “I’m eliminating all possible sources of stress.”
“You’re suffocating me.” Her voice is quiet, but I hear the frustration beneath it. “I understand you’re scared. I’m scared too. But this…” She gestures at the room, at the guards visible through the doorway. “This isn’t living. This is existing in a cage.”
Guilt twists in my gut, but I push it aside. “It’s temporary. Just until you’re past the danger period.”
“And then what? We go back to our old life, with you returning to your violent ways?” She closes the laptop with more force than necessary. “Or do we stay locked in here forever, safe but miserable?”
I don’t have an answer for her.
The truth is, I don’t know what comes next.
All I know is that I can’t lose her.
Can’t lose our baby.
Everything else is secondary.
A knock at the door interrupts us.
Melinda enters, carrying a tray with tea and toast.
She’s been staying with us since the hospital, keeping Sophia company during the long days of bed rest.
“How are you feeling?” Melinda asks, setting the tray on the nightstand.
“Like a prisoner,” Sophia mutters, but she reaches for the tea gratefully.
Melinda shoots me a look that clearly says “I told you so.” We’ve had several conversations about my security measures, about how my protectiveness is pushing Sophia away rather than keeping her safe. But she doesn’t understand.
She’s never had to protect someone she loves from the kind of threats I face daily.
“I’ll give you two some time,” I say, heading for the door. “I have calls to make.”
“Mikhail.” Sophia’s voice stops me. “We need to talk. Really talk. About all of this.”
“Later,” I promise, though I’m not sure I can keep it. “Rest now.”
I close the door behind me and lean against it, my eyes closed.
The weight of responsibility presses down on my shoulders like a physical thing.
How do I balance keeping her safe with giving her the freedom she needs?
How do I be the father our child deserves while still being the pakhan my organization requires?
The next two weeks pass in a blur of security briefings and medical consultations.
I hire the best obstetrician in the city, paying her an obscene amount to be on call exclusively for Sophia.
I install a full medical suite in the compound, complete with monitoring equipment that tracks the baby’s heartbeat twenty-four seven.
Sophia tolerates it all with increasing frustration.
I see it in the way she watches me, in the careful distance she maintains even when I hold her.
We’re sleeping in the same bed, but there’s a wall between us that has nothing to do with pillows or blankets.
Melinda tries to mediate, to help us find common ground. She organizes movie nights and game sessions, anything to break the monotony of bed rest.
But even her presence can’t fully bridge the gap that’s growing between Sophia and me.
I’m in my office reviewing security footage when Melinda knocks on the door. Her expression is serious, and my stomach drops.
“Is Sophia okay?” I’m on my feet instantly.
“She’s fine. Physically.” Melinda closes the door behind her. “But Mikhail, we need to talk.”
I sink back into my chair, suddenly exhausted. “About?”
“About the fact that you’re driving her crazy with all this security. About the fact that she feels like a prisoner in her own home.” Melinda sits across from me. “About the fact that I need to leave.”
The last part catches me off guard. “Leave? Why?”
“Because I have a life too. A job, an apartment, friends.” She leans forward. “I can’t stay forever.”
“Sophia needs you.” The words come out more desperate than I intend. “You’re the only person who can reach her right now. The only one she talks to.”
“That’s exactly the problem.” Melinda’s voice is gentle but firm. “She shouldn’t need me to be her only connection to the outside world. She should have you. But you’re so busy building walls and hiring guards that you’ve forgotten how to just be with her.”
Her words hit harder than any physical blow. “I’m trying to protect her.”
“I know. But you’re also pushing her away.” Melinda stands. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I’m out my job if I don’t back. And you need to figure out how to be what she needs, not just what you think will keep her safe.”
After she leaves, I sit in the darkness of my office, her words echoing in my mind.
Tomorrow Melinda will go, and Sophia will be even more isolated, even more trapped.
And it’s my fault.
I should feel relief that I’m keeping her safe.
Instead, all I feel is the growing certainty that I’m losing her in a completely different way.