Chapter Thirty-Five
Lauren
I enter my apartment and lock the door behind me, bags of groceries in my hands.
I have only been holding them since I got out of the car, but already I feel them weighing me down, my forearms aching like I carried them all the way from the store.
I dump them on the table and collapse into the chair, the weight of the world suddenly crashing down on me.
Resting a hand on my lower abdomen brings tears to my eyes every time—today is no exception.
Two weeks.
Two weeks have passed, and they’ve been the longest two weeks of my life.
This is the first time I have left the apartment for groceries. For the first two weeks, I just kept ordering takeout. I could barely eat for the first week—every time I did, I felt nauseous. I was practically spoon-feeding myself, not for my own sake, but for my baby’s.
Our baby’s.
The start of this week has been a little better, but not by much. I felt hunger for the first time. Grilled chicken. Mashed potatoes. Broccoli. All the protein and fiber a developing human being needs.
The thought of keeping my baby girl well-fed makes me feel slightly better, the knowledge taking me out of my head for a few passing moments. But my mind likes to remind me of the gunshots every two minutes, the sound of them still echoing through my whole body, shaking me to the bone.
He’s gone.
Niko’s gone.
I’m still in denial.
I guess that’s normal. Denial is the first stage of grief, but still, two weeks later, it doesn’t feel real.
I sit, hand to my temple, and stare into my living area.
It feels like only yesterday when he was lurking behind me, watching me tap away on my computer searching for answers.
I can’t sit on that couch anymore. It’s where we made love for the first time, when I was still in complete denial about him. Where it all began.
My stomach churns.
I fish through the grocery bags and take out a bar of dark chocolate, breaking off the corner.
I shove it in my mouth, forcing myself to chew—even a movement as simple as that takes great effort.
The strong taste of cocoa feels like a kick to my taste buds, my tongue reveling in the rich flavor, but it doesn’t improve my mood.
Much like going outside today.
The only reason I left the house was because I thought it would make me feel better. Besides, my father was caught last week, so it made me feel safer knowing that he was no longer out there watching.
The feds are investigating his case. I’m not too sure how it happened, what or who gave him away.
I just received a call last week from the cops, waking me from a very light sleep.
They called me to ask some questions, not even apologizing for my loss because, of course, how the hell would they know what Nikolai Rogov meant to me.
They didn’t even ask about Ronan Aslanov. His entire empire remains off their radar. That is how powerful he is.
But not my father. He’s already in custody and although he has a good lawyer, things aren’t exactly looking up for him.
Part of me feels sorry for him. Another part hopes he gets convicted.
If he was willing to collaborate with someone like Aslanov, to sacrifice my mom like she was just another business transaction, I dread to think what else he would do if he were released.
I push the chocolate aside, staring into space.
I visited Sophia and Timur at the start of this week.
That was the only time I left the house besides today.
They invited me over and I agreed because I thought it would be good to be around people who understand the gravity of what had happened.
They’re the only two people I can lean on for support.
To be honest, seeing them made things worse.
Right now, Timur is just as broken as I am. Niko was his best friend. His partner in business. They grew up together, have known each other since they were small children.
Not many words were exchanged.
Sophia wrapped her arms around me as soon as I stepped inside their house, but it didn’t really help, especially when she welcomed me into to the living area, the room we were in when Niko and I announced the gender of our baby.
The same space where Sophia was teasing me as I was starting to admit my growing feelings for Nikolai.
I walked in, took one look at the couch where we were giggling like teenagers experiencing love for the first time, before I rushed to the bathroom, vomiting. That only brought on another memory—Niko coming up behind me to cool me down with a wet cloth during morning sickness.
His arms…
Those eyes…
His gentleness…
All of it gone.
Forever.
We all ate our food in silence that night, each of us picking at small pieces.
I didn’t have an appetite. I was only feeding the baby.
Sophia and Timur didn’t eat much either.
They wanted me to stay the night for company, for a sense of comfort, but all I have wanted these past two weeks is to be alone.
I can still hear those two gunshots.
They ring again and again in an endless loop.
I want to forget, but I can’t—the baby has started kicking. I place a hand on my stomach each time she does and end up sobbing, tears wetting my face like waterworks, because her father isn’t here to place his hand over mine.
I’m experiencing the baby’s first kicks… alone.
What’s worse is that I imagine him with me still—it’s the only thing that brings me comfort, easing the painful ache in my chest, where the remains of my broken heart are supposed to be. But there’s only a gaping hole there.
I imagine him sleeping beside me at night, his arm resting on my lower back. I imagine myself lying on his impossibly broad chest, falling asleep to the steady beat of his heart; him behind me, smiling as he feels our child growing in my belly.
But the silence rings loud. Sometimes, it screams in my ears like it’s waking me up, shocking me back to the reality I so desperately want to escape from.
I continue staring into space, feeling numb.
What about when it’s time to give birth?
I want Nikolai there, squeezing my hand, giving me words of affirmation.
I want to see him hold our daughter close to his chest for the first time.
I want to capture the look on his face. I don’t even have Mom here for guidance.
The only people I have left are Sophia and Timur.
I snap myself out of it, suddenly shaking myself.
Come on, Lauren, stay strong.
You must be strong for your baby!
Easier said than done, especially when your mind has so much power over you.
It’s still a struggle to wrap my head around the intensity of everything that happened.
Between trying to grieve Nikolai and trying to piece myself back together, I still find it difficult to understand what went down between him, Aslanov, and my father.
All I know is that he was right all along.
He told me that I didn’t know what I was up against. I thought it was just an empty threat.
My own stubborn ignorance convinced me to believe that he was only saying that because he didn’t want to see his own empire burn.
Now I know that he was trying to look out for me this entire time.
It’s my fault he got killed.
It is all my fault, and the guilt is eating me alive.
BANG!
BANG!
I can still hear those shots.
The ringing in my ears has never subsided.
But this time around it’s not the sadness that’s choking me the most. It’s guilt. He sacrificed his life to save mine and his unborn daughter’s. All because of my stupid stubbornness and my relentless nature, he will never get to meet his daughter.
I dip my hand back into one of the grocery bags and pull out a celery stick. Ripping open the bag, I pop it into my mouth, crunching. At least I’m forcing myself to eat healthily. The baby needs nutrients.
What you also need is sunlight, Lauren.
This dark room isn’t doing your mood any favors.
I have only recently started dragging myself out of bed before noon.
Last week, it became a habit to hide under the sanctuary of the covers and forget about the world.
My bladder was full, hunger gnawing at my stomach, but I couldn’t get my body to move.
It was physically exhausting just to get up and go to the bathroom.
I take another bite of celery, chewing, and think about the baby. I’m doing this for her. I’m sure I’d be gorging on McDonald’s burgers if I wasn’t pregnant. Sophia reassured me that in time, I will be fine, that she’s always there for me. The only thing it did was make me cry.
Two weeks have passed and barely anything has changed. I don’t think time will let me forget the day Ronan Aslanov took the love of my life from me.
BUZZ!
BUZZ!
The ringing of the doorbell jolts me from my thoughts. I sit up, stunned for a moment, wondering if I’m hearing things.
BUZZ!
I reluctantly push myself up, my legs dragging me forward at the small possibility of this being Nikolai.
Surprise, lapochka!
I’m not dead!
The thought is ridiculous, but it’s enough to give me strength to cross the room and tug open the door to… nothing.
I frown, sticking my head out to peer down the corridor. It’s empty. There’s no one here.
I’m about to shut the door and return to wallowing in my misery when my eyes catch a small package on the doormat.
I freeze. There’s a label on it—it’s addressed to me.
I squat down and pick up the package, taking another look down the corridor to see if anyone is lurking—but everything remains still.
After a few more moments of pointless staring, I shut the door behind me and carry the package to the dining room table, carefully placing it down in case whatever’s inside is fragile.
It’s light. Perhaps there isn’t anything in it.
I grab a knife from the drawer and run the serrated edge along where the package has been taped.
My breath catches when I see the small object at the bottom.
The USB stick.
The one with my father’s encrypted files.
I dash over to grab my laptop from the coffee table, plugging it into the port. I open the folder and load the files in the decryption app.
And… there it is.
Everything.
The flash drive contains all of my father’s private files, the ones I stole from his computer. Proof that he’s guilty. Proof so strong that even the world’s best lawyer won’t be able to save him.
Time stands still as I stare at the documents, my stick of celery abandoned.