Chapter 19 - Anja
The pregnancy has made my body feel foreign to me.
Every morning, I wake up aware of the subtle changes.
My breasts are more sensitive, my stomach slightly queasy even when the nausea has passed, and a strange heaviness is settling low in my pelvis that reminds me constantly that I am no longer just surviving on my own.
There is life inside me now. Tiny, insistent, rewriting everything I thought I knew about control and independence.
Tonight, the emotional wave crashes harder than usual.
I sit on the edge of the bed in the family compound wing that Alexey has set me up in, hands trembling as I stare at the sonogram photo from today’s appointment. The suite is beautiful in a way that still feels too much.
The bedroom is spacious and softly lit, with pale cream walls and heavy silk drapes that frame tall windows overlooking the estate gardens.
A king-sized bed dominates the center, dressed in crisp white linens and a soft gray throw that matches the upholstered armchair in the corner.
Fresh flowers, always white roses and lavender, sit on the nightstand, their scent gentle and calming.
There’s a private sitting area with a small sofa and a bookshelf already stocked with novels and pregnancy guides that Alexey must have ordered without telling me.
The en-suite bathroom is all marble and soft lighting, with a deep soaking tub I haven’t used yet because the idea of relaxing feels dangerous right now.
It’s luxurious. Very secure. Everything the frightened girl from back home could have dreamed of, and yet I feel like an imposter sitting here.
The tiny profile of our baby stares back at me from the sonogram printout.
It’s a delicate curve of head, the suggestion of a nose, the faint flicker of movement that Dr. Morozova pointed out as a strong heartbeat.
Tears blur my vision. Suddenly, all the old voices flood in, loud and cruel, the ones I thought I was able to outrun when I left home at eighteen.
I’ve spent years believing I’m inherently “less than.”
The shame of the Kuzmin name followed me like a grotesque ogre into the city. Every relationship since then carried that quiet terror: the waiting for the moment someone realized I am “less than” and walked away.
Now I’m sitting in this beautiful suite, pregnant with Alexey Sokolov’s child, and the fear is louder than ever.
Alexey finds me there, still clutching the sonogram photo like a lifeline.
He must have knocked softly, but I didn’t hear it because suddenly he’s in the doorway, and his brown eyes immediately lock onto my face.
He’s still dressed from the day in a charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and the faint stubble along his jaw making him look both dangerous and unbearably human.
“Anja?” His voice is low, careful. “What’s wrong?”
The words tumble out in a rush I can’t stop.
I tell him everything.
How my mother’s abandonment taught me early that I’m forgettable, and the kind of person people can leave without looking back. How my father’s chaos made me believe I’m only worth what I can offer or endure.
That I’ve carried this quiet shame into every relationship since, always waiting for the moment someone realizes I’m damaged goods and walks away.
Even now, with his child growing inside me, a small terrified part of me wonders if Alexey will eventually see the same broken girl from back home and regret choosing me.
The confession pours out between sobs, raw and ugly and years in the making. I can’t look at him while I speak. I stare at the sonogram instead, at the tiny profile that represents everything terrifying and wonderful at once.
Alexey listens without interruption.
He crosses the room slowly and sits beside me on the edge of the bed, his large hand coming to rest steady and warm on my back. He doesn’t try to fix it. He doesn’t offer empty reassurances. He simply listens, thumb tracing slow circles between my shoulder blades as the words finally run dry.
When I fall silent, he speaks quietly, but fiercely.
“Your father will never touch our child,” he vows, voice low and absolute.
“No part of that old darkness will ever reach either of you. Not while I’m breathing.
You are not forgettable, Anja. You are not a burden.
You are the woman who survived all of that and still found the strength to fight back against Fadir.
The woman who handed me the tools to destroy him. The woman carrying my child.”
His hand moves from my back to gently cover mine, where it clutches the sonogram. The pregnancy is making every emotion feel bigger and more terrifying, but so does the quiet, steady way this man keeps choosing me and our baby without demanding anything in return.
I cry in his arms then, and not a quiet cry but full-fledged, ugly, with heaving sobs that shake my whole body.
He pulls me against his chest, one arm wrapped securely around me while the other hand rests protectively over my stomach.
He doesn’t shush me. He doesn’t tell me to stop.
He simply holds me, chin resting on top of my head, letting me fall apart against the solid warmth of him.
The walls I built around my heart crack further in that moment. The small voice that has always warned me that trust is dangerous whispers louder than ever, but it’s harder to hear over the steady beat of Alexey’s heart under my cheek.
Revenge against Fadir is still burning inside me, sharper than before and necessary. But for the first time, the future feels less like a battlefield I have to survive alone and more like something I might actually want to build.
If I can let myself believe it.
If I can let myself believe him.
“You’re not alone anymore. Not in this. Not in anything.” Alexey presses a kiss to the top of my head, his voice a quiet rumble against my hair.
I nod against his chest, tears still falling, but the terror feels a little smaller in the circle of his arms.
The pregnancy has changed everything.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s changing me too.
***
The brunch invitation from Arina came as a surprise and a relief.
“Girl time,” she texted. “No brothers, no family business talk, just food and gossip. Katya’s in town and wants to meet you properly. Meet us at The Garden Room at 11.”
I almost said no. The pregnancy is making everything feel heavier. My emotions, my ever-changing body, and the constant reminder of fear that Fadir is still out there somewhere, plotting.
“Arina and Katya will keep you safe. You need this,” Alexey encouraged me gently.
So here I am, sitting at a sunny corner table at The Garden Room, a charming upscale café tucked in a quiet part of the city with ivy-covered walls and fresh flowers on every table.
Arina looks radiant in a deep red blouse, her lush ebony hair pulled into a sleek ponytail.
Katya sits across from me, elegant and soft-spoken, with kind eyes that seem to understand more than she says.
The three of us have been laughing for nearly an hour. Arina is telling a story about the time Alexey, at sixteen, tried to impress a girl by cooking her dinner and nearly burned down the estate kitchen. Katya adds gentle details, her laugh light and musical.
For the first time in weeks, I feel almost normal. We’re just three women sharing a meal, talking about everything and nothing.
The food is perfect: avocado toast with poached eggs for me, which happens to be the only thing that doesn’t turn my stomach lately, fresh pastries, and mimosas for them. I sip sparkling water and let their warmth wrap around me like a blanket.
Then Katya’s expression changes.
Her eyes flick toward the entrance, and her posture stiffens. The laugh dies on her lips.
“Two of Fadir’s men,” she says quietly, voice tight but stern. “Near the hostess stand. Black jackets. One has a scar on his left cheek. Don’t look.”
My stomach drops. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth. Arina’s hand immediately covers mine under the table, squeezing once…a silent command to stay calm.
“I’m calling Tikhon. Stay seated. Smile like we’re still talking about nothing important,” Katya already has her phone out, texting rapidly.
My heart starts hammering. I missed them. I am so caught up in the easy conversation, in feeling safe for once, that I didn’t even notice. The old terror rises fast. It’s the same fear that used to send me hiding in closets as a child. Fadir’s reach still feels endless.
Arina keeps up the chatter, her voice bright and natural, but her grip on my hand is iron. “So then Alexey walks in covered in flour, looking like a disaster, and tries to pretend the smoke is just ‘ambiance’—”
“Two of Klem’s men at The Garden Room. Anja’s with us. Yes. Immediately,” Katya murmurs into her phone, voice low and urgent.
We wait.
The minutes stretch like hours. I force myself to smile, to nod at Arina’s story, but my appetite is gone. Every movement near the entrance makes my skin crawl. I keep my eyes on the table, terrified that if I look up, I’ll see Fadir himself walking toward us.
Two minutes later, Katya’s phone buzzes. “Car’s here. Back entrance. Tikhon sent two teams. We leave now.”
Arina stands first, casual as anything, looping her arm through mine like we’re just three friends heading out for a stroll.
Katya follows close behind. We slip through the kitchen as the staff parts to let us through without question, clearly used to this kind of exit.
We emerge into the alley where a black SUV waits with its engine running.
The ride to Alexey’s main house at the compound is tense and silent.
Arina keeps her arm around my shoulders.
Katya watches the mirrors, phone still in hand.
I press both palms to my stomach, feeling the faint flitter of the baby growing within me, which has only recently become noticeable, and try not to spiral.
When we pull up to the main house, Alexey and Tikhon are already waiting on the wide stone steps.
The moment I step out of the car, Alexey is there. His hands come to my shoulders, steady and warm, brown eyes scanning my face with that fierce protectiveness that always makes something inside me both melt and ache.
“You’re safe,” he says immediately, voice low. “They didn’t get close.”
“I missed them. I was laughing, enjoying myself, and I didn’t even see them. What if they had…” I nod, but my voice shakes
“You didn’t miss anything,” he cuts in gently, pulling me against his chest. One large hand strokes down my back in slow, soothing strokes. “Katya caught it. You were relaxing for once. That’s not a failure. That’s progress.”
Tikhon stands a few feet away, speaking in low tones with Arina and Katya, but his eyes keep flicking toward us. He looks ready to tear someone apart.
I stay in Alexey’s arms for a long moment, breathing in the clean scent of his cologne mixed with the faint trace of gun oil that always seems to cling to him. His heartbeat is steady under my cheek. I can feel it, strong and reassuring.
But when I pull back slightly to look at his face, I see it.
The anger.
It’s rising in him like a slow tide. His jaw tight, his eyes enigmatic, and his commanding enforcer mask slipping just enough for me to see the fury beneath. Not at me. Never at me. But at Fadir. At the men who dared show their faces near me. At the constant threat that refuses to die.
“I hate that he can still do this,” I whisper. “That even when I’m trying to have one normal morning, he finds a way to ruin it. I missed them, Alexey. What kind of mother am I going to be if I can’t even spot danger when it’s right in front of me?”
“You are going to be an incredible mother. And you won’t have to spot the danger alone. That’s my job. Yours is to grow our child and let yourself breathe when you can.” His hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear I didn’t realize was falling.
The anger is still there, simmering just under the surface, but he reins it in for me. His touch stays gentle, his voice steady. He pulls me close again, resting his chin on top of my head.
“Tikhon’s already handling the men who were at the café,” he murmurs. “They won’t bother you again. And Fadir… his time is running out faster than he realizes.”
I nod against his chest, letting his strength hold me up for a little while longer. The pregnancy has made every emotion feel bigger, but so has this. The quiet way Alexey keeps showing up, choosing me even when the world tries to remind me how fragile I am.
Arina and Katya come over, their presence warm and solid. Katya squeezes my hand. “Brunch next time at the compound. Safer, and I make better mimosas anyway.”
I manage a watery laugh.
Alexey doesn’t let go of me as we walk inside. His hand stays at the small of my back, and for the first time all morning, the fear recedes just enough for me to breathe.
The revenge against Fadir is still burning.
But standing here, surrounded by these people who have folded me into their family without question, I feel something else growing stronger.
Hope.
Plus the terrifying, wonderful realization that maybe I don’t have to carry everything alone anymore.