Chapter Two
Mirabel
“I can’t stay, Di.”
I’m already pulling on yesterday’s clothes, the ones that smell like fear and sweat. Diane watches me from the couch, arms crossed.
“I have a job to do.” I tug my shirt down over my stomach—still flat, still hiding the secret growing there. “I can’t lose my father. Not him, too.”
“Mirabel—”
“I know what you’re going to say.” I grab my phone, check for messages. Nothing from Arkady. Nothing from anyone. “But I don’t have a choice.”
Diane stands, closing the distance between us. “Fine. Do what you have to.” She holds my gaze. “But if anything happens—anything—you call me. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She pulls me into a hug, and I let myself have this one moment. This one breath of safety before I walk back into his world.
The world that almost swallowed me whole yesterday.
When I pull away, Diane’s eyes are wet. “Be careful.”
“Always am.”
It’s a lie, and we both know it.
The Uber driver doesn’t speak. Just glances at me in the rearview mirror occasionally, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m running toward something or away from it.
Both, I think. Neither.
The city slides past the window as we travel without speaking. My phone sits heavy in my lap. I open my messages for the fourth time since getting in the car.
Still nothing from Arkady.
Where is he?
The question circles, but I shove it down. I shouldn’t care. Should be relieved he’s not demanding explanations for where I’ve been. But my chest feels tight anyway, this low hum of anxiety that won’t quit.
When the gates of Ashwater Heights finally come into view, my shoulders drop slightly. Home. Except it’s not my home. It’s his. I’m just borrowing space in it, hiding secrets in the walls.
The driver drops me at the front entrance. I tip him and watch his car disappear down the long drive before I turn to face the house.
It’s early, the sun barely up. The house should feel alive, staff moving through rooms, coffee brewing in the kitchen. Arkady’s voice carrying from somewhere, all gravel and command.
But it doesn’t.
The silence when I step inside is immediate and wrong. Not the comfortable quiet of a sleeping house. This is different. Emptier.
“Hello?”
My voice echoes. No answer.
I move through the entrance hall toward the kitchen. Maybe Arkady’s in his office, ignoring his phone like he does when he’s working.
But the kitchen is empty. The coffee maker cold. No sounds from upstairs.
I pull out my phone and type out a message before I can talk myself out of it.
I am back.
Send.
Nothing.
I stare at the screen until my vision blurs.
Fine.
I shove the phone in my pocket and head upstairs to Arkady’s bedroom. If he’s going to ghost me, I might as well clean his room while he does it. At least I can pretend I’m not obsessing over where he is.
If he’s safe.
The thought catches in my throat, and I hate how much it matters. Hate that even after yesterday—after nearly being dragged to Dubai—I’m still here worrying about him instead of myself.
His bedroom door is ajar. I push it open and step inside.
His scent hits me first. It wraps around me, and my body responds before my brain catches up, my pulse kicking faster, skin warming, that low pull in my belly I’ve been trying to ignore for weeks.
I close my eyes and breathe him in.
God, I’m pathetic.
When I open my eyes again, I see the chaos.
Drawers left partially open. Clothes missing from the closet. His gun safe closed but not locked properly—the edge of the door not quite flush with the frame. Papers scattered on his desk like he swept them aside in a hurry.
He left fast.
But for what?
I don’t know. That’s the problem. I know nothing about where he goes or what he does or why he’d leave the house like this.
With his weapons.
He could be anywhere. Doing anything.
He could be hurt.
He could be with someone else.
The second thought surprises me with its venom. I shouldn’t care who he’s with. Shouldn’t care if he’s fucking another woman while I’m here playing housekeeper and hiding his baby in my belly.
But I do care.
And I hate myself for it.
I grab the laundry basket from the closet and start picking up discarded clothes. A shirt that still smells like him. Jeans that I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wear. I fold each piece carefully, trying not to think about his hands unbuttoning them. His body underneath.
Trying not to remember the last time he touched me.
The memory surfaces anyway: his mouth on my neck, his hand sliding up my thigh, the rough command in his voice when he told me to be quiet. The way my body obeyed even when my mind screamed to resist.
Heat floods my face.
I shove the clothes in the basket and force myself to focus. There’s work to do. Tasks piling up. I can’t afford to stand here daydreaming about a man who disappears without explanation and leaves me to clean up his mess.
By the time the sun climbs higher, I’ve worked my way through most of the house.
Scrubbed the kitchen until it shines. Organized the pantry.
Changed the sheets on beds that haven’t been slept in.
The whole time, I listen for the sound of his car in the driveway.
His boots on the stairs. His voice calling my name.
Nothing.
The afternoon light slants through the windows, warm and golden. My body aches. Exhaustion settles into me, heavier than usual, the pregnancy taking its toll even though I barely show yet. I finish putting away the last of the laundry and admit defeat.
I need to lie down before I fall down.
My bedroom feels small and safe after the echoing emptiness of the rest of the house. I collapse onto the bed and grab my phone.
Still nothing from Arkady.
I should be angry. And I am, fury simmering under the fear.
Bastard!
How dare he leave without a word? How dare he make me worry like this when he’s the one who tracked my every move with apps and cameras and his goddamn security team?
But the anger just makes the fear sharper. Because what if something happened? What if he needed help and I was too busy being mad to notice?
I dial Diane before I can spiral further.
She picks up on the first ring. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah.” I roll onto my side, tucking the phone against my ear. “Thanks again for letting me crash. You’re a lifesaver.”
“The things I do for friendship.” Warmth fills her voice. Then it shifts. “Mira. Please tell me you’re staying inside today. Yesterday scared the shit out of me.”
“I know.”
“So you’ll stay put?”
I close my eyes. “I have to go see Dad soon.”
“Mirabel—”
“He’s dying, Di. I can’t just—” My voice cracks. “I can’t not see him.”
Silence. Then: “Let me go. I’ll visit him at the hospital. We can FaceTime—”
“And what do I tell Dad? ‘Sorry, can’t visit because I almost got kidnapped’?” I sit up. “He’ll have a heart attack on the spot. No. I can’t. I’ll visit him myself.”
“Then at least stay in the house until then,” Diane pushes. “And for God’s sake, tell Arkady what happened.”
“He won’t let me leave if I tell him.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing!”
“I know him, Di. He’ll lock me in this house. Make decisions about my body, my father, everything.” I shake my head even though she can’t see it. “He’ll want control.”
“Because he’ll want you safe.”
“Because he’s a goddamn control freak.” I huff out a breath. “I’m not going to do it.”
Diane sighs. “You’re impossible.”
“Learned from the best.”
A pause. Then: “You’re going to tell him eventually. About the kidnapping. About the baby. There’s no getting away from it.”
“I know.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.” I press my free hand to my stomach. “Soon. I just need more time.”
“Time for what?”
Good question.
Time to figure out how to tell him I’m pregnant without losing everything. Time to understand why his father’s men grabbed me. Time to find some way to stabilize my world.
Time to prepare for the moment he looks at me and decides I’m not worth the trouble.
“I don’t know,” I say again.
Diane makes a noise that’s half sympathy, half exasperation. “Okay. But Mira? Don’t wait too long. Secrets like this don’t keep.”
“I know.”
We talk for a few more minutes about nothing important. When we hang up, the silence rushes back in.
I check my phone one more time.
Still nothing from Arkady.
The house feels too big now. Too empty. I should be relieved he’s not here. Should be grateful for space to breathe without those ice-blue eyes tracking every move.
Instead, I feel hollow.
I hate that I need him.
Hate that his absence feels wrong.
Hate that even after yesterday—after Kostya’s hand reaching for me, after hearing Gavriil Laurov’s name—I still want Arkady to walk through that door.
Even though he’s probably the most dangerous thing in my life.
I push myself up, phone still clutched in my hand. Stare at the blank screen.
Waiting.
For answers. For him. For whatever comes next.
The baby—still too small to feel—reminds me what’s at stake. Not just my life anymore. Not just Dad’s treatment. This tiny growing thing that needs me to be smarter, stronger, braver than I am.
I can’t keep running.
Can’t keep hiding.
Everything comes out eventually.
And when it does, I need to be ready.
I leave the room and head back to my tasks, trying to take my mind off things.
But all I see is Kostya’s face.
The van.
Dubai.
And Arkady’s bedroom with drawers left open and his scent still clinging to the sheets.