Chapter 27 #2
Samantha grabbed my hand and went to war, dragging me from one boutique to the next—places I usually wouldn't even dare to stare at too long.
"This one. Try it on." In a dimly lit French designer store, she ripped a deep V burgundy silk dress off the rack and shoved it into my arms. "Jesus, with your pale skin? Men are going to forget their own names."
"Sam, it's too much. And the price—" I glanced at the tag and sucked in a breath.
"Shut up and change." She pushed me toward the fitting room. "Today I'm paying for everything. We're celebrating you being single again."
I stood in front of the bright mirror and stared at the woman looking back.
God. Was that really me?
My mood sank hard.
Samantha called my name outside the door, all loud and excited, so I pulled off my sweater and carefully stepped into the dress.
The fabric felt incredible sliding over my skin—until my eyes caught the faint teeth marks still lingering near my collarbone. My heart tightened, automatic and ugly.
I forced myself to breathe.
He's gone. Hailey. You're free.
I told the mirror again and again. You're not alone now. You have a responsibility. You have to get up.
When I pushed the fitting-room door open, Samantha let out a dramatic whistle.
"Holy hell. That should be illegal." She stepped in, smoothing the hem with a satisfied little fuss, pride bright in her eyes. "I told you. You're a total knockout. Anyone who doesn't see that is blind. We're buying it, and tonight we're wearing it to a rooftop bar for a drink."
"Buying it is fine, but drinking is not happening," I blurted—then realized what I'd almost said and forced a shaky laugh. "I mean... my stomach has been weird lately. I can't drink. And it's kind of revealing. I should change back."
Samantha shot me a suspicious look, but she let it go. She bought the dress anyway—and a pair of delicate heeled ankle boots to match.
After almost three hours, my legs felt like lead. A dull, heavy fatigue tugged low in my belly.
"Sam, I can't walk anymore." I caught her before she charged into a jewelry store and pointed at an outdoor café on the corner. "Can we sit? I need something to drink."
"Fine. Since you didn't totally embarrass me in the fitting room." Samantha rolled her eyes, dragged me over, and pressed me into a black wrought-iron chair. "Stay put. I'm grabbing your favorite mille crêpe from Lady M across the street, and I'm hitting the bathroom. What do you want to drink?"
"Milk. Thanks, Sam." I looked at her like she was saving my life.
"Milk? Who are you and what did you do with my friend? You always get espresso." She grumbled, but she still clicked across the street in her heels, all speed and attitude.
As she disappeared into the crowd, I let out a long breath. The cold air in my lungs made my head clearer.
I hated admitting it, but Samantha's shopping-terrorism had worked. For three hours, I hadn't fallen back into that suffocating panic.
I pulled my coat tighter and looked down at my flat stomach.
There was a life there.
The thought still felt unreal. Half me. Half him—violent, cold, controlling.
I was staring at my belly when a shadow slid over the table, blocking the light.
"Hailey."
A warm male voice spoke above me. Familiar.
My whole body went rigid. I snapped my head up.
Matthew stood there.
A few steps away, he held a big bouquet of pale pink and white baby's breath—he remembered it was my favorite. He wore a plain beige sweater. His hair looked messier than I remembered. His face carried a humility I'd never seen on him.
"What are you doing here?" I said, my voice going cold as I leaned back.
"I was passing by. I saw you." He held the flowers out. "These are for you. Hailey, I... can I talk to you? Just a minute."
"No." I didn't take them. "My friend's coming back."
"I know I don't deserve to be in front of you." He didn't lower the bouquet. "That day... at the coffee shop. I know I fucked it up. I've been losing my mind. I keep thinking about you. Like, obsessing."
"That sounds like your problem." I grabbed my shopping bags and turned toward the busier indoor shops. "Not mine."
"I quit drinking."
I paused.
"I started therapy," he rushed, stepping closer, voice soft and urgent. "I read a ton—why I did what I did. Hailey, what happened with Chelsea was the biggest mistake of my life. I ruined everything we could've had. I've changed. I've really changed."
Chelsea.
The woman I'd thought would be my bridesmaid, who'd ended up in bed with my fiancé.
Hearing her name didn't even sting anymore. The thorn that used to split me open now felt weightless, like it belonged to someone else's story.
"I'm happy for you," I said, and my calm surprised even me. "Seriously. But it doesn't matter to me anymore, Matthew."
"How can it not?" He stepped in front of me and blocked my path. "We were together five years. Five years, Hailey. You can't erase all of that over one mistake."
"Cheating isn't a mistake." I met his eyes. "It's a choice. You chose her."
"I know, I know—I fucked up." He leaned in, trying to reach for my hand. I shoved my hands into my coat pockets. "Just give me one more chance. One. I can give you everything you wanted—a stable home, a relationship out in the open, a man who holds your hand in public without hiding."
A stable home.
Three months ago, that would've hit me dead center. Back then I'd been starving for love, desperate enough to crawl for anyone offering me a "complete" life.
But not now.
Someone else already filled me up. Even if he'd hurt me the worst, even if he was a tangled knot of fear and love in my chest—I had nothing left to give the man standing in front of me.
"I'm not going back to you, Matthew," I said, each word clean and final. "Never. It's not about him. It's not about your sobriety. I don't want it. That's enough."
A hairline crack split his gentle, humble mask.
"It's because of that Russian, right?" His tone shifted. "Ivanov."
My heart dropped a beat.
"This has nothing to do with him."
"The hell it doesn't." He gave a short, bitter laugh that made my spine go cold. "You're staying at your redhead friend's place. You're scared to go back to your own apartment. Hailey, that man is going to ruin you. Come with me. I can give you something clean. Normal."
"I don't need you to give me anything." My pulse kicked hard as I angled to get around him. "I'm leaving."
"I know you're pregnant."
I froze.
Time stopped. The jazz in the store. The cashier's chatter. Footsteps at the door. Everything slid away like it had been sucked into a vacuum.
I turned slowly.
"What did you say?"
Matthew clutched the bouquet, and that soft, sickly smile returned.
"I know you're carrying his baby," he said, slow and deliberate. "Hailey, I don't care. I mean it. I can be that kid's father. We can have a real family. No one has to know who the father is. Isn't that what you always wanted? A mom, a dad, a real home?"
My blood went cold, inch by inch.
I hadn't told anyone. Not one word.
I hadn't been back to my apartment. I hadn't gone anywhere near Viktor's world. The test had been locked in a drawer at Samantha's.
No one knew. Not even Samantha.
So how the hell did Matthew know?
"How..." My lips shook. "How do you know?"
He didn't answer.
He just smiled wider and wider, the edges warping, like he enjoyed watching fear crawl across my face.
"That doesn't matter," he finally said. "What matters is you saying yes. Say yes, Hailey, and we can start over."
I backed up, step by step.
Something was wrong. Deep wrong.
An ex who'd "quit drinking," "started therapy," and "changed" doesn't magically know a secret I hadn't even told the father. Unless—
Unless he'd been watching me. Unless there were other eyes behind him. Someone else.
"I'm leaving," I said, almost yelling now, hugging my shopping bags to my chest. "My friend's waiting, I—"
"Hailey." His voice cut in behind me. All the sweetness peeled off. What was left sounded sharp and ugly. "You'll regret this. If you turn me down, you'll regret it. Bad."
I didn't look back.
I ran.
I shoved into the afternoon crowd of SoHo like my life depended on it, because it did. My heart slammed against my ribs. One hand protected my stomach. The other fumbled through my bag for my phone.
Samantha. I have to find Samantha—
The sun blinded me. People moved like nothing was happening. A tour bus rolled by, kicking up dead leaves. Everything looked normal.
I walked faster, dodging tourists with cameras, cutting toward where I remembered the back door of that shop was. Samantha, come back. Please, come back—
When I passed the mouth of a narrow alley stacked with shipping boxes—
A hand clamped over my mouth and nose from behind.
A cloth soaked in something sweet and chemical smashed against my face.
I tried to scream. Nothing came out. I fought like a cornered animal, elbows driving back, heels stomping down. The arm locked around me didn't budge. Iron.
My shopping bags and purse hit the ground.
My feet left the pavement.
I got hauled up and dragged into a black van parked at the alley mouth. The side door yanked open with a hard metallic slam. The inside was pitch dark.
In the last spinning second before I got thrown in, my eyes caught the street across the way.
Matthew stood there. One hand in his sweater pocket. The other arm still cradling that pale bouquet.
His face held a smile I never forgot.
A madman's smile.
My vision blurred. That sweet chemical smell poured into my lungs, and my limbs went heavy, numb. The door slammed shut, sealing out the last slice of light.
In the dark, I curled in on myself with everything I had left and covered my stomach.
Protected the tiny, stubborn heartbeat inside me.
Only one name stayed in my head, over and over, like a drowning person clawing at the last thing that could keep them alive.
Viktor.
Viktor, save me.