Chapter 14 – Timofey
Nearly a month passes.
I spend most nights working late, coordinating security efforts as Anton’s presence within the city becomes increasingly obvious. The constant pressure leaves me exhausted—but never unfocused.
Because exhaustion is manageable.
Mistakes are not.
The estate changes in subtle ways over time.
Security rotations tightened.
Guest access restricted.
Staff vetted twice over.
Nothing moves through this house without being accounted for.
And still—I don’t relax. Not even for a second.
Not when Valeria is involved.
She adapts too. Quietly. Almost annoyingly well.
She attends meetings when she has to. Speaks when it’s necessary. Watches everything else like she’s trying to memorize the world before it turns on her again.
And what irritates me most is how quickly she learns.
How fast fear turns into awareness in her.
Because it means she’s changing.
And I don’t know if that’s protection…or damage.
I don’t want her to change.
But with everything happening, that’s not a choice either of us gets to make.
Still….
It’s past midnight.
I should leave my office.
I should get some rest.
But I don’t move.
I sit behind my desk, staring at nothing, mind still working through Anton.
Every move.
Every pattern.
Every gap I haven’t closed yet.
I’m close.
I can feel it.
But there’s something about him that refuses to be caught.
Something just out of reach.
And it’s starting to get under my skin.
The door creaks open.
I look up sharply.
Misha steps in, his lips pursed in a way I don’t like.
There’s disapproval, concern, something heavier.
“What?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer immediately.
Just walks in slowly.
That’s when I see the large box in his hands.
My gaze hardens.
“Security found it outside,” he says. “It’s addressed to you.”
Of course it is.
He sets it on my desk and steps back, like even standing too close to it feels like a mistake.
I stare at it for a second.
Then another.
“Misha.”
“It’s been checked,” he says quickly. “No explosives. No devices.”
Doesn’t mean it’s safe.
I nod once. Then I reach for it. The moment I open the box, something cold settles deep in my chest. Not shock. Not fear. Recognition.
Inside…is the severed head of Sergei Volodin.
His expression is frozen.
Eyes half-open.
Mouth slack.
A man who walked out of this house alive…reduced to a message.
My jaw tightens.
There’s a note.
I already know who it’s from before I touch it.
I unfold it slowly.
No amount of protection will save her.
Silence fills the room, heavy and suffocating.
Behind me, I hear Misha shift slightly. Something inside me snaps. Anton isn’t testing boundaries anymore. He isn’t sending warnings. He’s escalating.
I’m still staring at the note when the door opens.
I don’t even have time to react before she steps in.
Valeria.
“What’s that?” she asks, already moving closer, her eyes landing on the box.
“Stop—”
Too late.
I reach for the lid, but she’s faster.
Her gaze drops inside.
And everything changes.
The color drains from her face instantly.
Her body goes rigid for half a second—
Then she turns sharply away.
A broken sound tears out of her throat as she gags.
“Valeria—”
She doesn’t hear me.
Her body folds in on itself, like something inside her just gave way.
She stumbles, her hand reaching for anything—
The desk.
Air.
Nothing.
Then she drops.
I’m already moving before she hits the ground.
I catch her just as her knees buckle, my arm locking around her waist, pulling her against me as another violent gag wracks through her.
“Easy,” I mutter, my voice low but firm, one hand coming up to hold the back of her head as she retches.
Her body trembles.
Uncontrollably.
Her fingers clutch weakly at my shirt like she needs something solid to anchor her.
“Don’t look,” I say quietly, sharper this time. “Don’t look at it.”
Misha moves immediately behind me.
“Get it out,” I order without turning.
There’s no hesitation.
The box is gone within seconds.
But the damage is already done.
Valeria’s breathing is uneven, her body still shaking against mine as I keep her upright.
I tighten my hold slightly.
Not enough to hurt.
Just enough to remind her she’s here.
Safe.
Even if the world outside that moment is anything but.
I lower her carefully onto the couch, keeping a hand at her back until I’m sure she won’t slip.
She leans into it for a second longer than necessary, her breathing uneven, her fingers still clutching at my shirt like she hasn’t fully come back yet.
I frown.
This isn’t her.
Valeria isn’t fragile.
She doesn’t break at the sight of blood.
I’ve seen her stand in worse and not flinch.
So this—
The shaking.
The way her body is refusing to steady—
It doesn’t add up.
Something is wrong.
I sit beside her, watching closely, giving her a moment to catch her breath.
Her chest rises and falls too fast.
Too shallow.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
Weak.
The answer comes out quieter than I’ve ever heard from her.
“No.”
That single word tightens something in my chest.
She swallows, like even speaking is taking effort.
“I’ve…been feeling like this,” she admits. “For a few days now.”
My gaze sharpens. A few days. I don’t say anything immediately. Neither does she. But the silence between us shifts. Changes.
Because we both feel it at the same time. The realization doesn’t hit all at once. It creeps in. Slow. Unavoidable. My jaw tightens slightly.
Her breathing falters again. I look at her. Really look at her. And for the first time since this started, a completely different kind of tension settles in my chest.
“Valeria…” I say slowly.
She shakes her head immediately, like she can already see where my thoughts are going.
“Look, I don’t know, okay?” she says, her voice unsteady. “I don’t.”
I don’t respond.
I stand abruptly, shaky. The tension in my body has nowhere to go. I walk to the door and yank it open.
A guard is already stationed outside.
“Call the doctor,” I bark. “I want him here in an hour. Immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
He nods once and disappears down the hall without another word.
I shut the door.
The room falls into silence again. I return to the couch, but I don’t sit too close this time.
Not because I don’t want to, but because if I do, I might start asking questions neither of us is ready to answer.
So we sit.
Minutes stretch.
Then drag.
Neither of us speaks.
Her breathing steadies eventually, but the tension doesn’t leave her body. Forty-five minutes later, there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
The doctor steps inside, composed, professional—completely unaware of the storm waiting in the room.
He barely gets a step in before Valeria lifts her head.
Her voice cuts through the silence.
“I think I’m pregnant.”
The doctor doesn’t react the way I expect.
No shock. No hesitation.
Just a small, knowing smile as he nods.
“Let’s make sure,” he says calmly.
I step back, giving him space, but my body refuses to stay still.
I don’t pace—barely.
But the urge is there.
Coiled under my skin.
Every second stretches.
Every movement feels too slow.
Valeria doesn’t look at me.
I don’t push her to.
Thirty minutes later, the doctor straightens.
Turns to me.
There’s a smile on his face.
“Congratulations, Mr. Rusnak,” he says. “Your wife is pregnant.”
The words land hard between us. I don’t react immediately.
My gaze shifts to Valeria.
But she isn’t looking at me.
My heart is beating harder than it should.
Faster.
Louder.
And for once, I don’t have control over it.
So I say nothing.
I wait until the doctor gathers his things and leaves the room, the door clicking shut behind him. I sit beside her on the couch.
There’s something unfamiliar moving through me—light, sharp, alive.
It pulses in my veins, building, expanding.
Too close to joy.
Too close to something I don’t fully trust yet.
But I don’t let it show.
Not completely.
Because she still isn’t looking at me.
I study her instead.
Carefully.
Trying to understand where she is in this moment.
She exhales slowly.
Then, quietly—
“At first…” she begins, her voice soft, almost hesitant. “I only wanted a child to secure the Petrov legacy.”
I don’t interrupt.
Her fingers twist together in her lap.
“It was part of the plan,” she continues. “Something necessary.”
Then her voice shifts.
Warmer.
More certain.
“But now….” She swallows. “The idea of raising a child with you….” She finally looks at me. “It feels…meaningful.”
Something in my chest tightens.
“I feel the same,” I admit.
No hesitation.
No strategy behind it.
Just truth.
“Really?”
“Yes.” I struggle to rein in my emotions. “This is the best news I’ve ever gotten in my life.”
She smiles shyly, shaking her head. For the first time since all of this started—since Anton, since the war—something good exists between us. Something untouched.
I let out a quiet breath.
“We should drink to this,” I say.
She laughs.
Fully this time.
Bright. Unrestrained.
“I’m pregnant,” she says, shaking her head. “I can’t drink, silly.”
A small smile pulls at my lips.
“Right,” I say. “I didn’t know.”
“You can,” she adds lightly. “Go ahead.”
I shake my head. “No.”
Silence settles between us.
“Can I…?” I start, then stop.
I don’t ask questions like this.
I don’t hesitate like this.
“…can I hug you?”
She nods.
That’s all I need.
I pull her into me, my arms wrapping around her, firm and certain.
She fits there too easily.
Like she belongs.
I don’t let go.
I stay there.
Holding her.
Holding this moment.
Because this—this is joy.
And I refuse to let anything take it from me.