Chapter 43

Chapter

Forty-Three

"Adieu to disappointment and spleen. What are men to rocks and mountains?"

― Jane Austen

Caia

I gasped, unable to believe what Valeria had just revealed.

"No way," I whispered, sinking onto her couch. Valeria continued sorting through files on her desk, her brows furrowed, before tossing one into the nearby garbage.

"Yep, he passed away yesterday morning in his sleep, all alone," Valeria said with a shrug, not looking up.

"I guess I'll have to call Alexsei and let him know…" I trailed off, dreading the difficult conversation ahead. It was heart-wrenching to think of telling my husband, hundreds of miles away, that his father was gone.

Valeria stood up, a yawn escaping her lips, then moved to sit beside me, gently rocking Lukyan's stroller. My little boy was fast asleep, his tiny red lips parted as soft snorts escaped. Lukyan was the spitting image of his daddy—Alexsei's nose, lips, and eyes, all wrapped up in this tiny version of him. With Alexsei so far away, my little boy was an even greater blessing.

"Already did. I called Alexsei yesterday and let him know," Valeria said, sinking into the couch, her head tilted back, eyes closed as she massaged her temples.

I arched an eyebrow. I'd spoken to Alexsei this morning, and he hadn't said a word. "Oh, what did he say?" I asked, confused.

Valeria yawned, crossing her arms, her eyes still shut. "He thanked me for letting him know and said Silas would take care of the rest."

The rest? What's that supposed to mean?

Valeria let out a sigh. "And then he hung up."

Over the past year, I'd tried a few times to ask Alexsei about his father and the odd difference in their surnames—Rovanski for him, Romaniev for my husband. Each time, Alexsei would deflect, unwilling to reopen wounds he'd spent years closing. Out of respect, I let it go, but the lingering curiosity remained, whispering like an unresolved mystery in the back of my mind.

Valeria yawned again.

"Didn't sleep last night?" I chuckled.

"No," she sighed, her eyes shooting open with a smirk. "Dve did this thing?—"

"I don't need details," I cut in, shaking my head. "Especially not ones involving Dve."

I stood and unlocked the safety brake on Lukyan's stroller.

Dve had swung by last night to drop off documents for Alexsei, but I couldn't even meet his eyes. Terrified that if I did, I'd accidentally confront him about the hypocrisy—and we both knew how that would end.

Valeria rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. Go on, be the responsible mommy. Just remember, when Lukyan's older and asks about the birds and the bees, don't come to me for advice!"

I chuckled, pushing the stroller toward the door. "Thanks, Val. I'll keep that in mind."

"Oh wait!" Valeria exclaimed, suddenly alarmed. "I forgot to tell you! Your father stopped by last night to visit your grandmother, but she was asleep, so he only stayed for about ten minutes. He told me to remind you to visit him soon, or he'll, and I quote, 'take care of it himself.'" She blinked nervously. "He gave me the chills, Caia."

My heart sank. I had been avoiding my father, ignoring his texts and calls, hoping he'd just leave me alone. But he'd never visited Babushka while she was sick. For him to stop by now? Definitely a threat.

I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, my hands gripping the stroller so tightly my knuckles turned white. "He wants to meet Lukyan, but I refused. For the last year, he's been persistent. I don't know what to do…"

Valeria walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. "What does Alexsei think about all of this?"

I rubbed my forehead, anxiety bubbling up. I hated keeping things from my husband.

"I didn't tell him," I whispered, almost worried Alexsei could hear me all the way from New York.

Valeria gasped. "Oh no, Caia. This is bad. Like, really bad!"

"I know, but I thought Mankiev would drop it and go on with his miserable life," I grimaced. "But I forgot—his life is only good when mine is miserable."

That's my freaking father. Twisted, reveling in my pain. Avoiding him has been therapeutic, but I'm still terrified—terrified of what he might do just to get my attention.

Valeria sighed. "I'm sorry, but you have to tell Alexsei."

"I will," I said, cutting her off as I placed my hand over hers. "But first, I've got somewhere I need to be."

With that, I kissed her cheek, quickly pushed the stroller out, and made my way to the car with determination, a fire spreading in my chest.

I stormed into my father's office, my steps deliberate, my eyes narrowed like I was walking into a battlefield. Every muscle in my body was taut, ready for war.

Drayi, sprawled out on the leather sofa near the entry, lazily smoked a cigarette, a cheap car magazine resting in his other hand. He barely lifted his gaze, but the shift in his posture didn't go unnoticed—the predator recognizing another in the room.

"Well, well, Caia," he drawled, his lips curling into a mocking grin. "Lookin' good these days. Guess I can call you a MILF now, huh?"

The smirk he wore was a dagger, twisted deep into old wounds. I shot him a look that could kill, refusing to feed into his sick little game. Silence could cut just as deep.

Before I could respond, the office door slammed open, and my father stormed in. Fury twisted his features—brows furrowed, lips drawn tight, eyes darkened with something sinister.

There he was. My nightmare incarnate. The real devil in the flesh.

"Where is my grandson?" he demanded, voice like a knife scraping against stone. There was no question, only command. As if he could still rule me, still control every breath I took.

The thought of him near Lukyan? Over my dead body.

"I left him at home," I said, my voice steady but seething. He would never get his hands on my son. Not in this life, not in the next, and certainly not when hell froze over.

His face darkened. The silence between us stretched, heavy and oppressive. The air thickened, and for a split second, a flicker of fear clawed its way through my resolve. Being here, alone, was reckless. I'd walked straight into the lion's den, but my back was already against the wall.

I wasn't leaving without a fight.

Memories clawed at my mind, refusing to stay buried. I was ten, barely a child, playing in the living room—innocent, carefree. The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow, and I was chasing bubbles, laughing. But then the door opened. He stepped inside, his face twisted with the kind of rage that made the room colder. He saw the bubbles, saw me smiling, and his expression darkened.

I fumbled, dropping the bottle. The carpet soaked it up like blood.

His response was instant—before I even had time to process it. He struck me so hard that everything blurred, stars dancing in my vision. When my dress shifted and my panties were exposed, he spat the word "whore" at me. I was just a little girl back then.

That day marked the beginning of the shame, the fear that wrapped around my throat like a noose. Every smile, every laugh, killed before it could bloom.

He was the architect of my nightmares, the one who sculpted the fear that haunted me to this day.

"I have a right to see him," he snarled, breaking the silence, the sound dripping with venom. "I did a shit job raising you, but I'll fix that mistake with him. I'll make him?—"

I stepped forward, cutting off. "You will never lay eyes on him. If I hear your name again, if I get one more text, one more whisper that you're sniffing around to worm your way back into my life, I swear the only thing you'll meet next is death."

My voice, my resolve, had never felt so final. I wasn't just a daughter anymore. I was a mother—a force that would burn down the world to protect what was mine. I'd never known love like this before. It stripped me bare, tore down every wall I'd ever built, and left me standing there, vulnerable, but stronger than I'd ever been.

I'd bleed for my son. I'd die for him.

My father's laugh was cold and hollow, his eyes scanning me like I was something amusing, not the threat I was becoming. "Look at you, pretending to be a big woman," he said with a smirk. "I don't know what that worthless Romaniev has filled your head with, but you don't come in here and fucking cross me."

I scoffed, folding my arms to stop the trembling from showing. "Worthless, huh? He wasn't that worthless when you sold me to him for a few dollars, was he?"

The truth of it made his eyes narrow, his face flushing a deep crimson. I'd struck a nerve; one I'd aimed for deliberately. He could pretend all he wanted that I meant nothing to him, but the minute he sold me like property, I'd become his greatest failure.

"You're just as worthless as him," he spat, stepping closer, his eyes wild. "Don't think for a second you're safe from me, Caia. I can still make your life hell. I'm your father. You don't fucking walk away from that."

I stood taller, my voice cold as death. "Haven't you heard? I'm a Romaniev now. I don't answer to you anymore." My final words were a death sentence to whatever illusion of control he still thought he had. "Burn in hell, Mankiev."

Without waiting for his response, I turned on my heel and left, the fire burning in my chest a mix of rage and triumph.

For the first time in my life, I walked away with my head held high—free from the chains he'd wrapped around me since birth.

And for the first time, I smiled.