Chapter 54

Chapter

Fifty-Four

"My guilt is an ocean for me to drown in."

― Nicola Yoon

Caia

"I don't know, Caia. He seems a bit… dangerous. Don't get me wrong, he's sexy as hell. I've never been into blue-eyed men, but Lord, I'd break all my rules for that one."

I laughed softly. "Steven, he's my ex-husband. Trust me, there's nothing gay about him. And believe me, he's the only one I feel... safe with."

It was true.

Despite everything, Alexsei was the one person I trusted above all others. That's why I was lying here, under the covers of his guest bed, feeling better than I had in weeks. Being in his space, breathing in the faint smell of his cologne that still lingered in the air, settled something in me. Like an anchor in a storm.

Who knew that hiding out at your ex's place could be this comforting? Maybe I should start a new trend: ‘Ex-Husband Therapy—Guaranteed to Keep the Crazies Away.'

Steven sighed dramatically through the phone. "Well, that's a bummer for me. But guess what? The Gregs left you a killer review on the website this morning. They practically crowned you the supreme wedding photographer of New York! According to them, your photos made Meghan and Harry's wedding look like it was shot by some bumbling paparazzi. You've officially outshined royalty!"

"Stop!" I gasped, feeling heat creep into my cheeks. "No way!"

The Gregs were practically Manhattan royalty themselves. Liam and Katie Gregs, heirs to their respective family empires—one in oil, the other in cosmetics—were the epitome of young, entitled success. Despite their barely mid-twenties status, they lived in an Upper East Side mansion that screamed "old money." And yet, somehow, they turned out to be the most pleasant clients I'd had in ages.

Wealth changes people. It breeds this quiet superiority, a delightful belief that you're above everyone else. Navigating the entitled elite, dodging their sharp remarks and judgmental stares, feels like a tightrope act—except there's no safety net.

I'd sworn off weddings once because of it—the subtle jabs and the unbearable condescension. But when Steven begged me to take the Gregs' wedding, I rolled my eyes and caved.

And I'm glad I did.

Their wedding, set against the breathtaking backdrop of Tulum, Mexico, was something out of a fairytale. They flew me in early, making sure I had time to unwind and enjoy the beach. They were warm, welcoming—actual human beings, which was a rare find among the Upper East Side crowd.

The wedding itself? It was a dream.

The beach was transformed—white roses and peonies everywhere, rows of perfectly arranged chairs, and a stunning canopy of pearls and lace. The aisle stretched out toward the horizon, the ocean crashing softly in the background, the sun casting a golden glow over everything.

It was the kind of wedding that only exists in movies.

I captured every moment, but there was one that stood out above the rest.

As the bride made her way down the aisle, she and the groom locked eyes. There was something unspoken between them, something that needed no words. Their hands met, and it was like the rest of the world disappeared—just the two of them in their own bubble of love.

That picture became my favorite of the entire day. It wasn't just the pose; it was the feeling. You could almost touch the love between them.

At the reception, the vibe shifted—drinks flowed, people danced, and laughter filled the air. The couple radiated joy, their smiles impossible to contain.

Watching them, I found myself pausing.

When was the last time I felt that kind of simple, pure happiness?

Then it hit me—the morning of the day my son was taken from me.

That was the last time I was genuinely happy.

I remember waking up that day with Alexsei spooning me, his body a warm shield against the morning chill. He kissed the back of my neck, his lips soft and teasing. I laughed when he tickled me, turning to kiss him back as our bodies tangled together, skin on skin. Those mornings—waking up beside him, feeling safe and loved—were my favorite moments.

After a while, he'd slip out of bed to get Lukyan, and I'd pull on one of his oversized T-shirts, waiting for them to come back. Then we'd all snuggle up—Lukyan nestled between us, Alexsei's arm draped over me.

That was happiness.

True happiness.

Just hours before my world shattered.

My stomach tightened at the memory, a familiar ache rising in my chest. But, as if sensing the shift in my mood, Steven rescued me with his bubbly voice.

"Oh, and get this—along with the rave review, they left you a fat tip. And by fat, I mean $25,000. Can you believe it?"

I chuckled, sinking deeper into the bed, pulling the covers tighter around me. Although it was already 9 am, part of me wanted to stay here, cocooned in this warmth, avoiding Alexsei for just a little longer.

After last night's emotional rollercoaster, he insisted I take some time to rest, promising we'd have a proper chat in the morning. Gosh, we had so much to discuss.

And everything is because of you, Caia!

I inwardly winced.

But deep down, I knew it was true.

I had made two significant mistakes in my life.

The first was lacking the courage to escape my father's control. The second was running away from my husband in a misguided attempt to protect him, only to later realize the immense pain it caused both him and myself.

All I wanted was to protect him, but a part of me was consumed by fear—fear that he would come to hate me in the long run and eventually leave me. Call it self-sabotage, but deep down, I think I was trying to shield myself from the inevitable heartbreak, not knowing that a heart already shattered couldn't break any further.

The day I left Alexsei was the day I left Russia. Before boarding the plane, I visited Valeria, who had fought so hard to convince me to stay, to not leave her behind too. But deep down, she knew I had to go. She held me tight, making me promise to call her as often as possible.

"Where are you going next?" Valeria asked, her voice tight as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"I don't know," I sighed, clasping her hands in mine. "I've booked a flight to Moldova because it's visa-free, and it gives me 90 days to figure things out."

She nodded slowly, a faint smile on her lips. "Okay, but let me help you," she said, releasing my hands and darting to grab her phone. After swiftly checking her contacts, she scribbled down a phone number. "Here," she handed me the paper. "My cousin Nikita Grivok lives in New York. He works for the mayor as one of his accountants. He left Russia when my uncle discovered he was gay and hasn't returned since. His boyfriend, Steven, works for a private photography company, so that's your perfect plan! I'm sure Nikita can assist you with your visa."

I thanked her, tears streaming down my cheeks, and hugged her tightly.

Valeria held me just as tightly before reminding me to take care of myself.

And I did. Well... I did my best.

In unfamiliar cities, far from the ones I loved, I grappled with the grief of losing both my baby and my husband. During those initial weeks after leaving, I found myself alone in a cozy inn recommended by a kind taxi driver. It was owned by his sister and touted as a safe haven for women and families.

At first, I didn't leave my room for weeks. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all delivered via room service, so the only face I saw during that time was Irina Podola's—a kind, sixty-five-year-old woman. She was petite, a bit chubby, with beautiful, long, gray hair.

Irina practically saved my life with her kindness.

One night, after spending an hour crying in the shower, I heard a knock on my door. My hands trembled as I opened it, clad in pajamas with a towel wrapped around my head.

Irina stood there, a warm smile on her face, holding a tray of tea and biscuits. "I thought you might like some company," she said gently in Russian, her eyes filled with understanding.

I hesitated, then stepped aside to let her in. She set the tray down on the small table by the window and motioned for me to sit. I did, feeling a strange mix of weariness and vulnerability.

As she poured the tea, she began talking about her family, her life, and the small joys she found in her day-to-day routines. Her voice was soothing, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of warmth inside me. "You remind me of my daughter," she said softly, handing me a cup of tea. "She went through a difficult time too. Sometimes, all you need is someone to listen."

We spent hours talking that night. I shared bits and pieces of my story—the pain of losing my baby and leaving Alexsei. Irina listened without judgment, offering only kindness and empathy.

At one point, she looked thoughtful and said, "A mother losing a child is like a tree losing its leaves. The tree stands bare, vulnerable, and exposed to the world. But in time, it learns to grow new leaves. The old leaves are never forgotten; they become part of the soil, nurturing the tree as it continues to grow. The pain never fully disappears, but it transforms into a different kind of strength. "

Her words were sad yet beautiful, resonating deeply with me. I guess she was right. Each person you lose is like a leaf falling, yet you're still standing tall. All you need to do is look down and smile at those fallen leaves because a tree always finds its strength next to its roots.

From that night on, Irina would stop by regularly, bringing little treats and sharing snippets of her life. Her visits became the highlight of my days, a lifeline in the darkness I was navigating. Slowly, with her support, I began to venture out of my room. I started with short walks around the inn's garden, then gradually explored the neighborhood. Each step, however small, felt like a victory.

Irina's kindness and patience helped me find my footing in a world that had been turned upside down. She taught me that healing doesn't happen all at once; it's a process.

So, I tried to heal.

Some days were better than others.

Some were filled with tears, heartache, and despair; others with apathy, and a few with moments of gratitude. I was grateful that, despite the cruel way life had taken my precious baby, I was still blessed to have been, and always will be, his mommy. My baby boy brought so much joy, color, and light into my life, even in such a short time.

I was also grateful for Alexsei. He was the love of my life; there were no doubts about that. I was grateful that we met, even if the circumstances were bizarre and tinged with ulterior motives—like being forced to marry a killer with more skeletons in his closet than I could ever dream of.

Despite all the games, lies, and pain, I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have been Caia Romaniev, the wife of the beautiful, kind, and loyal Alexsei Romaniev—well, as kind as a mafia boss can be.

Irina also taught me so much about womanhood and the importance of women standing together. She was my guardian angel in that small city called Soroca in Moldova. And after 90 days, with the help of the kind Nikita Grivok, I received my visa for America. A new chapter was beginning, and with it came a renewed sense of hope.

"Remember what I said to you, Caia," Irina whispered as we said our goodbyes, my luggage at my feet. "When you're down, the only way is up. Keep that in mind." She kissed my cheek and waved goodbye before retreating into her inn.

Then my life in New York began.

Nikita welcomed me at the airport, casually mentioning that his boyfriend Steven would be thrilled to have me as his housemate. "We don't live together yet," Nikita explained with a smile. "Steven wants us to buy a house in his hometown near Boston, and I promised him we would in two years when the mayor's mandate ends. So, I kept my apartment, and he kept his."

I nodded. "Thank you again, Nikita. You have no idea?—"

He flashed a grin. "Don't worry. You're Valeria's best friend, so you're mine too. Now, let's go!" He hailed a cliché yellow cab. "Time for you to meet Steven."

As the cab whisked us through the city, I soaked in the sights: towering buildings, bustling crowds, dogs trotting alongside their owners, and vibrant street art. For a fleeting moment, I felt like I was living in an episode of Sex and the City —minus the drama, of course.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the cab halted in Brooklyn, in front of an apartment building with those quintessential New York stairs.

"Quick heads up," Nikita said, helping me out of the cab and gathering my bags. "Steven is big on physical touch. Quite un-Russian, I know. So be prepared for a lengthy hug."

I arched an eyebrow.

Guess the stereotype of Americans being overly friendly wasn't just a cliché.

"Caia!" A man slightly taller than me, with short black hair and warm brown eyes, called from the top of the stairs. He was decked out in black jeans and a white AC/DC t-shirt. With a broad smile, he bounded down the steps, enveloping me in a tight embrace and spinning me around like I was the star of some rom-com.

As he finally set me down, I felt a bit dizzy.

"I'm so glad to finally meet you! I'm Steven, and let me tell you, gorgeous, you and I are gonna be best friends!" he declared, playfully kissing my cheeks.

And so unfolded the first pages of my new chapter.

Or so I thought.

"Can you drop the check here in a few days? I still have a lot to discuss with Alexsei and?—"

Steven interrupted with an exaggerated scoff. "Is he holding you hostage? I mean, the past few weeks have been weirder than a pigeon wearing a top hat, but this is New York, sweetie. Odd is practically our middle name!"

I chuckled softly. "He just wants me safe, Steven. That's all. Anyway, I have to go. Thanks for checking up on me."

"Always, sweetie. Take care and call me if you need anything."

"I will."

With that, I ended the call and headed to the bathroom, moving quietly to wash my face, praying for a sprinkle of extra courage from the universe to handle my ex-husband without feeling like a guilt-ridden mess.

"Tea?"

I nodded, taking a seat at the table. It was spread with a typical Russian breakfast: dark rye bread slathered with creamy butter, thinly sliced smoked salmon, hard-boiled eggs, and an array of cheeses. There were small bowls of jam, honey, and sour cream, plus blini and a steaming pot of buckwheat porridge.

Alexsei poured me some tea and settled into the chair across from me. He looked tired, with bags under his eyes, a subtle flush on his cheeks, and his usually polished light brown hair now disheveled, as if he'd run his hands through it a few too many times.

"Please, eat. My cook came bright and early this morning, and I promised her we'd devour everything," he remarked, managing a small smile.

"Thanks again, and I'm sorry you went through all that trouble," I said, guilt creeping in.

"It's nothing. You know I'd do anything for you, Caia," he said, his eyes painfully sincere. "Now eat."

With a faint blush creeping onto my cheeks, I picked up a piece of rye bread and generously spread it with butter, savoring the richness as it melted into the dense texture. The smoked salmon was delicate and flavorful, each bite a perfect blend of smoky and salty.

As I reached for a hard-boiled egg, Alexsei poured himself some tea, the steam rising and momentarily obscuring his weary face.

"You look like you haven't slept," I said gently, peeling the egg.

He shrugged, taking a sip of his tea. "Too much on my mind," he admitted. "But this breakfast should help. How's the salmon? "

"It's excellent," I replied, relishing another bite. "And these blinis are wonderful."

"Good," he nodded, reaching for a piece of cheese. "I'm glad you're enjoying it."

As I chewed, I couldn't shake the feeling that our conversation was painfully awkward, like we were tiptoeing around a minefield.

"Do you remember the time I tried to make chocolate bilinis?" I asked, trying to bridge the gap that had formed between us.

He looked up, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Of course. They turned out... interesting."

I laughed, the memory warming my heart. "They were a disaster, and you couldn't stop laughing."

I was eight months pregnant at the time, trying to surprise him with a chocolate cake—nailed it—and some chocolate blinis. He came home from work with a shocked expression when he saw the white and blue balloons, I'd spent the whole afternoon blowing up. Sparkly ribbons adorned the walls, and a small mirror ball hung from the ceiling, just like those at eighties parties.

All that decoration had exhausted me more than I'd anticipated.

He wore the biggest smile on his face, so wide that my heart tightened, realizing birthdays must not have been a common thing for him in his youth. The cake turned out amazing, and after he blew out his candles, I pressed him to reveal his wish. He simply replied that he had exactly what he'd always dreamed of, placing a hand on my tummy and following it with a kiss on my lips.

"But that cake was perfect, though," Alexsei said, breaking my reverie.

"But the blinis were a disaster," I interrupted, laughing. "I was so determined to get them right. I wanted everything to be perfect for you."

"And it was," he said softly. "It really was. You made me feel like the luckiest man alive."

My heart fluttered.

"Even with the blini batter everywhere?" I teased.

"Especially with the blini batter everywhere," he chuckled. "It was one of the best birthdays I've ever had."

The memory hung between us, a bittersweet reminder of better times, and I could see the same longing in his eyes.

Alexsei cleared his throat. "Anyway, I'd like to know more about why you think someone is after you?"

And just like that, the barrier between us resurfaced.

I set my utensils down and took a sip of my tea. "It's... this strange feeling I've been having lately. Like someone's watching me."

"Watching you?" His brow furrowed.

"It's hard to explain," I replied, feeling the weight of unease settle in my chest. "When I walk to work, I feel like there's another presence with me, just lingering. And when I'm out running errands, I can't shake the feeling of being followed."

A flicker of concern passed over Alexsei's face. "Have you noticed anything else out of the ordinary?"

I nodded, my gaze dropping to the table. "Yes," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Weird things have been happening at home too. Like items moving around when I'm not there and strange noises in the middle of the night. And two weeks ago, I found a dead kitten in my bedroom. The next day, a dead cat was lying on my doorstep."

His jaw clenched. "Have you talked to anyone else about this?"

"I mentioned it to Steven and his boyfriend," I replied, my voice steady. "Obviously, I live with Steven, so I'm concerned because?—"

"His boyfriend?" Alexsei interrupted, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

My brows furrowed momentarily. "Oh, come on, Alexsei, it's 2024?—"

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Don't worry, moya solnyshka . I'm just fucking relieved that dude swings that way. I thought he was your boyfriend."

My eyes widened.

What?

"You thought Steven was my boyfriend?" I asked, confused.

"Well, you told me you were living with the dude, so I thought you were... together."

I shook my head quickly. "No, he's just a friend. Besides, I don't …date."

Alexsei leaned back, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah, really."

He rubbed his chin. "I don't believe you, Caia. I mean, who wouldn't want to be your boyfriend? You're incredibly hot. Men must be fighting to be around you. Hell, I'm surprised there isn't a line forming outside your door."

Over the past year, Steven had attempted to set me up with some guys. Sometimes he'd practically drag me to bars, leaving me with no choice but to go along, though I'd inevitably leave within the first hour.

The thought of dating or meeting new men made me physically sick.

I sighed. "I don't ever want to date again, Alexsei. Especially after... us."

I simply didn't have the desire for it.

It felt like a twisted betrayal to Alexsei, even though leaving him was already a betrayal in its darkest form.