77. Chapter 77

77

Wren

I 'm sprawled on the bed, every goddamn inch of me screaming like I've been through a meat grinder. The room's doing a slow tilt, or maybe that's just my brain short-circuiting. Sophia's perched on the edge of the bed, eyeing me like I'm some kind of exotic disaster.

"Wren Davis," she starts, her green eyes boring into me. "You gonna tell me why you ghosted me for three years, or do I have to guess?"

I scrub my hands over my face, feeling the grit and exhaustion etched into every pore. Christ, I'm tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushing tired. "I was… ashamed," I finally croak out, the admission scraping my throat raw. "I didn't know how to reach out. I've been… God, Soph, I've been a fucking trainwreck."

Sophia leans forward, and for a second, I see a flash of the old her—the one who'd patch me up after a bad night, who'd hold my hair back when I was puking my guts out.

Sadness in her eyes. "Look, I get it. Life's been… complicated. For both of us. But Wren, you're my best friend. You think I care about all this?"

I let out a bitter laugh that jabs at my battered ribs. I rub the back of my neck, stalling, trying to buy time; the words stick somewhere in my throat. Taking a deep sigh, I look around. My gaze sweeps over the room, anything to avoid meeting her eyes for just a second longer. Compared to the shit I've been through, this place is a goddamn palace—plush carpets, silk sheets, fucking paintings worth more than I could ever hope to make in a lifetime.

I sink into the bed like it's a goddamn cloud, and it feels so wrong, being here after everything that's happened.

My jaw clenches, muscles tightening as I wrestle with what to say next.

But she's right, she's my best friend. I close my eyes, drawing in a deep breath. Fuck it. Just say it, Wren. When I open them again, I meet Sophia's gaze head-on.

"You wanna know why I ran, Soph? I was knocked up. With D's kid." The words tumble out. "What was I supposed to do? Tell the mafia's top hitman he's gonna be a daddy? Like my life wasn't fucked up enough already."

I look up at the ceiling, noticing the warm, dim light for the first time. It's almost soothing, like it's trying to convince me everything's fine, but my body is too beat to fully fall for it. The bed's too soft, like I'm sinking into a marshmallow.

But the memories don't care. They keep coming. And so do the words.

"So, I ran. Ended up in a beautiful small town in Colorado. Pinecrest. All pine trees and nosy neighbors. Had the kid there. Alex." His name catches in my throat. "And I… I didn't know how to come back. How to face any of this."

I wait, watching her face, expecting that look—shock, judgment, something. But Sophia just looks at me, those piercing green eyes full of concern but no pity.

Sophia reaches out, her hand warm on mine. "Oh, Wren. Being independent doesn't mean you have to do everything alone. Asking for help… that's its own kind of bravery."

"Yeah, well. Bravery and I aren't exactly on speaking terms."

Then, out of nowhere, she smirks while squeezing my hand, as if trying to hold back a laugh.

" Well ," she says, leaning forward with that familiar sass, "I guess we both got knocked up by mafia assholes, huh ?"

For a second, I blink, like my brain can't quite process what she just said. And then, it hits me. Hard.

I burst out laughing, even though it feels like my ribs are tearing apart. "What the—?" I manage between gasps. "What the actual fuck, Soph?"

And she's laughing, too, snorting like she's lost her mind. "Seriously! I mean, at least one of us could've aimed higher, like a politician or something. But nope . We both chose gangsters ."

I can't stop laughing, and now we're both in tears, cackling like two crazy people. It's the kind of laugh that hurts in all the right ways—my stomach's on fire, and my ribs feel like they're cracking, but I can't stop.

"God, we're disasters," I choke out between breaths, wiping at my face.

She snorts again, still grinning. "Speak for yourself. I'm thriving."

We're both crying now, tears streaming down our faces, and all I can think is that we probably look like two batshit crazy hyenas in this ridiculously fancy room. But for once, the weight's a little lighter, and I realize how much I've missed this—the raw, stupid honesty only Sophia can bring.

"Well—"

A knock at the door cuts off whatever Soph was about to say. We push ourselves upright, and the door swings open, a woman steps inside. Straight posture, uniform so tidy it could stand up on its own, not a hair out of place.

Just like the other night, her face completely blank—not a hint of emotion, like she's been programmed to serve and nothing else.

She clears her throat, a stiff, dry sound that cuts through the room like she's trying to politely remind us she exists. I glance at Sophia, and she's already looking at the woman like she's seen a ghost.

Silence. Awkward as hell.

It's got to be almost five in the morning, but I don't know, I've lost track of time. Everything blurs together after what we've been through, and I'm too damn tired to care.

The woman finally breaks the tension, looking right at me and then at Soph. "Mrs. Ivankov," she says, bowing her head slightly in a formal, robotic way.

Sophia nods. "Svetlana, how are you?" she asks, and there's this strange tension in the air, like there's history between them. The kind of history I wasn't around for.

"I'm well, thank you," Svetlana says, her voice as dry as her cough. "I've brought some food and tea."

Svetlana moves over to the table, setting the tray down without a word. The smell of tea and something warm floats over, but I'm too drained to even glance at it. I just want her to leave, but she stands there like she's waiting for something. Her face is still a blank slate, but her eyes… there's something there. Like she's happy to see Soph again, but she's not about to show it.

Before heading to the door, she turns to me, addressing me for the first time. "And what would the little master like for breakfast?"

It takes me a second to realize she's talking about Alex . My brain's slow, sluggish with fatigue. I rub the back of my neck. "Uh, he's not picky. Maybe some toast, fruit, whatever's easy."

Svetlana nods, not a single emotion flickering across her face. "Very well," she says before glancing at Sophia one last time and quietly slipping out of the room.

The second she's gone, I let out a breath. Sophia raises an eyebrow at me. "Little master, huh?"

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, apparently, my kid's royalty now."

"Get used to that," she says with a chuckle.

I snort, half-laugh, but her words stick in my head.

Get used to what?

My stomach twists. What happens now? Now that D knows he has a son?

I push my thoughts down. Later. I'll freak out later.