When the event finally winds down, and we return to the compound that night, the house is quiet. I walk Anja to our wing, my hand never leaving the small of her back. She is tired. I can see it in the slight droop of her shoulders, the way she leans into me more heavily than usual.
In our bedroom, she changes into one of my soft button-down shirts that swallows her frame, then climbs into bed with a quiet sigh. I watch her settle, one hand instinctively resting over her belly even in sleep. The sight does dangerous things to my chest.
I sit on the edge of the bed for a long time, simply watching her breathe. The line between strategy and genuine care disappeared weeks ago. What began as a business arrangement, using her as leverage to destroy Fadir, has become something far more profound. She is the woman who challenges me during strategy sessions, who laughs at Arina’s teasing at family dinners, who carries my child with quiet strength even while her past tries to pull her under.
I reach out and brush a strand of hair from her face, careful not to wake her. My hand lingers, then moves lower to rest gently over hers, where it protects our baby.
Fadir’s empire continues to fall. The public humiliation at tonight’s event will spread through the right circles by morning. His face in the surveillance footage is twisted with rage and disbelief, and it plays on repeat in my mind.
He is planning something desperate. I can feel it.
But as I watch Anja sleep, peaceful for the moment, the revenge that had once consumed my focus now feels like background noise to the far more important truth.
She is mine to protect.
Our child is mine to protect.
I will tear apart anyone who tries to take them from me.
The slow dismantling of Fadir Klem will continue tomorrow—methodical, relentless, surgical.
But tonight, in the quiet of our room at the family compound, with my hand resting over the woman carrying my future, I allow myself to feel the full weight of what this has become.
Not just war.
Family.
Chapter 21 - Anja
I have a prenatal appointment today, and Alexey has a meeting.
We sit across from each other in the sunroom off the chef’s kitchen in the main house at the family compound. Morning light pours through the tall windows, turning the space into a bright, airy oasis filled with potted herbs and fresh flowers.
The table is set simply but beautifully with fresh fruit, yogurt with honey, warm croissants, and the ginger tea Alexey always makes sure is waiting for me. The pregnancy has made mornings gentler in some ways and harder in others; today, the nausea is manageable, but my emotions feel raw and close to the surface.
Alexey looks impeccable in an iron-gray suit, his brown hair neatly combed, the faint stubble along his jaw giving him that quietly dangerous edge I’ve grown used to. He’s reading something on his tablet while eating, but his attention keeps drifting to me.
“I’ll be fine going alone,” I say, breaking the comfortable silence as I stir honey into my tea. “It’s just a routine check-up. Dr. Morozova said everything looked perfect last time.”
“No,” he says, setting the tablet down immediately, brown eyes locking onto mine with that familiar intensity.
The single word is calm, but firm. The same tone he uses when he’s made up his mind about something non-negotiable.
“Alexey, we haven’t seen Fadir in months. Not since that day at the café with Arina and Katya. His men haven’t come near the compound. His businesses are all but gone. He’sprobably hiding somewhere trying to salvage what’s left of his reputation,” I sigh, leaning back in my chair.
He doesn’t look convinced. His jaw tightens slightly. The same thing I’ve learned to recognize when he’s fighting the urge to wrap me in security and never let me out of his sight.
“I know you’re worried,” I continue, reaching across the table to cover his hand with mine. “But I need to do this. I need to feel like I can still have some normalcy, even with everything that’s changed. Antone will drive me. He’ll stay right outside the clinic. I’ll call you every step of the way so you know I’m safe. Promise.”
He studies me for a long moment, the internal battle clear in his eyes. The protective fire that has only grown stronger since we found out about the baby wars with his desire to give me the space I keep asking for. Finally, he exhales slowly.
“Fine,” he says, though the word sounds like it costs him. “You go alone. But you call me when you leave the compound, when you arrive at the clinic, after the appointment, and when you’re back in the car heading home. Every step. If anything feels off... even slightly, you tell Antone immediately, and you call me.”
“I promise,” I nod, squeezing his hand.
“Be careful, Anja. Please.” He doesn’t look entirely happy, but he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.
“I will.”
