Page 82 of Forced By an Obsessive Bratva Stalker

Our child would be lucky to have her as a mother because she possessed all the qualities of a good parent. She was smart, compassionate, and kind, and she saw the world through a steadier lens than I did. She was the better half of me with a much bigger heart and a purer soul.

Aria was the light in my dark. She reminded me every now and then, by simply existing, that there was still a part of me that craved to be loved. She had no idea, but I would kill for her. I would burn the world if everyone ever turned against her.

She was my wife now, and it was my duty to protect her and the baby in her womb.

It had been a few days since we tied the knot, and she still wasn’t speaking to me. We shared the same room, slept on the same bed, but it felt like we were two strangers living together.

I figured she needed time to adjust, considering the emotional and psychological effect of her new reality. Besides the bedroom silence, though, she was settling in just fine. Against my better judgment, she made Yelena her friend, blurring the line between “boss lady” and “staff member.”

But I couldn’t exactly blame her; she had found a friend in the girl. Besides, Yelena knew better than to cross her boundaries. Aria now moved through the house with the confidence of a woman who owned it.

My men respected her the way they did me and never hesitated when she called. She seemed friendly with everyone in the house except me. And it was starting to feel a lot like punishment—one I couldn’t handle.

That evening, after returning from a meeting I was barely attentive at, I headed straight to our bedroom, eager to set my eyes on her. By the time I got there, she wasn’t in the room. I checked the library and even the garden outside, but she was nowhere to be found.

When I asked one of the maids, they told me she was up on the roof. That was the last place I’d expected her to be. Without hesitation, I headed up there, seven stories high.

She stood at the parapet when I arrived, her gaze fixed on the horizon where the yellow sun was setting. The hem of her dress danced in the cool evening breeze as the sun’s golden glow kissed her skin.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked without turning to look at me. “I think I found my favorite spot in the house.”

I walked over to her, slowly, unsure of what to say or do. She glanced at me as I stood beside her, her expression yet unreadable.

“How are you?” That was the first thing that came out of my mouth.

“My back hurts; my waist aches. I’m constantly battling with nausea. I’m easily irritated. My feet hurt, and my breasts are heavy all the time. And did I mention the headaches?” The words tumbled out of her in a smooth rush.

A quiet laugh fell from my mouth.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is my condition funny to you?” Her lips pursed, as if suppressing a grin.

“No.” I faced her squarely. “It’s not. It sounds very serious.”

She squinted her eyes. “Rodion Tarasov, are you mocking me?”

“Never.” I took her hand reflexively, hoping she wouldn’t slide out of my hold.

She didn’t.

“How is he?” I asked, daring to place my hand on her belly.

Again, she didn’t push me or slap my hand off.

“What makes you think it’s a he?” Her eyes bore into mine.

“Just a hunch.” I shrugged my shoulders slightly, a small grin playing on my lips.

“Well, that’s not patriarchal at all,” she teased. “I bet it’s a she.”

“Even better,” I said. “I’ve always wanted a daughter, if I’m being honest.”

Her head snapped back, shock simmering beneath the surface. “Really? Don’t patronize me.”

“It’s the truth,” I replied. “I didn’t have a sister growing up, so I guess having a daughter would compensate for that.”

This was the first normal conversation we’d had since this whole saga, and it felt so good. The way she stared at me right now—like she was looking at a different version of the man who ruined her life—thawed something frozen inside of me.

We held each other’s gazes on that rooftop, bathed by the sun’s golden glow.