Page 24 of The Bratva Stalker and His Pregnant Bride

I slowly turn back to face Samuel, my spine straightening, my hands curling into tight fists at my sides. The quiet domesticity of my home evaporates, leaving nothing but the raw, volatile friction of two forces about to collide.

“Four years,” Samuel barks, the words ripping from his throat like gunfire. He steps deep into my living room, invading my space, his towering presence completely swallowing the air. “Four years, Ashley! You sat in that boardroom, you looked me dead in the eye, and you kept my son a secret from me!”

“Do not raise your voice in my house,” I snap back, my voice low, sharp, and dripping with venom. I march right up to him, refusing to let him intimidate me, refusing to back down. “And don’t you dare come in here playing the victim, Samuel. You have no right to be angry with me.”

“No right?” He lets out a harsh, mocking laugh, his jaw clenching so tight the muscle violently jumps. “He has my eyes. He has my blood. You deliberately excluded me from his life. You hid him from me!”

“I didn’t hide anything!” I yell back, the raw frustration of the last four years tearing out of my chest. “How was I supposed to find you, Samuel? Hmm? Tell me! You vanished into thin air after that night. I didn’t have a last name. I didn’t have a phone number. I had absolutely no connection to your world, and I had zero reason to believe a dangerous, nomadic black-market contractor would ever want a baby tying him down!”

Samuel flinches, my words striking a nerve, but his fury doesn’t waver. He rejects the reasoning entirely, shaking his head with an icy, stubborn finality. “I don’t care about your excuses. The outcome is exactly the same. I was kept away from my own son. You made that choice for me.”

“And I would make it again!” I throw back at him, my chin lifted high, my tone completely unyielding. “Look at you. I raised Ethan alone. I built this safe, quiet life for him brick by brick with my own hands. He’s my son. You don’t get to just stumble into my entryway, look at his eyes, and decide you have a place in our lives!”

“He’s a Rusnak,” Samuel growls, stepping so close I can feel the heat radiating from his chest. “That makes him mine, too.”

“He’s a Kang,” I hiss, stepping right into his chest, forcing him to look down at the sheer defiance burning in my eyes. “And you have no place here. Not now. Not ever.”

The air between us is thick with static, our breathing ragged as we stare each other down, neither of us willing to give an inch. The argument has reached its peak, a dangerous crescendo where the truth has been bared, and the battle lines have been drawn.

I don’t wait for him to recover his composure. I grab the heavy lapels of his tuxedo jacket once more, using the momentum of my anger to push him backward toward the front door. He’s twice my size, but the sheer force of my resolve catches him off guard. I wrench the deadbolt open, shove him out onto the rain-slicked porch, and slam the heavy wooden door shut.

I turn the lock with a sharp, violent click.

I lean my back against the wood, my chest heaving as a delayed tremor of pure adrenaline rushes through my veins. He’s gone. For now. But the foundations of my world have completely cracked open.

I’m still processing the echoing silence of the house, my mind racing through the terrifying implications of what Samuel might do next, when a sharp ping breaks the quiet.

My phone.

With trembling fingers, I pull it from my pocket. I expect a text from Maya, or perhaps a message from Kaplan.

Instead, the screen lights up with another text from an unknown, encrypted number.

My breath hitches as I read the words:

You should be more careful about the company you keep, Ashley. Why’s a man in your home? I don’t like that, my darling.

A cold, paralyzing drop of dread pools in my stomach. The room suddenly feels freezing.

This isn’t a random spam bot. It isn’t a pathetic attempt at mind games from a faceless stranger anymore. This message references Samuel directly. Whoever is sending these texts knows my name, knows where I live, and is actively watching my house. They saw him arrive.

For the first time since this nightmare began, a genuine flicker of unadulterated unease creeps into my chest. The walls of my fortress suddenly feel terrifyingly thin.

But I force my jaw to set, swallowing down the panic. I refuse to be terrorized in my own home. My thumb moves decisively across the glass, hitting the settings and completely blocking the encrypted number before tossing the device face down onto the counter. I won’t engage. I won’t give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

I stand alone in the dim light of the hallway, looking toward the closed door of my son’s bedroom. The quiet domesticity of my life is gone. I’m standing directly in the center of two rapidly emerging threats, and I’ll fight with all I have to preserve my life as it is now.

Chapter 12 – Samuel

The roaring engine of my blacked-out Dodge Charger is the only thing loud enough to drown out the violent, repeating thoughts screaming in my head.

I tear down the wet asphalt of the highway, the tires fighting for grip against the pooling rain, the speedometer climbing well past the limit. Inside the cabin, the stereo blasts a heavy, aggressive industrial metal track, the bass rattling the door panels and vibrating straight into my bones.

It’s a deliberate distraction. A desperate attempt to keep my mind from looping back to the image of those brilliant blue eyes.

“He’s yours, Samuel.”

“Fuck!” I slam my palm against the leather-wrapped steering wheel, the leather grooving under the white-hot grip of my knuckles.