MasukViktor's voice droned on. Alexander's jaw ached from clenching.Elena shifted in her seat. Crossed her legs. Uncrossed them. Her cheeks were still pink, and he watched her press a hand to her throat, to the pulse point that betrayed how fast her heart was racing.She's remembering too.She's remembering everything.Viktor paused. Glanced at his daughter. "Elena? Your section."She blinked. Swallowed. Nodded. Then she reached for the buttons of her emerald green blazer and slipped it off her shoulders.The dress beneath was the same color as the blazer. The same color as the engagement ring on her finger. It hugged her frame, cut to reveal the bare shoulders that had haunted his dreams, and it did nothing—nothing to hide the small, unmistakable swell of her belly.Alexander's world stopped.Oh noNo…Fourteen weeks. He'd calculated it obsessively. Lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, running the numbers. Fourteen weeks since the gala. Fourteen weeks since he'd buried himself i
The door clicked shut behind him. Alexander's phone was still pressed to his ear, Chen's voice droning about the NovaStart lead, when his gaze swept the conference table and stopped.Dead stopped.The phone slipped from his fingers. Clattered against the floor. He didn't hear it.Elena.Her name surfaced like a man breaching water after too long submerged. Her face—that face he'd chased through fragments and dreams and grainy security footage—was staring back at him from across the room. Dark hair pinned back now, not spilling over bare shoulders. Emerald green blazer over an emerald green dress showing a beautiful amount of cleavage instead of burgundy. But the eyes. Those beautiful bright green eyes, locked on his with an intensity that stopped his heart.Memories detonated behind his ribs.Her laugh on the dance floor. The way she'd swayed in his arms, her body warm and trusting. The jewelry store her sharp intake of breath when he'd produced the emerald ring. The weight of her han
Cliff Barlow's morning had already gone sideways by 8:47 a.m.The quarterly projections for ParaPharma sat on his desk, untouched. His coffee had gone cold sometime around six, when Chen's forensic accounting team sent their third request for documentation on the phantom supplier accounts. And Demetri's deadline—the one that had started at seventy-two hours and kept extending, kept bleeding, kept consuming every waking moment of Cliff's existence—had passed four times now, each extension costing him more than money.His phone buzzed. Another blocked number. Another photo of Maya, this time with a bruise flowering across her collarbone and a newspaper dated yesterday.Proof of life, the text read. Last extension. Seventy-two hours. Deliver or we deliver her in pieces.Cliff deleted the message. Deleted the photo. Pressed his palms against his desk and breathed through the nausea that had become as constant as his own heartbeat.The merger meeting. He had to survive the merger meeting.
He threw the sheets aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, planting his feet firmly on the hardwood floor. Sleep had offered no relief. It never did anymore.The dreams had become relentless. Not the desert. Not the explosions. Not the ghosts of black ops missions that had haunted him for years. Now it was her. Always her.A laugh he couldn't remember hearing outside his dreams. Soft fingers tangled in his hair. Warm skin beneath his palms. The whispered way she'd said his name as though she'd known him forever.Alexander stalked toward the bathroom without a glance behind him. He stepped beneath the shower and turned the handle as far as it would go. Cold water exploded over his shoulders.It beat against his chest, rolled down the hard planes of his abdomen, and over the rigid length of him that refused to soften despite the icy torrent. He closed his eyes.Her mouth. Her smile. The curve of her hip beneath his hand. He gritted his teeth. No. He wasn't doing this again.
The morning of the ultrasound, Elena woke before the alarm. Her hand found the curve of her belly in the dark—fourteen weeks, still barely a swell, more a secret between her body and the bathroom mirror. She’d spent the night chasing fragments again. His voice, low and rough, promising to catch her. His hands, patient on her hips. The way he’d looked at her in the jewelry store like she was the answer to a question he’d stopped asking.She could almost see his face now. Almost. The silver temples, the dark blue eyes she knew those details the way she knew the emerald on her finger. But the whole picture wouldn’t hold. It flickered at the edges, a puzzle with one piece missing.Helena’s voice echoed from six weeks ago: Seventy-five percent recovery with triggers. Elena was well past seventy-five now. The chapel. The vows. The way he’d knelt on the Vegas sidewalk. The way he’d whispered forever and always against her throat as she shook apart beneath him. All of it lived in her now, viv
She really said that. And then she told me to stop pacing and go buy her pickles." A smile ghosted across his weathered face. "You were the best thing that ever happened to us, Elena. The absolute best thing. If this baby is even half the person you are, the world will be lucky to have them."A tear slid down her cheek. Then another. Viktor leaned forward and caught them with his thumb, the way he'd done when she was seven and scraped her knee, When she was ten and broke her arm, when she was twelve and her mother died. When she was sixteen and a boy had broken her heart."I am so proud of you," he said, his voice a rough scrape. "The grace you've shown. The maturity. The way you've handled a situation that would shatter most people. Your mother—" He stopped. Swallowed. Started again. "Lucia would be so proud. She'd look at you right now, standing in the wreckage of someone else's cruelty, and she'd see the strongest woman she ever known."Elena's composure cracked. A sob escaped, the







