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CCXLV : My Face on Every Wall
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2025-06-26 21:36:27
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His Son, Her Secret CCLVIII : slow-motion heroes
This room… was far too big to be called a hospital room. The ceiling stretched high above us, the glass windows opened onto a private garden, and the sheer white curtains fluttered gently in the breeze from a near-silent ventilation system. The walls didn’t look anything like a hospital’s, they looked more like a five-star hotel suite.And all of it… was because of one name.Romanov.The hospital director greeted us last night with a smile so tight, I was convinced he iced his face the moment we left. Within five minutes, the entire upper wing of the hospital was cleared and sanitized. Nurses were switched out. Two specialists were called in at four in the afternoon.All because Alexandr Romanov said, “My son will be here.”Now, that son was sitting up in bed like a spoiled patient who’d watched too much daytime TV.Pascha was wearing a loose white t-shirt and joggers, a blanket draped over his lap. A tray of hospital chicken porridge sat on a movable table across his bed.“Who made t
His Son, Her Secret CCLVII : You're Alive. You're Alive. You're Alive.
He dragged me sideways down the hall. My feet scraped through shattered glass and twisted metal, my knees catching on the floor. I struggled, twisted, punched at his arm, but Ben slammed me against the wall like I was just an inconvenience.“We’re leaving. Now.”“Let me go!” I hit his chest. “You’re fucking insane! You think this...”Part of the wall behind us exploded. Dust and stone rained down. Gunfire erupted from both sides, flashing light against the smoke. Screams echoed in Russian and Spanish like war drums slamming into the corridor.“You’re completely fucking insane!” I screamed, slamming my elbow into his jaw.He staggered back, just for a moment but his hand locked around my wrist again, dragging me faster toward the back exit.“Don’t make me hurt you!” he hissed.Behind us, Pascha and Rafael pushed through the haze, bullets whizzing past. Calvin emerged from the right, firing at two of Los Sombras’ men running along the upper level.“HANDS IN THE AIR!” Rafael shouted. “DO
His Son, Her Secret CCLVI : sirens in my veins
Our footsteps echoed down the long, narrow corridor, thick with the stench of old metal, burnt oil, and rust. The flickering overhead lights cast our shadows across the cracked walls, leaping like hunted silhouettes.Mikaela was half-dragged by Jullian, her body still weak, but her eyes, now fully open, were wide with panic. Her breath came fast and shallow, one arm wrapped around her belly with an instinctual protectiveness that beat out the pain.I walked ahead of them, while Ben… moved like a ghost behind me. His steps made no sound, but his presence clung to the back of my neck like a dark shadow that refused to lift.“This way,” Ben muttered. “Back emergency stairs. Car’s waiting past the gate.”Every word from his mouth made my stomach turn.The building felt like an abandoned warzone. Cracked walls, groaning floors, and every door looking like it might be booby-trapped. But we kept.One more turn.A heavy steel door opened into a loading dock.And suddenly—Everything exploded.
His Son, Her Secret CCLV : False Gold, True Blood
The heavy iron door slammed shut in the distance, its metallic clang echoing like a countdown ticking backward.Ben had gone. Called out by someone, one of his men, maybe. They spoke quickly in a language I didn’t understand. But his tone… it was alert. Like something had veered off course.I lowered my gaze, still holding Mikaela, who was either asleep or unconscious. My hand moved gently over her belly. Every second felt like waiting for the aftershock of a disaster that hadn’t finished yet.And then... the door creaked again.Footsteps. Slow. But heavy enough to know it wasn’t just the wind.I turned instantly, my breath caught in my throat.Jullian.I almost didn’t recognize his face in the dim yellow light but that body, that posture, that gaze that always lingered too long on mine...“What...?” I breathed, voice cracking. “You?!”He stopped. Didn’t step any closer. His hands were empty, but his face... was pulled tight between regret and fear.“Belva,” he said quietly. “I...I di
His Son, Her Secret CCLIV : Duct Tape and Devotion
I stood in front of the mirror. My hair was still damp, left loose without much effort.In my bag, the phone felt like a ticking bomb. Ben’s message was still there—along with that photo of Mikaela that twisted my stomach into knots, like barbed wire coiled around my gut.Every step felt like walking on shards of glass. I pulled on my long wool coat and reached for my car keys from the small bowl on the entry table. But before I could grab the handle, a deep voice called from the study.“Bee?”Pascha.I turned slowly. He stood in the doorway, one hand holding his coffee mug, those gray eyes of his scanning my face sharply.“Where are you going?”I swallowed, and with a one-second performance that felt like it lasted a lifetime, I gave him a light smile. Almost lazy.“I’m meeting Kiano,” I said quickly. “He happens to be in Russia. Said he’s helping a friend with some... security project. And, well... he wanted to meet. Just for a bit.”Pascha raised an eyebrow. “Kiano?”I nodded. “Yea
His Son, Her Secret CCLIII : a Pulse Too Still
The smell of melting butter and toasted bread greeted me before I even opened my eyes. The Russian chill still clung to the windows, but the Romanov mansion kitchen felt like a little world that refused to freeze over.Clara stood by the stove, hair tied in a quick ponytail, one hand flipping pancakes while the other stirred caramel sauce in a small saucepan. Mischa was perched on a step stool, holding out a jar of marshmallows with a deadly serious expression.“If Max gets two marshmallows, so do I,” he said. “Justice starts at breakfast.”Natalia, wearing a rose-patterned apron and hands full of bread dough, snorted as she sprinkled a pinch of salt into the mix. “Justice doesn’t count when you ate nine last night.”“Eight. The ninth one fell,” Mischa replied calmly.My mom was sitting on a tall chair near the window, a cup of tea in hand, occasionally glancing at Max, who was busy drawing a spaceship on baking paper. The kid had been wearing his toy helmet since he woke up and hadn’
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