Chapter 16: The Ghost Who Never Died

The letter arrived on a Tuesday.

Plain white envelope. No stamp. Delivered by hand.

I found it on the breakfast table while Czar was in the gym, punching a bag until his knuckles bled.

My name was written in ink I recognised instantly.

Nathaniel.

My first love.

The boy I’d planned to run away with before Czar burned that future to the ground.

The boy who supposedly died in a car bomb five years ago.

I opened it with shaking hands.

Inside: one sheet of thick paper and a single photograph.

The photo was me, asleep on the island, three weeks pregnant, sun on my face.

Taken from inside the house.

The letter was short.

Eden,

The baby is mine.

Ask your husband about the night in London, two months before Santorini.

He knows.

I’m coming for what’s mine.

—N

My stomach dropped through the floor.

I was still staring at the words when Czar walked in, sweat-soaked, towel around his neck.

He took one look at my face and went predator-still.

“What is it?”

I couldn’t speak. Just held out the letter.

He read it in three seconds.

Then he crushed the paper in his fist like he could erase it from existence.

“He’s dead,” he said, voice flat.

“Apparently not.”

Czar’s eyes went to the photograph.

His jaw flexed so hard I heard it.

“He was in this house.”

It wasn’t a question.

He turned and walked out.

I followed.

He went straight to the security wing, kicked the door open, roared at the head guard in Russian so violent the man went white.

Every camera feed from the past month was pulled.

They found it in under ten minutes.

A blind spot in the east corridor.

A shadow that moved wrong at 2:14 a.m. three weeks ago.

A man in black, face covered, slipping into our bedroom while we slept.

He stood over the bed for forty-three seconds.

Then he left.

Czar watched the footage on loop, fists clenched so tight blood dripped from where his nails cut his palms.

“He touched you,” he whispered.

“He didn’t,” I said. “He just… watched.”

Czar turned to me, eyes black with rage.

“He’s going to die screaming.”

I grabbed his arm.

“Czar, stop. We need to think. If Nathaniel is alive—”

“He’s not Nathaniel.” His voice cracked like a whip. “He’s a ghost with a death wish.”

I stepped closer.

“Listen to me. He says the baby is his. London. Two months before Santorini. What happened in London?”

Czar went very, very still.

Then he looked away.

The silence was worse than shouting.

“Tell me,” I said.

He dragged a hand over his face.

“You were gone. Three weeks. You’d run to Amara after the cellar incident. I was… losing my mind. Drunk. High. I don’t even remember the club.”

He met my eyes, raw.

“I woke up in a hotel with a woman I didn’t know. I paid her to disappear. I thought it was nothing.”

My heart stopped.

“But Nathaniel—”

“I had him killed two weeks later,” Czar said quietly. “He’d started asking questions about you. I thought he was a threat. I ordered the bomb.”

He laughed, bitter and broken.

“Turns out I killed the wrong man.”

I backed away until my spine hit the wall.

“You’re saying… you might not be the father?”

His eyes filled with something I’d never seen before.

Terror.

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

I slid down the wall, hands over my stomach.

The baby kicked: hard, like it knew we were talking about it.

Czar dropped to his knees in front of me.

“Listen to me.” His voice shook. “Even if— even if the blood says something else, this child is mine. I don’t give a fuck about DNA. You’re my wife. You’re carrying my legacy. I will love this baby until my last breath.”

I looked at him through tears.

“And if it’s his?”

He cupped my face, thumbs wiping the tears.

“Then I’ll love it harder. To make up for the father it should never have to know.”

He kissed my forehead, my eyes, my lips.

“I will rewrite the stars if I have to, Eden. But you and this child are my family. Nothing changes that.”

I clung to him, sobbing into his chest.

He held me until the storm inside quieted.

Then he stood, pulled me up, and carried me to the bedroom.

He laid me down, stripped us both, and made love to me like he was trying to erase the past with his body.

Slow.

Deep.

Desperate.

After, he kept me tucked against him, one hand on my belly.

“We do the test,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow. Private lab. I fly the doctor in.”

I nodded against his chest.

“And Nathaniel?”

His voice turned to ice.

“He’s already dead. He just hasn’t stopped breathing yet.”

That night I dreamed of two men standing over a crib.

One with Czar’s eyes.

One with Nathaniel’s smile.

And a baby who looked at both and called them both “Daddy.”

I woke screaming.

Czar was already gone.

On the pillow: a note in his handwriting.

Gone to end this.

Stay inside.

I love you more than vengeance.

Remember that.

I ran to the window.

The yacht was gone.

The horizon was empty.

And on the nightstand sat a new paternity test kit.

Still sealed.

Waiting for the truth that might destroy us both.

To be continued…