Chapter 17: The Test

I didn’t open the paternity kit for three days.

It sat on the nightstand like a loaded grenade.

Every time I reached for it, my hand shook so hard I had to pull back.

Czar never came home.

No calls. No messages. Just radio silence and an island full of guards who wouldn’t meet my eyes.

On the fourth morning, the doctor arrived.

Older woman. Swiss. Face like she’d seen every version of hell and still showed up to work.

She set her bag down, looked at the unopened kit, then at me.

“Mrs. Aslanov, we can do this two ways. Cheek swab now, results in six hours. Or I come back when you’re ready.”

I laughed: wet, broken.

“I’m never going to be ready.”

She waited.

I rolled up my sleeve.

She swabbed the inside of my cheek first, then laid out the second swab.

“The alleged father needs to provide a sample too,” she said gently.

“He’s… unavailable.”

She nodded like that wasn’t the first time she’d heard it.

“Then we can use the fetal cell-free DNA from your blood. Higher accuracy. Twenty ccs and we’ll know today.”

I stared at the needle.

“Do it.”

She drew the blood while I stared at the ceiling and counted heartbeats.

One for me.

One for the baby.

One for the man who might not be the father.

Six hours later she came back alone.

Sat across from me on the terrace.

Held out two envelopes.

One thick. One thin.

“Thick is the full report,” she said. “Thin is just the result.”

I took the thin one with fingers that didn’t feel like mine.

She stood.

“I’ll wait in the jeep. Take your time.”

The envelope trembled in my hand.

I walked to the edge of the infinity pool, sat on the warm stone, and tore it open.

One sheet. One line.

Probability of paternity: 99.9998 %

Czar Aleksandr Aslanov is the biological father.

The paper slipped from my fingers and floated on the water like a white flag.

I laughed: until I cried, until I screamed, until my throat was raw and the guards pretended not to hear.

The baby was his.

All of it: the terror, the chains, the island, the blood.

It was all for his child.

I was still sobbing when the satellite phone rang: the only one on the island that worked.

I answered on instinct.

“Eden.”

Czar’s voice. Rough. Exhausted. Alive.

“Where are you?” I choked out.

“Somewhere cold.” A pause. “Did you do the test?”

“Yes.”

Silence stretched so long I thought the line died.

“And?”

“It’s yours,” I whispered. “The baby is yours.”

I heard his breath hitch. Then a sound I’d never heard from him before.

A broken sob.

“Say it again.”

“It’s yours, Czar. Ours. One hundred percent.”

Another sound: like he’d dropped to his knees.

“I killed him,” he said quietly. “Nathaniel. Two nights ago. I needed to be sure before I—”

“He’s dead?”

“Very.”

Relief and grief crashed over me at once.

“I wish you’d waited,” I said. “I wanted to see his face when he learned the truth.”

“I didn’t.” His voice hardened. “I couldn’t risk him ever breathing the same air as you and my child again.”

I closed my eyes.

“Come home,” I begged.

“I am home,” he said. “Open the front door.”

I dropped the phone.

Ran barefoot through the house, past guards who stepped aside with small smiles.

Threw the door open.

He stood there in black tactical gear, covered in blood that wasn’t his, three days of beard, eyes red from no sleep.

He looked like war.

He looked like mine.

I launched myself at him.

He caught me, arms banding so tight my ribs protested, face buried in my neck.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped over and over. “I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I ever doubted. I’m sorry for every time I made you cry.”

I kissed him: salt, blood, gunpowder, relief.

He carried me inside, kicked the door shut, didn’t stop until we were in the bedroom.

He laid me down like I was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

Then he knelt between my legs, pressed his forehead to my stomach.

“Hello, little lion,” he whispered to the bump. “Daddy’s home. And I swear on my life, no one will ever threaten you again.”

The baby kicked: hard, right against his cheek.

He laughed: wet, stunned, perfect.

Then he looked up at me, eyes shining.

“Marry me again.”

I blinked. “We’re already married. Twice.”

“I don’t care. Third time’s the charm. On the beach. Tomorrow. Just us, the doctor, and the priest I’m flying in. I want to say vows that aren’t soaked in threats and blood.”

I cupped his face.

“Yes.”

He kissed my stomach once more, then crawled up my body, hovered over me.

“I love you,” he said, clear and steady. “Not because you’re mine. Because I’m yours. And I’m done fighting it.”

I pulled him down until our foreheads touched.

“Prove it.”

He did.

Slow.

Tender.

Devastating.

He made love to me like a man who’d looked death in the face and chosen life instead.

After, he held me against his chest, fingers tracing the curve of my belly.

“We’re leaving the island next week,” he said quietly. “New country. New names. Clean start.”

I nodded, tears slipping into his skin.

“What about the empire?”

“Burning it down as we speak. Everything that can hurt us dies with Nathaniel.”

I closed my eyes.

Peace.

Real peace.

For the first time in years.

But peace with Czar Aslanov is never free.

It’s paid for in blood, secrets, and the kind of love that leaves scars.

And somewhere in the world, a new envelope was already on its way.

This one with a different handwriting.

This one addressed to Czar.

Because monsters never stay dead.

And some debts are inherited.

To be continued…