All Chapters of His Son, Her Secret: Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

I came down the stairs at seven a.m., my steps slow on the oak wood that felt too expensive—and far too quiet—for the storm inside my chest. The sound of waves drifted in from afar through a slightly cracked window, filling the air with sea salt and cool mist. Morning light slipped softly into the living room, brushing over thick rugs and cream velvet couches that looked like they belonged in an architecture magazine.The Romanov villa in Carmel… was too perfect.Too still.And for the first time since last night, I was thankful for that.No heavy footsteps on the floor.No clinking glasses.No low voice saying my name in that way that short-circuited my entire nervous system.No Pascha.I let out a quiet sigh—half relief, half disbelief. I wasn’t ready this morning. Not for his stare. Too honest. Too lit. Too full of history.I made my way to the kitchen. The interior looked like something out of another world—gray marble counters veined with white like paintings, dark wood cabinets

Pascha drove with one hand, the other occasionally reaching out to the dashboard to change the music as he pleased. For most of the drive, he whistled and, much to my annoyance, kept looking at me, smugly.I leaned my head against the window. “Stop looking at me like that.”“Like what?” His voice was casual.“Like you know something I don’t.”He chuckled . “But I do know something you don’t, Mrs. Romanov.”I rolled my eyes. “You’re not going to stop calling me that, are you?”“Nope,” he said, without a hint of guilt. “Because now it’s official. Legal. And you can’t undo it just by... rolling your eyes like that.”I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to erase every trace of exhaustion and leftover emotion from the night before. I still hadn’t fully processed it all. That I was now... his wife.My house came into view in the distance. The ocean shimmered gold behind it. And as always, Pascha’s mansion loomed next door, a constant reminder that I’d never really be able to escape him.

I pressed the red button, ended the video call, and let my phone drop onto the couch. I held my breath for a moment, head bowed, eyes locked on the wooden floor like I was hoping an answer would rise from the cracks between the planks.“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”The voice was deep, heavy, and too close.I jolted. My head snapped up.Pascha was standing in the doorway of my room, one shoulder resting casually against the frame, but his eyes… sharp. Serious. Eyes that looked at me like they could read every layer I’d carefully kept hidden all this time.I let out a quiet sigh, turning my face away for a second. “How long have you been standing there?”“Long enough,” he answered without hesitation. “Long enough to know you’re hiding something… important.”I looked away again. “I’m not hiding anything. I just—”“Just what?” he cut in, voice rising slightly but still in control. He pushed the door, already half open, a little farther and stepped inside, now just a few steps away

“Tetya,” Mischa’s voice was soft and sharp, “you’re staring at that batter like you want to pick a fight with it.”I blinked. “Huh?”“That pancake’s innocent,” she went on seriously, her chin lifted. “Don’t blame it for your life.”Max nodded solemnly, even though his mouth was full of banana. “Yeah. Blame Daddy. He’s the one who makes Mommy stressed out.”“I heard that,” Pascha’s voice came from the dining room.I flipped the pancake, ignoring the dull throb in my temple that had started ever since that message came in.“Tetya,” Mischa peeked out from behind the breakfast bar, narrowing her eyes. “You look... weird.”I turned to her, trying to smile. “Weird how?”“Like a cat who saw its own shadow and is now convinced the world’s ending.”I couldn’t help a small laugh. This kid always had the most ridiculous, and most accurate, metaphors.“I’m just a little tired,” I replied, setting the pan down and starting to plate the first pancake.Mischa leaned over the table, inspecting the pa

Belva.My laptop glowed bright, a mess of HTML code, Python scripts, and encryption apps mashed together in a way that could give anyone a migraine in five minutes.Unfortunately, Kiano and I had been staring at it for almost two hours.“I feel like we’re trying to hack the Pentagon,” I muttered, massaging the bridge of my nose.Kiano didn’t answer. He just kept typing furiously, eyes squinting, laser-focused on the screen. The monitor’s light reflected off his slightly crooked round glasses. His hoodie sleeves were pushed up to the elbows, and he leaned into the desk with the kind of posture that, if not for the tech frustration, could almost pass as cool to a freshman crowd.I finally collapsed onto the couch, pulled a thin blanket over my legs, and let the laptop fend for itself.“I give up for now. I need... motivation,” I mumbled, pulling out my phone and opening my chatbox with Pascha.A video of Max and Mischa from Pascha lit up the screen. Max was showing off a DIY robot while