Semua Bab His Son, Her Secret: Bab 251 - Bab 260

I stood by the bedroom window, staring out at the Medellín sky as it burned slowly into gold. But my mind wasn’t there.Max.It had been two weeks since I last saw his eyes. Since I last ran my fingers through his hair. And somehow… my body knew it. Some part of me refused to heal while he was still so far away.I turned around. Pascha stood in the doorway, his black suit jacket open, phone in hand.“The jet’s ready,” he said simply.I nodded. No “Are you sure?” or “Do you want to rest a little longer?” Because he knew...I couldn’t stay here any longer.Kyara and Aurora were already pulling their luggage. Mikaela was speaking quietly with my mom in the living room, their voices hushed like a prayer. My father stood on the upper balcony, arms crossed, staring into the courtyard like a war general who had lost every victory.“Everyone’s coming?” I asked as we walked toward the car.Pascha nodded. “Your parents too. Your father wants to talk to mine. And your mother… she won’t stay far f

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’

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

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

I slipped back into Pascha’s room after making sure Mischa and Max were fed and half-asleep from the tiny war they’d waged in the lounge with Clara.Pascha was already curled up in bed like a lazy burrito, the hospital blanket tucked up to his chin. His eyes narrowed the second he saw me standing in the doorway with a cup of tea in hand.“Bee,” he groaned, raspy, and dripping with manipulative drama. “I think… I’m going to die tonight.”I raised an eyebrow. “You had porridge, soup, and you’ve been complaining every two hours. That doesn’t qualify as ‘near death.’”He sighed dramatically, then shifted slightly to face me. In a whisper that was equal parts theatrical and pathetic, he said, “I need… my wife’s touch to fall asleep in peace.”I snorted, setting the tea down on the side table. “Your wife’s touch, or Max’s cookie stash in the left drawer?”He gave a crooked smile, half mischief, half something I could never quite read. “Both.”I laughed quietly and sat down on the edge of hi