All Chapters of I Surrender to Them: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

Luther GreenThe training basement always smelled of leather, metal, and effort. Today, the scent was mixed with childish laughter and the faint aroma of residual gunpowder from previous sessions. I observed everything from the back wall, arms crossed, analyzing every movement the way I did with any operation.Faina stood on the elevated platform, cup of tea in her hands, but I knew her mind wasn’t there. Her eyes kept returning to the corner where Michael Holloway watched everything in silence.I was watching the boy too.Fourteen years old. Hungry eyes. The posture of someone who had learned to survive on the streets. Good potential. But the way he looked at Darya… that bothered me deeply.Zedekiah opened the dark wooden box.

Faina GreenThe days following my conversation with Darya and the boys were marked by a silent tension that only I seemed to feel.The house routine continued, apparently normal. In the mornings, the quintuplets invaded the kitchen like a tiny hungry army. In the afternoons, training is in the basement. At night, long dinners with Pyotr telling old Bratva stories and my five husbands exchanging discreet glances every time Michael entered the room.I observed everything.Darya kept her promise… at first.During training, she kept her distance. She only spoke when necessary and only corrected his posture when Zedekiah or Heros asked. But I noticed the small details she thought no one saw: the way she smiled when Michael hit a difficult target, the slight blush on her cheeks when he praised her throw, the quick glances they exchanged when t

Faina GreenThe following months passed in a blur of silent tension that only I seemed to feel with clarity.Darya was fifteen now. Fifteen years old, with a woman’s body beginning to take shape and the mind of a girl who still thought she could hide everything from me. I saw the small but impossible-to-ignore changes: the way she took longer to come down from her room after training, the phone she now kept face-down at all times, the smile that appeared on her face only when Michael entered the room.And the worst part: the way she was starting to lie.“It was just extra training, Mom,” she would say, her green eyes avoiding mine as she holstered her knife.And the lie was always the same — a phrase already memorized, one

Faina GreenI didn’t sleep that night.The images of the purple bruises on Darya’s pale skin wouldn’t leave my head. Each mark felt like a direct accusation against me — against us — for letting Michael into our home.By morning, I had already confronted my daughter three times.The first was right after breakfast. I pulled her into the office before she could go down for training.“Show me your arms, Darya.”She crossed her arms, stubborn, her green eyes blazing with anger.“Mom, stop it. I already told you it wasn’t him. It’s from the heavy training. I’m too pale and anything marks me.&rdqu

Faina GreenDarya stood frozen for long seconds that night, her body trembling with rage and pain. Then she dropped the suitcase to the floor with a dull thud and ran up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door hard enough to make the chandelier shake.I stayed there in the middle of the hall, feeling my chest tight.I had just saved my daughter from a monster.And in the process, I had perhaps become one to her.The following years were the hardest of our lives.Michael’s death (officially declared a “disappearance”) left a deep wound in Darya. She spent months in silence, then in open rebellion. She screamed, cried, and locked herself in her room for days. There were nights when I slep