Chapter 2 - Shadows of the PastThe Volkov estate in upstate New York was less of a home and more of a fortress surrounded by twelve-foot stone walls, armed guards, and black attack dogs that prowled the perimeter.
I was given a luxurious suite on the second floor, directly connected to the nursery. Everything was made of silk, marble, and polished mahogany. Yet, every window was reinforced with bulletproof glass.
That night, as I rocked Mia to sleep in her crib, the heavy oak door swung open. Michael stepped in, having shed his suit jacket. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the intricate black ink sprawling across his chest and collarbone—tattoos depicting dragons, broken chains, and Eastern European syndicate symbols.
"She hasn't cried once since you took her," Michael said, standing in the doorway, a glass of dark amber whiskey in his hand.
"She was starved, Michael," I said softly, refusing to look him in the eye. "Where was her mother? Why was a baby left without food for ten hours?"
A dark shadow crossed Michael's sharp features. His jaw clenched tight enough to snap glass.
"Mia’s mother... left," he said coldly. "She decided the Volkov name came with too many enemies and not enough freedom. She abandoned Mia on my doorstep three days ago and vanished."
"She abandoned her own baby?" I gasped, the grief for my own lost twin boys surging back like a wave of acid. "How could anyone leave a child behind?"
"Because some people are born without a soul," Michael answered, stepping closer until he stood directly behind me. I could feel the heat radiating from his massive chest. "Unlike you. You gave life to a stranger's child without asking for a single thing in return."
"I want to go home, Michael," I pleaded, turning to face him. "Please. I'm grateful I could help, but this isn't my world."
Michael set his glass on the nightstand and leaned down until his lips were inches from my ear. "You think you want to go home, Emily. But if you go back to that empty house, the silence will kill you. I see the pain in your eyes. You’re dying inside. Let me keep you alive."
Just then, my phone—which had been left on the dresser—vibrated violently.
May you like
I rushed over and picked it up. An unknown number had sent a single text message:
"Get out of the house now, Emily. Michael Volkov didn't save you. He killed your husband."
