"No…" Elara whispered, her voice shaking, barely audible over the roar of panic in her chest. Her wide, horrified eyes locked onto Nikolai's as he stood in the clinic doorway like a phantom summoned by her worst nightmare.
The nurse beside her froze, her gloved hands trembling mid-air, clearly unsure whether to run, scream, or simply vanish into thin air.
"Get up," Nikolai growled, his tone low and sharp like a blade being unsheathed. His eyes, usually so guarded and cold, burned with fury—no, betrayal. His jaw was tight, nostrils flared, every muscle in his body radiating lethal restraint.
"No," Elara said defiantly, shaking her head slowly, stubborn tears building in her eyes. "This is my body. My choice. You—get out, Nikolai."
Her voice cracked but her will didn't. She had come here to take control, to escape the web he had spun around her life. But now he was here, and her worst fear had come true.
"I see how it is," he muttered, and the storm in his voice broke loose.
Before she could react, he moved. Fast. Too fast. Like a predator lunging for prey, he was suddenly at her side, gripping her wrist so tightly she gasped.
"Let go of me!" she screamed, struggling as he yanked her off the bed with no regard for the nurse or the sterile setting or her choice.
"Burn this damn place," he barked to the guards at the door without looking back.
The nurse let out a frightened gasp. "What? No—wait—please—"
"You can't do this!" Elara shrieked, kicking and struggling against him. "It's my decision! Nikolai, STOP!"
But he didn't stop. He didn't even flinch. His eyes were locked ahead, jaw clenched in fury. To him, this wasn't just defiance—it was betrayal.
Outside, one of the black SUVs was already running. He threw the door open and shoved her into the back seat, getting in after her. He slammed the door shut, the sound echoing through her bones.
"Drive," he barked.
The driver, a silent man with empty eyes, nodded and pulled away from the clinic.
"Nikolai, I—" Elara started.
"Shut up," he snapped. "We'll talk when we get home. Say one more word, Elara, and I swear on everything I own—I'll sedate you right now."
His voice was sharp and raw. It wasn't a threat. It was a promise.
Elara stared at him, stunned into silence, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. She pressed her back against the cold leather seat and blinked away tears that had already started falling.
The drive was silent. Agonizing. The kind of silence that made your skin crawl. He didn't look at her. She didn't try to speak again. The only sound was the quiet hum of tires on asphalt and the occasional crackle of the radio where the driver was receiving updates from someone—most likely the men who had stayed behind to "burn the damn place."
When they finally pulled into the underground parking lot of his penthouse, Elara felt numb. But that numbness quickly gave way to panic when Nikolai stepped out of the car and opened her door.
She didn't get out.
He didn't wait.
He reached in, gripped her arm again—not as violently this time, but still firm, still impossible to fight—and led her to the elevator.
Inside, she tried once more. "You're insane," she muttered.
"I told you not to talk."
When they got to the penthouse, he didn't even let her pause. He pushed her through the front door and straight toward his bedroom. She stumbled, still in the loose gown the clinic had made her wear, her bare legs cold against the marble floors.
He opened the door, guided her inside, and shut it behind them.
Then, he turned to face her.
His eyes were bloodshot. His fists clenched.
"What are you going to do?" she asked, trembling.
"What were you about to do?" he countered, his voice low. Dangerous. "You were going to kill my child, Elara."
"I was making a choice—the right choice!" she shouted back, tears spilling now. "You don't get to decide what happens in my body, Nikolai!"
"How long were you planning to keep this from me?" he asked, voice rising. "Were you going to just erase it and pretend it never happened?"
"I had to," she whispered. "I had no choice—you gave me no choice. You would have caged me."
He laughed bitterly. "You're damn right I would have! Because you were about to take away the only innocent thing in my goddamned life!"
Her eyes widened. She stepped back, her voice shaking. "How… How did you even know?"
"I knew the second you bought those tests," he said, his voice flat now. "Do you really think I wouldn't find out? I have men watching every street corner, Elara. Every pharmacy. Every move you make is seen. Heard. Tracked."
She scoffed bitterly. "Of course. Of course you do. You're a monster."
He didn't flinch.
"And the appointment?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
He nodded. "Tracked. The second the clinic confirmed the booking, I was informed. And I knew—I knew—that you would go through with it. You didn't even tell me, Elara. You were going to do it in secret."
"Because I knew you would do this!" she screamed. "You would take my decision away!"
"It's not just your decision!" he shouted back, slamming his fist into the wall. "You didn't make that child alone."
"This is my body—"
"I don't give a damn."
That was it. Raw. Real.
He stepped closer. Too close.
"You think I'll let you go through with it? I'll chain you to the bed before I let that happen."
She slapped him across the face. Hard.
He didn't react.
Instead, he stepped away, walked to his closet, and returned with a folded bundle of her clothes. He shoved them into her arms.
"Change out of that damn gown," he said coldly. "You're not leaving this room until you come to your senses."
"You're locking me in here?"
He didn't respond. He simply turned, walked out, and slammed the door shut. The heavy click of the lock was louder than a gunshot.
Alone now, Elara sank onto the edge of the bed, the clothes clutched to her chest. Her shoulders shook.
She was locked in.
Trapped.
And the weight of what was growing inside her had never felt heavier.
The sound of the door locking behind him echoed down the hallway like a shot to the chest. Nikolai stood there, frozen for a second, hand still on the knob, jaw clenched so tight it felt like it might snap. He didn't move until the pressure in his lungs forced him to exhale. The moment the breath escaped him, something inside him snapped loose.
He turned abruptly, eyes scanning the room like a storm searching for something to destroy. The first thing he saw was a tall glass vase—sleek, modern, expensive—and without hesitation, he grabbed it and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall in a brilliant explosion of glass and water, a few white flowers scattering like the remnants of his control. The crash echoed through the penthouse, but it did nothing to calm the fire roaring inside him.
He braced his hands on the wall, his head hanging between his arms as he tried to breathe through it. Tried to calm the pounding in his chest. It was no use.
His hands trembled. He never trembled.
He pushed away from the wall and staggered to the bar counter, yanking open the cabinet and grabbing the first bottle he saw. Vodka. Of course. He poured himself a glass, nearly overflowing it, and downed it in one go. The burn was sharp, unforgiving—almost as unforgiving as her words back in that clinic.
"It's my body. My choice."
God, that hurt. It sliced through him like a knife laced with poison. He didn't want to control her. Not like this. But he couldn't just let her walk into that clinic and erase the one thing that made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he could still have something good in this life. Something pure. Something innocent. Something that belonged to them.
A child.
Their child.
He set the glass down, hands splayed flat on the countertop, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His reflection in the dark glass of the cabinets above looked like a stranger—haunted eyes, clenched jaw, broken composure. His whole life, he'd been trained to suppress emotion. To hide it. But this? This was different.
This wasn't about pride.
This was about pain.
He ran a hand through his hair and paced, his mind racing faster than his heartbeat. He felt trapped inside his own head—looping over her face when she saw him in the clinic. That look of betrayal in her eyes, the tears that hovered but didn't fall. The way she told him to get out.
He could still hear her voice, trembling but defiant.
"You don't get to decide what happens in my body."
And she was right.
He knew she was right.
But he couldn't let her do it.
He wouldn't let her do it.
"I can't lose this," he whispered, dragging both hands down his face. "I can't lose her. Or the baby."
He slumped onto the couch, head falling back against the cushions, his arm thrown over his eyes as if to block out the world. But the images didn't stop. He saw her pregnant. He saw her smiling, glowing, maybe laughing at one of his terrible jokes while she rested her hand over her bump. He saw himself holding that baby, their baby, and maybe—just maybe—Elara falling in love with him all over again because of it.
Was it selfish?
Yes.
Was it cruel?
Maybe.
But when had he ever been allowed the luxury of choosing between right and wrong? His whole life was gray—blood and loyalty, silence and war.
Elara was the only thing that ever felt like light. And now, that light was threatening to leave him entirely.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the floor.
"I didn't ask for this," he whispered. "But I want it now. I want them. Her. The baby. I want them more than I've ever wanted anything in this life."
His voice cracked on the last word.
There was something terrifying in that realization. For years he'd been fine living as a shadow. As a soldier. As a man with no softness left. But she had ruined that for him. She had made him feel again. Made him want more.
He swallowed hard and rubbed at his eyes, then looked up at the locked door down the hall.
She hated him now.
She probably wouldn't forgive him for what he did. For dragging her out of that clinic like a criminal. For locking her up. For taking away the one thing she felt she still had control over.
But he would deal with that.
He would deal with her hatred.
He would endure her wrath. Her silence. Her distance.
If that was what it took to protect the life growing inside her.
If that was the price of saving their child, then he would pay it ten times over.
But God, it still hurt.