Elara's breath caught in her throat.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs, each beat screaming: Run. But her legs wouldn't move. Her hands trembled at her sides as her eyes locked onto his—those sharp, steel-blue eyes that had haunted her dreams and twisted her nights into restless torment. And now here he was, standing in her doorway as if he belonged there.
She stepped back instinctively, her bare heels brushing the edge of the rug. "How... how did you find me?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding in her ears.
Nikolai didn't answer immediately. Instead, his gaze slid over the tiny studio apartment with detached disapproval, as if the idea of her living here was some cosmic offense. His lips curled faintly, a humorless smirk tugging at the corner.
"Did you really think I wouldn't find you if you ran and hid in a shoebox?" he asked, stepping inside without an invitation. His presence sucked the air from the room. "Lisbon? A cheap, unregistered apartment in a building owned by a half-deaf old man?" He clicked his tongue. "You should've picked a better hiding spot."
Elara's jaw clenched. "It was all I could afford."
"You shouldn't have had to afford anything. You were mine." His voice cracked at the edges. "Are mine."
She stood her ground, her spine straightening. "I was never yours, Nikolai. You just took me."
He laughed—sharp, bitter. "Don't start painting yourself like a saint, Elara. You drugged me. Lied to my face, made me believe we had a chance. You smiled at me, said we could start over, let me touch you. And then you ran."
"I had to." Her voice trembled, but she held her ground. "You wouldn't let me go. You wouldn't even let me breathe. I did what I had to do."
His hands raked through his hair in frustration, tugging slightly as he stepped closer. "So giving me false hope? That was your brilliant plan?"
She didn't answer. She just stared at him with fire in her eyes.
"Well, too bad," he said, his voice darkening. "Because I found you. And we're leaving. Now. My men are waiting downstairs. The jet is fueled. You're coming home."
"No." Her voice was cold and sure. "I'm not going anywhere with you. I would rather suffer here than live one more minute in your gilded prison."
"Elara…" he growled, but she didn't flinch.
"I am not your possession. I am not your prisoner. And you don't get to choose for me anymore."
The words hit him like a slap. He stared at her—fierce and blazing in the morning light—and something cracked behind his eyes.
Then, to her shock, he stepped back.
And sank to his knees.
Elara's breath caught. Her lips parted in disbelief.
"Nikolai—"
"Please," he said softly. Desperate. His knees hit the floor with a thud. "Elara, my love. The mother of my child… please come home. I can't do this without you." His voice broke. "I'll change. I'll give you anything. Just don't run again."
She stood frozen. Her heart pounded in her ears. She'd dreamed of breaking him—but this wasn't victory. This was a dangerous man breaking for love. And that was a different kind of terrifying.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her lips trembled. "I... I don't know what you expect me to say."
"Say yes," he whispered. "Say you'll come back with me. We'll figure it out. Whatever you want. Just... be with me."
She stared at him, vulnerable and kneeling—and for one fragile second, she saw the boy buried deep beneath the brutal man. The one who might've loved her if the world had been different.
But then she remembered the cage. The threats. The fear that still clung to her skin like sweat.
"No," she said quietly. "I'm not coming."
Nikolai's eyes snapped open. He clenched his jaw, and the storm returned. Dark. Furious. Absolute.
He stood slowly, like a beast rising from the ashes of its own plea. "So I really have to drag the mother of my child back home?" he said, his voice low and sharp.
"You wouldn't dare," she snapped.
"I would."
"No."
"I will," he said darkly, stepping forward. "Run again, and I'll break your legs. You think I won't love you in a wheelchair? Sweetheart, I'll carry you, push you, and still fucking worship you—so stop running."
Her hand curled into fists. "If you touch me, I'll scream. And if you break my legs, I'll cut your dick off."
That stopped him—but only for a second.
A breath. A smirk.
And then everything shifted.
With zero warning, he lunged forward, catching her around the waist and hoisting her over his shoulder in one swift, practiced move. Elara screamed, pounding her fists into his back. "Put me down, you psychotic bastard! Put me down!"
He didn't even flinch. His grip was solid, arms locked around her thighs like steel.
"Elara," he said calmly, turning toward the door, "I warned you. You ran. And now I'm taking you home."
"You're insane! You're a monster! I will bite you!"
"Go ahead, sweetheart. I've survived worse. And if you bite hard enough, maybe I'll even enjoy it."
She did. She sank her teeth into the meat of his shoulder. He grunted but didn't loosen his grip.
Outside the hallway, two of his men stood alert. One of them raised a brow at the sight of their boss carrying a furious, writhing woman like she was luggage.
"Get her things," Nikolai ordered coolly. "Everything. Now."
"Yes, sir."
Elara kicked, scratched, slapped—nothing worked. His hold was relentless. His stride didn't falter.
"I hate you! I hate you!"
"I know," he said. "But you'll hate me from home."
They disappeared down the stairwell. Her screams echoed in the building, but no one stopped him. No one even dared.
Because Nikolai Volkov didn't just get what he wanted.
He took it. And he never let it go.
The black luxury SUV cruised through the narrow streets of Lisbon, its tinted windows sealing the chaos within from the peaceful golden morning outside. Elara sat in the back seat, pressed as far into the door as she could get, her arms crossed tight over her chest like armor. Her eyes darted between the buildings they passed, memorizing routes, alleys, intersections—any possible escape she could use later.
Her body ached from the struggle. Her pride ached more.
"Stop the car," she snapped, her voice sharp and seething. "I'm serious. Stop the goddamn car or I will jump."
Nikolai, sitting beside her, turned his head slowly. He didn't look surprised—he looked amused, as if her resistance was something he expected. Relished, even.
"You going to threaten to jump out of the jet too?" he asked calmly, voice dipped in mockery.
Elara clenched her jaw, fury burning in her chest. "Fuck you," she spat, and before he could blink, she drove her fist into his chest.
Her punch landed hard—but his body barely shifted. It was like punching stone. She didn't care. She did it again. And then her fist slid lower—right into the side of his torso, where he'd been shot weeks ago. The wound had healed enough to be functional, but not enough to forget.
His body jerked slightly with the impact, his face twitching from the sharp sting.
He grabbed her wrist before she could hit the spot again, his fingers wrapping around her arm like a steel clamp. His eyes darkened—not with rage, but something colder. Possessive. Patiently unhinged.
"Enough," he growled. "You really want to test me today, Elara? Because I will remind you exactly who you belong to."
"I don't belong to anyone," she hissed.
His grip tightened. Just enough to hurt. Just enough to remind her that she was dealing with a man who didn't bluff.
"Elara," he said, his voice low and venomous, "if you don't start behaving, I will chain you to my bed and fuck you until your legs forget what it means to walk away from me. I'll take you so hard and so often, your only words will be yes, sir and please, more."
From the front passenger seat, Sergei cleared his throat loudly. The older man didn't even turn around, but his silence said everything. He'd heard this before—from Dimitri, decades ago, when he'd threatened similar things to Natalia. It was like watching history stretch its ugly hand into the present.
Like father, like son.
Nikolai leaned closer, dropping his voice further. "You think I'm bluffing, Elara? You've known me long enough to know what I do when someone takes what's mine. I burn cities for less. You want to test how far I'll go for you?"
Elara yanked her hand free, breathing hard. "You're a fucking psycho."
"I'm your psycho," he said without missing a beat, settling back against the leather seat like he hadn't just whispered a threat into her soul. "And until you accept that, you'll never have peace."
She turned away, heart pounding, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. Her fists clenched on her lap, trembling. She pressed her forehead against the window, watching Lisbon disappear behind them like a mirage she'd never touch again.
A minute passed in silence, thick and tense.
"I will never forgive you for this," she muttered. "Never."
"Forgiveness isn't necessary," Nikolai replied, his voice unnervingly calm now. "I don't need you to forgive me. I just need you to stay."
Her lip curled. "You really think you can keep me locked in your golden tower forever?"
He smirked slightly. "With enough security? Absolutely. But I won't need to. Because in time, you'll come to me willingly. That baby inside you… it will change everything."
"I could still get rid of it," she said coldly, knowing it was a dagger aimed for his heart.
The smirk vanished.
Nikolai's entire body went still. The quiet in the car turned deadly.
Then, slowly, he leaned in. "Try it," he whispered. "Try it, Elara. And I swear to every god that's ever existed, I'll make sure your world ends before the sun rises."
Sergei closed his eyes briefly, the only outward sign of tension.
Elara didn't reply. She didn't flinch either. She just stared at the horizon, unblinking, as if her defiance alone could shield her from the man beside her.
The airport came into view.
The private tarmac waited, a sleek black jet idling on the runway.
Nikolai reached over and grabbed her hand—not gently, but not bruising either. His voice was soft, but his grip was unbreakable.
"Time to go home, Elara."
"I hate you."
"You'll hate me from my bed then," he said smoothly, "but you will be in my bed."
He opened the door and got out first, dragging her with him as if she were nothing but a doll in his arms. She didn't scream anymore. There was no one to help her on this side of the world, and they both knew it.
But she didn't stop fighting.
Because this wasn't the end.
Not for her.
And not for what was growing inside her.