Chapter 2 - The Man Who Said He Never Wanted Children
We returned to the penthouse under heavy security.
I hated it.
Dorian knew I hated it.
The elevator required three separate codes. Two armed guards stood outside our private floor. The hallway cameras had been doubled. An employee I did not recognize remained posted beside the stairwell.
I stopped before entering.
“This is exactly what I was talking about.”
Dorian turned.
“What?”
“This.”
I gestured toward the guards.
“I told you I didn’t want to live like this.”
“And someone followed you to a hospital.”
“You think putting ten armed men outside my bedroom fixes that?”
“No.”
“Then what does?”
He looked at me.
“Me.”
I stared at him.
“That answer used to make me feel safe.”
“And now?”
“Now it makes me feel trapped.”
He absorbed that without arguing.
Then he turned toward the guards.
“Leave the floor.”
They exchanged looks.
“All of you.”
The guards withdrew.
I looked at him in surprise.
He took off his jacket.
“Happy?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you shouldn’t have had to surrender your security just to prove you heard me.”
He looked at me for several seconds.
“You’re right.”
That sentence was becoming dangerously addictive.
Dorian took a bottle of water from the kitchen.
“Sit.”
I raised an eyebrow.
He immediately corrected himself.
“Please sit.”
I almost laughed.
“You sound like you’re learning a foreign language.”
“I am.”
I sat.
He remained standing.
The ultrasound folder rested on the table between us.
Neither of us touched it.
Finally I said, “You told me you never wanted children.”
“I said children were dangerous.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
“Did you mean it?”
His expression changed.
“I meant I was afraid.”
I looked at him.
“Of children?”
“Of loving something I could not control.”
I knew what he meant.
His world had taught him that everything could be used as leverage.
A company.
A bank account.
A family member.
A wife.
A child.
“I thought you didn't want a family.”
“I didn't believe I deserved one.”
That answer hurt more than I expected.
He sat across from me.
“My father had two rules.”
“What were they?”
“Never trust anyone.”
“And the second?”
“Never give someone the power to destroy you.”
I looked at him.
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It was.”
“And you married me anyway.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked directly at me.
“Because you were the first person I met who never wanted anything from me.”
“That isn't true.”
“What did you want?”
“Flowers.”
His mouth twitched.
“You wanted flowers.”
“And breakfast.”
“And breakfast.”
“And five minutes without somebody following me.”
“I failed badly at that one.”
I smiled despite myself.
The moment passed.
Then his phone rang.
His expression changed immediately.
“Luca.”
He listened.
“Say it again.”
He stood.
“What vehicle?”
A pause.
“Where?”
I felt the room get colder.
“What happened?” I asked.
He did not answer until the call ended.
“My house in Bellweather was breached.”
I knew Bellweather.
It was the property where we had spent our first Christmas together.
The place I had always loved because it was the one location that felt separate from Dorian's empire.
“What did they take?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why break in?”
He looked at me.
“They left something.”
He handed me a photograph.
It showed the outside of St. Marcel’s.
Me.
Dorian.
The date.
And across the bottom, written in black marker:
ONE CHILD. ONE DEBT.
I stared.
My blood turned cold.
Dorian took it from me.
“Pack a bag.”
“No.”
“We're leaving.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere you can't be found.”
“I can't just disappear.”
“You can.”
“I have work.”
“No.”
“My sister—”
“Your sister is already in a secure location.”
I stood.
“You moved her?”
“I moved her before we left the hospital.”
“You had no right.”
“She is safer now.”
“I told you—”
“I know.”
His voice was low.
“I know what you think I do when I'm afraid.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“Take control.”
He looked at me.
“And right now, Alina, I am terrified.”
The admission silenced me.
He crossed the room.
“I have enemies who have spent years trying to find the one thing I care about.”
He looked at my stomach.
“They now know I have two.”
My heart pounded.
“Two?”
“You.”
“And the baby?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
Dorian lowered his voice.
“That's why I pushed you away.”
I frowned.
“When?”
“All those months.”
“Why?”
“Because six months ago I found out someone inside my organization had been giving information to my enemies.”
I went still.
“You never told me.”
“I couldn't.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn't know how deep it went.”
He explained that every time I had been told he was working late, he had actually been investigating his own people.
Every canceled dinner.
Every missed anniversary.
Every night he came home after two in the morning.
He had been chasing a leak.
“And you thought pushing me away would protect me.”
“Yes.”
“So you made me hate you.”
His eyes dropped.
“Yes.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You succeeded.”
“I know.”
“What if you had told me?”
“I was afraid you'd stay.”
I looked at him.
“And that was bad?”
He stared at the floor.
“If you stayed because you were afraid to leave, then I had become exactly what I swore never to become.”
My anger faltered.
He had not wanted to own me.
He had wanted me away from him.
He had simply been terrible at explaining why.
I whispered, “Who is the traitor?”
“We don't know.”
“And the photograph?”
“Someone wants me to know the pregnancy changes the rules.”
A knock sounded.
Dorian immediately moved in front of me.
The door opened.
Luca entered.
“We found the photographer.”
Dorian's expression tightened.
“Who?”
“Marcel Vane.”
I saw Dorian's face go completely blank.
“Impossible.”
“What?”
“Marcel is dead.”
Luca nodded.
“That’s what makes it strange.”
He placed a file on the table.
Inside was a recent photograph of Marcel Vane.
Alive.
Working.
Watching us.
I looked at Dorian.
“Who is he?”
Dorian did not answer immediately.
Then he said, “The man who taught me how to survive.”
My stomach tightened.
“The man who taught you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why is he coming after you?”
Dorian looked at the photograph.
“Because I betrayed him.”
“How?”
“I chose you.”
The room went silent.
For three years, I had believed our marriage had been ruined by Dorian's obsession with power.
I had been wrong.
Maybe it had been ruined because he had finally chosen something more important than power.
And someone was willing to kill him for it.
Dorian put the photograph away.
“We leave tonight.”
I looked at him.
“Where?”
“To a place no one knows about.”
“Do you trust it?”
“No.”
“Then why go?”
He looked directly at me.
“Because I built it for you.”
We left before midnight.
May you like
And as the city disappeared beneath us, I realized something that terrified me more than the pregnancy.
Dorian had been preparing for our survival long before I knew I needed saving.
