Chapter 6
“My daughter has nothing to do with your son.” I could hear the steel in my mother’s voice as she spoke to Rose Quartz, my former mother–in–law, on the other end of the line. I could only imagine Rose pleading with her, desperate to speak with me. But my mother wasn’t going to allow it.
“She’s not pregnant anymore, because your son killed her child!” The words hit like a
slap across the face. I could almost feel the weight of them, how they must have stunned Rose. Her voice faltered as the reality of my mother’s words sank in.
“My daughter miscarried her baby. Go ask your doctor if you don’t believe me!” My mother’s tone was unwavering, filled with fury and finality.
On the other end of the line, there was nothing but silence. Rose’s disbelief was palpable, even through the phone. How could she have known the truth? How could she have known how far Ryan’s betrayal had gone? But it no longer mattered. The damage was done, and I had no intention of pretending otherwise.
Nothing would ever be the same again.
“If you have even a shred of decency left, ask your son where he was when Helena messaged him over and over, right before she collapsed after falling down the stairs,” my father’s voice thundered through the phone, the anger in his tone palpable.
Rose Quartz was relentless, still pleading to speak with me. But it wasn’t her voice that answered the phone next. My father took it
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Trom me.
“If you ever try to call my daughter or my wife again, I’ll make sure you regret it. The Durand family will never reconcile with the American mafia. You and your son are nothing but predators wearing human skin. If you dare approach my daughter again, I’ll kill you.”
The phone went dead, and the line fell silent, Rose’s feeble protests lost on my father’s fury.
Five months passed. The love and care from my parents slowly brought me back to life. They helped me rebuild myself, but there was still one issue weighing on my mind: Nikolai’s strange indifference toward our marriage.
At first, I’d thought he would rush me into
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marrying him once I had settled. Instead, he seemed to be courting me–slowly, deliberately, and unexpectedly.
Each morning, I woke to flowers and a breakfast he’d arranged for me. Some afternoons, he’d send me homemade lunches. The food wasn’t always great- sometimes burnt crisps that made me laugh -but it was
the thought that counted. It was hard to believe that this notorious mafia
boss, feared by so many, was trying his hand at cooking for me.
His affection was overwhelming. It made me uneasy. I found myself turning down his invitations for dates, but he never pressed me. Instead, he patiently waited, and in doing so, made me feel… cared for in a way I hadn’t expected.
One afternoon, while sitting beneath a maple
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tree in a secluded park where I often went to read, I spotted a tiny kitten with a pink bow on its head nestled in an ornate basket. I smiled, instantly recognizing the gesture. I knew who had left it there.
As I gently pet the kitten, the sound of footsteps approaching made me look up, expecting to see Nikolai. But when I saw the man standing in front of me, my words of affection died on my lips.
It was Ryan.
A cold knot of dread formed in my stomach. I didn’t know how he’d found this hidden corner of my parents‘ estate, but I never wanted to see him again. His presence made it hard to breathe.
“Helena,” he said, his voice laced with desperation. “I’ve been trying to reach you
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every day. Why won’t you speak to me?”
Before I could respond, he dropped to his knees, taking my hands in his, pleading with
- me.
I recoiled, slapping his hands away. “We’re divorced.”
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