Mile High Daddy: An Age Gap, Bratva Romance (Forbidden Silver Foxes)
Mile High Daddy: Chapter 22

Isit in the dimly lit living room, one hand resting against my temple, the other gripping the glass of vodka I haven’t touched in over an hour.

I’ve taken bullets, survived ambushes, outplayed men who thought they could outmaneuver me.

But this—her—is something else entirely.

Lila. Pregnant. Carrying my children.

I rake a hand through my hair, staring blankly out the window.

She’s here, just down the hall, in that tiny apartment she tried to hide in. And I should be thinking of my next move—about getting her back to New York, about the war I still have to fight.

Instead, all I can think about is her voice when she said it.

Babies.

The word hasn’t left my head since.

A soft sound pulls me from my thoughts. I turn my head just in time to see her waddling toward the kitchen. I frown, watching as she stretches to grab a pan from the cabinet, moving slower than usual.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

She glances at me over her shoulder. “Cooking.”

“You shouldn’t be on your feet.”

Lila sighs, clearly exasperated. “I’m not an invalid, Mikhail.”

I push off the couch, walking toward her. “I’ll do it.”

The look she gives me is pure disbelief. “You?”

I cross my arms. “Yes. Me.”

She lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she sets the pan on the stove. “Right. The big, bad Bratva boss knows how to cook.”

I step closer, resting my hands on the edge of the kitchen island. “You don’t believe me?”

She arches an eyebrow, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Not even a little.”

I smirk. “Then let me prove you wrong.”

Lila hands me a cutting board and a knife, then pulls out some vegetables from the fridge. I roll up my sleeves, grabbing an onion and getting to work.

For a while, we don’t talk. We just move together, the sound of chopping filling the space between us. It’s oddly…natural. Domestic. Something I never thought I’d associate with myself.

After a few minutes, she speaks. “So where is my mom?”

I don’t hesitate. “In Philadelphia.”

She stops mid-motion, knife hovering over the cutting board. Slowly, she looks up at me. “I didn’t expect you to answer.”

I meet her gaze, unreadable. “You asked.”

Her lips press together like she’s debating whether to ask more.

I brace myself.

Because I know Lila. And she’s not done.

Lila sets down the knife, her fingers drumming lightly against the counter. She’s studying me now, her sharp gaze assessing, waiting for something.

“What is she doing in Philadelphia?” she asks.

I keep my movements steady, slicing through the onion with precision. “She’s being taken care of.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “That’s not an answer.”

I lift a shoulder in a slight shrug. “It’s the only one I’m giving you.”

Lila exhales, clearly frustrated. “Is she safe?”

“Yes.”

She waits, like she’s expecting me to elaborate. I don’t.

The silence between us stretches, and for the first time since we started chopping, she isn’t moving. “I don’t understand you,” she finally says, shaking her head.

I glance up, meeting her gaze. “What’s there to understand?”

Her lips press together, frustration flickering in her eyes. “You could have lied to me. Or refused to answer altogether. But you didn’t.”

I wipe my hands on a towel and lean against the counter, watching her. “Would you have believed me if I told you nothing?”

She hesitates. Then shakes her head.

“Exactly,” I say.

She sighs, grabbing the knife again and turning back to the vegetables. But I can tell her mind is still turning, still working through the information—or lack of it—I’ve given her.

She wants to trust me.

She just doesn’t know if she can.

She’s not satisfied with my answer, but she also knows she won’t get more out of me. Not yet.

I watch her hands move, slow and deliberate. She’s careful, precise. A habit, maybe, from working with children—kindergarten teachers don’t get to be reckless with sharp objects.

“You still don’t believe me, do you?” I ask, breaking the silence.

She doesn’t look up. “I believe she’s alive. But safe?” She lets out a dry laugh. “That depends on your definition.”

I set my knife down, wiping my hands on the towel. “Would you rather she be out there alone, vulnerable?”

Lila’s grip tightens around the handle of her knife. “So what, you’re my savior now? The one keeping my family protected while I should be groveling at your feet?”

I smirk slightly. “I wouldn’t say no to the groveling.”

She scowls, flicking a piece of diced tomato at me. It hits my sleeve and slides off.

“Very mature,” I mutter.

“I’d throw the knife, but I don’t think you’d let me,” she replies, her eyes flickering with something close to amusement.

I lean forward, resting my forearms on the counter. “I wouldn’t. But I’d enjoy watching you try.”

Her lips twitch, but she schools her expression into something neutral again. She doesn’t want to fall into this, whatever this is—the easy banter, the familiar pull between us.

She wants to stay angry. She needs to stay angry.

And yet, she hasn’t told me to leave.

She finishes chopping and wipes her hands on a towel, avoiding my gaze. “If she’s safe, then I want to talk to her.”

I tilt my head slightly. “Not yet.”

Lila’s jaw tightens. “Why not?”

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I push the diced onions into a pan, letting them sizzle before responding. “Because I don’t trust her yet.”

Lila’s hands fist at her sides. “She’s my mother, Mikhail. She’s not part of this.”

“She became part of it the moment she helped you disappear,” I say calmly. “And now I need to be sure she’s not going to do something reckless.”

Her nostrils flare, but she doesn’t argue. Not because she agrees—she doesn’t—but because she knows fighting me on this won’t change anything.

She crosses her arms, shifting her weight slightly. “So what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

I meet her gaze, holding it steady. “You rest. You eat. You focus on keeping the babies healthy.”

Something flickers across her face at that. She hates that I care. Hates that she can’t deny that I have a claim to them.

To her.

She shakes her head, muttering under her breath as she turns back to the stove. “This is ridiculous.”

I lean against the counter, watching her closely. “So, tell me, how was life in Camden Hill?”

Her stirring falters for half a second before she recovers. “Quiet,” she says without looking at me.

I wait.

She exhales through her nose, flipping the onions with the wooden spoon. “I worked at a café. Lived in this small apartment. Made friends. Kept my head down.”

That last part is a lie. She didn’t keep her head down, not really. If she had, she wouldn’t have called her mother. She wouldn’t have gotten comfortable enough to slip up.

I roll my shoulders, keeping my voice neutral. “That all?”

Her lips press together. “What else do you want me to say, Mikhail? I worked, I slept, I existed. That was my life.”

I tilt my head slightly, considering her. “Did you ever plan to come back?”

She tenses, but her answer is immediate. “No.”

I expected that.

It still pisses me off.

I reach across the counter and take the spoon from her hand. She jerks in surprise, turning toward me, but I don’t back off. I lift the spoon, giving the onions a slow stir before lowering the heat.

“You got comfortable in that quiet little life,” I murmur. “You thought you could erase me. Erase this.”

Lila swallows, her throat bobbing. “I didn’t erase anything,” she says, her voice softer now. “I just…needed to breathe.”

I study her, watching the way she grips the counter like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

“I can understand that,” I admit. “But breathing time’s over, zolotse.”

She looks at me, really looks at me, and I know she’s searching for something.

Regret.

Remorse.

Anything that tells her I wish I’d let her stay hidden.

She won’t replace it.

Because I don’t regret a damn thing.

The glow of my phone screen casts a faint light over the darkened living room as I type out a message to Torres:

Any movement?

His reply comes in seconds:

Nothing yet. Keeping eyes on the location.

I exhale slowly, rubbing a hand over my jaw. The situation in New York is still unstable. Alexei is not the threat anymore. Just this past week, a few of our warehouses were attacked, and a few of our men were killed. Nothing about who put out the hit yet, but Alexei’s men are still quiet. I’m not sure if it’s all his plan, if he indeed has returned to New York. If that’s the case, I need to take care of it sooner rather than later. He’s not going to be a threat to my children.

I’m about to respond when I catch movement in my peripheral vision.

My head snaps up, and whatever I was about to type vanishes from my mind.

Lila.

She moves through the dimly lit apartment, the soft fabric of her nightdress clinging to every curve, the lace framing her swollen belly and fuller breasts. The hem barely grazes the tops of her thighs, and the faint shimmer of her skin peeks through the delicate material, teasing, tempting.

My pulse kicks up.

She’s a vision.

Soft candlelight from the kitchen casts a warm glow over her, making her look almost otherworldly—untouchable. But she’s not. She’s right here, in front of me, mine.

I sit up, my muscles coiling tight. “What are you doing?” My voice is rougher than I mean it to be.

Lila pauses, her bare feet sinking into the rug. “I couldn’t sleep,” she murmurs, her hands resting against her belly.

My eyes sweep over her again, slower this time. The curves of her body have softened in ways that make my stomach clench, her pregnancy only amplifying everything about her.

Lila shrugs, playing with the hem. “Got it online,” she says, a little too casually. “It was supposed to be maternity wear, but…turned out sexier than I thought.”

My jaw tightens.

Sexier is an understatement.

The sheer lace barely hides anything, just enough to tease, to drive me insane. Her breasts are fuller, her nipples peeking through the delicate fabric, her belly round and perfect, a reminder of exactly what we’ve done together.

Heat surges through me.

I shouldn’t be looking at her like this. I shouldn’t want her like this. But all I can think about is claiming her all over again.

Lila shifts her weight from one foot to the other, watching me, waiting.

I rake a hand through my hair and exhale slowly. “You should go back to bed.”

She tilts her head, the faintest smirk playing on her lips. “You don’t sound like you mean that.”

I don’t.

I watch as she moves closer, her bare feet silent against the rug. I sit up straighter, my body responding before I can stop it, heat pooling low in my gut.

She’s toying with me.

And it’s working.

She stops just a foot away, close enough that I can smell her skin, that subtle, familiar scent of vanilla and something else entirely her.

Her hands trace absently over her stomach, her lips parting slightly before she whispers, “Are you going to stop me?”

A muscle in my jaw tics. I should.

I should tell her to go back to bed. I should remind her that this—whatever this is—isn’t smart.

But I don’t move.

Because the truth is, I don’t want to stop her.

I want to pull her onto my lap, bury my hands in her hair, make her moan my name the way she did before she left me bleeding in the street.

My fingers twitch against my thigh.

Lila watches me closely, waiting for me to break, to give in.

And God help me, I’m close.

She steps forward, closing the space between us, her soft fingers trailing along my jaw. My body locks up at the unexpected touch, my breathing slowing as she tilts my face toward hers.

She knows exactly what she’s doing.

Her fingers skim down my neck before she moves with quiet confidence, climbing onto my lap, her thighs spreading over mine, pressing her warmth against me.

I grip the couch to keep myself in check, to keep from grabbing her hips and pulling her down where I want her most.

Her lips are so close, hovering just above mine.

“I get these urges at night,” she murmurs, her breath warm against my mouth. “I used to be ashamed of them, but not anymore.”

I know what she’s doing.

She wants something.

She’s trying to seduce me, trying to make me weak enough to spill what she really wants to know.

Her mother.

But she doesn’t understand—I see through her game. I always see through her.

My hand shoots up, gripping the back of her head, twisting my fingers into her hair. She gasps, her body tensing as I pull her head back, exposing the long, smooth line of her throat.

I lean in, my lips just grazing the pulse pounding beneath her skin.

“You think you can play me, kiska?” I murmur, my voice dark and controlled. “You think I don’t know exactly what you’re doing?”

She shudders slightly, but she doesn’t pull away.

And then, to prove a point, I slip my hand between her legs.

The second my palm presses against her, I feel it—the heat, the wetness.

She’s soaked.

For me.

A sharp exhale leaves her lips, her body arching into my touch despite herself.

And just like that, the last of my restraint snaps. I yank her head forward and crush my mouth to hers, swallowing the gasp that escapes her lips. She responds instantly, her hands fisting in my shirt, her hips grinding down against my lap as the kiss deepens, turns brutal. Lila moans into my mouth, and that sound—that needy, desperate sound—does something dark to me.

She’s fire in my arms, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her hips rolling against me as I cup her ass, pulling her harder against me. She’s soaking through her lace nightdress, her heat pressing against the bulge in my pants, making me ache.

I grab her thighs, lifting her in one swift motion. She gasps, but her legs wrap around me instinctively, her arms locking around my neck as I walk us toward the bedroom.

She nips at my lower lip, teasing, provoking.

“You’re impatient tonight,” I murmur against her mouth.

“You did this to me,” she breathes, her lips brushing mine. “It’s been months, Mikhail.”

I growl low in my throat, the sound vibrating between us. She’s right. It’s been months since I last had her, since she disappeared and left me chasing a ghost.

And now she’s here, in my arms, in my bed, dripping for me.

The bedroom door slams behind us as I press her back against it, my hands shoving her nightdress up her thighs. I grip the lace, ripping it clean down the middle, exposing her bare body beneath.

She gasps, but her pupils blow wide with lust, her chest rising and falling fast.

“I liked that dress,” she says, breathless.

“I didn’t,” I mutter, dragging my teeth along the curve of her neck. “It was in my way.”

She whimpers, and the sound makes my cock throb against my zipper.

I carry her to the bed, laying her down as I hover over her. My hands roam, gripping, kneading, owning every inch of her body. I lean down, dragging my tongue over the tight peak of her nipple, flicking it slowly, deliberately, before sucking it deep into my mouth.

Lila’s back arches, her fingers tangling in my hair as she moans.

“You wanted this,” I murmur against her skin, my hand trailing lower, spreading her thighs wide for me.

Her breath hitches.

“Say it, kiska,” I demand.

Her body trembles, her hips shifting under my touch.

“I want it,” she whispers. “I want you.”

And that’s all it takes.

I slide my fingers through her wet folds, groaning at how ready she is for me.

“Then I hope you’re ready to beg,” I growl, pushing a finger deep inside her, making her cry out.

Lila gasps, her hips jerking as my finger slides deep inside her. She’s soaked, her walls tightening around me as I start to move, slow at first, teasing her, pushing her right to the edge but never giving her enough.

Her nails dig into my back, her breath ragged. “Mikhail…”

I add another finger, curling them just right, and her whole body shudders beneath me.

“You wanted this,” I remind her, my lips brushing against her ear as I stroke deeper. “You came to me in that little lace dress, thinking you could play me. Thinking you could get something out of me.”

She whimpers, her head pressing back against the pillows, her lips parting as her body reacts to every movement of my fingers.

“You wanted me to touch you like this,” I murmur, my free hand cupping her breast, rolling her nipple between my fingers until she cries out. “You wanted to see if you could still make me weak for you.”

Her breath hitches. “Did it work?”

I smirk, dragging my mouth over the column of her throat before biting down, hard enough to make her gasp.

“You tell me, kiska,” I growl, thrusting my fingers deeper, replaceing the spot that makes her shatter.

Her thighs clamp around my wrist, her whole body arching as her climax slams into her. She cries out, her walls pulsing around my fingers, soaking my hand as I keep stroking her through it, refusing to let her come down too quickly.

She’s panting, wrecked, her chest rising and falling as she blinks up at me, dazed.

But I’m not done.

Not even close.

I pull my fingers out and bring them to my mouth, licking them clean, my eyes locked on hers. She watches me, her pupils blown wide, her breath catching in her throat.

Then I grab her thighs and spread her open again.

“That was just the beginning,” I murmur, lowering my head between her legs.

Lila whimpers, her fingers tangling in my hair.

“Now,” I say, my lips hovering just above her slick, swollen core, my breath making her shiver, “let’s see if you can handle the rest.”

Lila gasps, her entire body tensing as my tongue slides through her folds, slow and deliberate. I groan against her, savoring the taste, the way she shudders beneath me, already so sensitive from her first release.

Her fingers dig into my scalp, tugging at my hair, but I don’t let up. I lap at her, flicking her clit with my tongue before dragging it back down, teasing, torturing, owning her pleasure.

“Mikhail,” she breathes, her hips jerking against my mouth.

I smirk, my hands locking around her thighs, pinning her in place as I feast on her.

She’s so responsive, her body reacting to every flick of my tongue, every gentle scrape of my teeth. I slide a finger back inside her, then another, thrusting slow and deep, curling them just right to make her writhe. Her moans get higher, needier, her body arching, desperate for more.

I suck her clit into my mouth, circling it with my tongue, and she cries out, her grip tightening in my hair as she comes apart for me again. Her thighs shake, her stomach quivering, and I don’t stop—not until she’s completely undone, breathless, wrecked beneath me.

I press one last kiss against her overly sensitive core before pulling back, wiping my mouth as I climb over her. She’s still panting, still trembling, her skin flushed, her pupils blown wide with pleasure.

But I’m not done.

Not even close.

I reach down, unbuckling my belt, dragging down my zipper.

Her eyes flicker down and she sucks in a sharp breath, her lips parting as I pull my aching cock free.

I watch her reaction, enjoying the way her breath catches, the way she licks her lips, as if already imagining how I’ll feel stretching her open.

I stroke myself once, twice, the need for her unbearable. Then I grip her thighs, spreading her wide, positioning myself at her entrance.

Her breath hitches.

I lean in, brushing my lips against her ear.

“Ready to take me, kiska?”

Her hands slide up my arms, her nails dragging over my skin as she looks up at me, so vulnerable, so fucking perfect.

“Yes,” she whispers.

I thrust inside her.

Lila gasps, her body arching as I slide deep inside her, stretching her inch by inch. She’s so tight, so wet, her walls gripping me like she was made for this. For me.

A guttural groan rumbles in my chest as I bury myself to the hilt, my grip tightening on her thighs. Fuck. It’s been too long, and the feel of her—hot, slick, perfect—is damn near enough to break me.

Her fingers dig into my arms, her breath shuddering against my neck.

“Mikhail,” she breathes, her voice wrecked, needy.

I pull back slightly before thrusting deep again, watching as her lips part, her eyes fluttering closed, her body adjusting to me.

“Look at me, kiska,” I demand, my hand gripping her chin. “I want to see you when I take you.”

Her eyes flicker open, dark and full of heat, and fuck, she’s beautiful like this. Flushed, vulnerable, completely mine.

I roll my hips, setting a slow, deliberate pace, dragging every inch of me against her, making her feel everything.

Her moan hits me hard, her legs wrapping tighter around my waist. “Faster,” she pleads.

I smirk, teasing her, keeping the pace just slow enough to drive her insane.

“You want more?” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her throat.

“Yes,” she gasps, her nails biting into my skin.

I shift, gripping her hips and slamming deep, her cry of pleasure the most perfect fucking sound I’ve ever heard.

“Like that?” I growl, my control hanging by a thread.

She whimpers, nodding frantically, her body grinding against mine, begging for more.

I lose it.

I take her hard, deep, relentless.

Her moans turn into gasps, cries, pleas, her body clenching around me, pulling me deeper, tighter, hotter.

I grip her thigh, hiking it higher, angling deeper, and her back bows, her breath shattering as she tumbles over the edge, screaming my name. Her walls pulse around me, her entire body shaking, and it pushes me right to the brink.

But I’m not done yet.

I pull out, gripping Lila’s hips and flipping her onto her hands and knees in one smooth motion. She gasps, her breath shuddering, but I don’t give her time to think.

She gasps, bracing herself against the mattress, but I cup her swollen belly, supporting her, easing any weight from her body as I position myself behind her.

“Comfortable, kiska?” I murmur, dragging my lips along the back of her neck.

She shudders, pressing back against me, needing more. “Yes,” she breathes, her voice wrecked, needy.

I slide a hand between her thighs, spreading her open, groaning at the way she’s still soaking for me.

And then I thrust back inside her, filling her completely, her body clenching around me so tight I nearly lose it right then and there.

Lila whimpers, her hands fisting the sheets as I drive into her, deep and slow at first, letting her feel every inch of me before setting a punishing rhythm. She cries out, her back arching, pressing her hips back against mine, her body so greedy, so desperate for more.

I slide my hand lower, circling her clit with my fingers, and she screams, her walls tightening, her entire body shaking beneath me. I groan, gripping her hips as I slam into her from behind, deeper, harder, hitting a spot that makes her cry out. Her body trembles, her hands gripping the sheets as I set a punishing rhythm, each thrust claiming her all over again.

“You feel this?” I growl, cupping her belly again, feeling the heat of her skin, the way her body reacts to me. “This is what you did to me, kiska.”

She moans, shattering beneath me, her body completely at my mercy. “Mikhail,” she pleads, rocking her hips back.

“Come for me, zolotse,” I growl, thrusting deep, pushing her right over the edge.

I pound into her, chasing my own release, her tight, wet heat dragging me deeper until I can’t hold back anymore.

With a final thrust, I groan, my grip tightening on her hips as I spill inside her, my body locking up as the pleasure crashes through me, violent and consuming.

Lila collapses onto the bed, completely spent, her body still shuddering from the aftershocks.

I follow, caging her beneath me, my lips pressing against the damp skin of her shoulder, my breath ragged.

For a long moment, we don’t move, both of us panting, trembling, completely spent.

I press a kiss to the curve of her spine, my hand still resting on her belly, feeling the life growing inside her.

Lila breathes heavily, her fingers still curled into the sheets.

The first thing I feel when I wake is warmth.

Soft, curvy, pressed against me like she belongs there.

Lila.

Her scent—vanilla, something sweet and uniquely her—fills my lungs as I nuzzle against her neck, my arms wrapped protectively around her, my hand splayed over the curve of her swollen belly.

She stirs, letting out a soft sigh, pressing closer.

My cock hardens instantly, already aching, already needing her again.

I trail my lips along her bare shoulder, my fingers tracing slow circles over her stomach before sliding lower, between her legs, where she’s already wet and waiting.

She lets out a sleepy moan, her hips shifting against me. “Mikhail,” she whispers, her voice still heavy with sleep.

I smirk, rolling her onto her back, making sure her belly is cradled, protected as I settle between her thighs.

“Again?” I murmur, teasing her entrance with the tip of my cock.

She exhales sharply, her eyes fluttering open, her lips parting as she nods.

“Yes,” she breathes.

I press a kiss to her lips, then her throat, then lower, my hands sliding beneath her thighs as I sink inside her again, her body welcoming me like she was made for this.

Lila trembles beneath me, her breath coming in soft, desperate pants as I move inside her, slow and deep, making her feel everything. Her hands slide up my arms, nails dragging across my skin. Her lips part, a breathy moan slipping free, and I swallow it with a kiss, devouring her sounds, her surrender, her heat.

She’s still tight, still soaked from last night, gripping me in a way that makes my control slip, piece by piece. I tilt her hips, angling deeper, and she gasps, her body tightening around me, her thighs trembling.

Her head tilts back, exposing the long curve of her throat, her pulse thrumming beneath my lips as I bite, suck, soothe.

“You feel so good,” she breathes, voice wrecked, her hands sliding into my hair, pulling me closer.

I groan against her skin, grinding deeper, slower, letting her feel every inch of me stretching her open, claiming her all over again.

Her body tenses, her walls clenching, and I know she’s close.

“Come for me,” I whisper against her ear, my hand slipping between us, fingers circling her clit, pushing her over the edge.

She shatters, her back arching, her lips parting as she cries out my name, her release milking me, dragging me under with her.

I follow her over the edge, thrusting deep, emptying myself inside her, groaning her name as pleasure rips through me.

For a long moment, we just breathe, tangled together, her body still trembling beneath mine. I cradle her face, brushing my lips softly over hers, savoring the taste of her, the way she melts into me.

She should hate me for what I’ve done, for dragging her back into my world.

But right now, with her body wrapped around mine, completely undone beneath me⁠—

I know she belongs exactly where she is.

I balance the tray carefully as I push open the bedroom door. She’s still wrapped up in the sheets, her hair a mess, her skin glowing from last night, and fuck, I could get used to this.

Lila blinks at me, confused, as I set the tray down beside her. Toast, eggs, fresh fruit, and tea. All her favorites.

“You made me breakfast?” she asks, still sounding half-asleep.

I smirk. “Don’t look so shocked, kiska.”

She sits up, running a hand through her hair before reaching for the tea. “Do you cook often, or is this just to impress me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I tease, settling on the edge of the bed, watching as she takes a sip. After a moment, I ask, “Do you have morning sickness?”

She exhales, shaking her head. “It got bad in the second trimester, but I’m okay now.”

I watch her closely. “I wish I was here to help you out.”

She stills for a fraction of a second, then sets the tea down carefully. “But would you prefer a life with me here, leaving your empire behind?”

Silence stretches between us.

Because the answer isn’t simple.

I know what she’s asking. If I had found her earlier, if I had a choice—would I have walked away from everything? From the Bratva, from my family, from the war I was raised for?

I don’t answer. Because I don’t know.

And Lila sees right through it.

“Thought so,” she murmurs, looking away.

I don’t like that look on her face—the resignation, the quiet disappointment, like she already knew what I’d say before I even had a chance to say it.

I clear my throat, nodding toward the tray. “Eat.”

She does, taking small bites, and I know the second she realizes—this isn’t just any breakfast. This is exactly what she likes.

She sets down her fork, eyeing me carefully. “How did you know?”

I lean back slightly, resting my forearm on my knee. “I knew everything about you before I found you,” I admit. “Before you even knew my name.”

She freezes, her fingers tightening around the fork. “What do you mean?”

I tilt my head slightly. “Your father brought your proposal to me.”

Lila’s breath catches, and I can see the questions racing through her mind.

I exhale, looking past her for a moment before bringing my gaze back to hers. “It was over a year ago. Your father was looking for an alliance. He came to me with a proposition—marry his daughter, unite our families, strengthen our power.”

She stiffens, her expression unreadable.

“I wasn’t interested at first,” I continue, watching her carefully. “I didn’t trust him. But then he sent me a picture of you.”

Lila swallows hard.

“And suddenly,” I murmur, “I was interested.”

She looks away, shaking her head. “So that’s it? You saw a picture and decided I was yours?”

I lean forward, brushing my fingers along her jaw, forcing her to meet my gaze. “No, kiska. I saw you, and I knew I would have you.”

She shivers slightly, but not from fear.

I smirk. “And now, here you are.”

Her lips press together. “Not by choice.”

I trail my fingers down her neck, resting them lightly over the curve of her belly. “No?”

She exhales shakily but doesn’t push me away.

And I know, whether she wants to admit it or not⁠—

She wants me too.

Lila stays quiet for a long moment, staring down at her plate, her expression unreadable. I watch her, waiting, letting her process everything I just said.

I can see the battle in her eyes—the push and pull between anger and something else.

Some part of her—no matter how small, no matter how much she fights it—wants to be mine just as much as I want her to be.

She exhales sharply, shaking her head before turning back to the tray. She stabs a piece of fruit with her fork, but I can tell she’s not really focused on eating anymore.

“You don’t get to just decide things for people, Mikhail,” she mutters. “That’s not how life works.”

I smirk slightly. “It is in mine.”

She glares at me, but there’s no real heat behind it. “That’s the problem.”

I shift, leaning closer, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “Tell me, kiska,” I murmur, my fingers trailing slowly down the side of her throat, feeling her pulse jump beneath my touch. “Would your life really have been better without me in it?”

She stiffens, but she doesn’t answer.

Because we both know the truth.

She tried to run. She built a new life, started over.

And yet, she still ended up right back in my bed.

Lila swallows, looking away, her walls slamming back up. “I should finish eating.”

The phone buzzes in my hand, my mother’s name flashing on the screen. Perfect timing.

I step away from the bedroom, out onto the small balcony, and answer with a clipped, “Yes?”

“Where the hell are you?” Her voice is sharp, impatient, already digging for information.

I rest one hand against the railing, keeping my tone even. “Handling business.”

A short pause. Then, a scoff. “Handling business?” she repeats. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

I exhale slowly, keeping my irritation in check. “What do you want, Mother?”

“I went looking for Lila’s mother,” she says, her tone deceptively casual. “Imagine my surprise when I couldn’t replace her anywhere.”

I don’t react. I expected this.

Silence stretches between us before she speaks again, her voice laced with suspicion.

“You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”

I keep my grip firm on the railing, jaw tightening. “I didn’t want her to get hurt.”

“So you hid her?” she snaps.

I close my eyes for a brief second before inhaling deeply. “Let it go, Mother.”

The line goes silent for a beat. Then she exhales a slow, humorless laugh.

“Oh, Mikhail, you’re with her now, aren’t you?” she murmurs, almost amused now. “You think I don’t see what’s happening? She’s getting under your skin.”

I don’t answer. Because she’s right.

And I hate that she knows it.

“I won’t let her weaken you,” she says coldly. “You know what needs to be done.”

The call disconnects before I can respond.

I run a hand through my hair, letting out a low breath, trying to push down the frustration curling in my gut.

Then, I feel it⁠—

A presence behind me.

I turn around instinctively⁠—

And freeze when I see Lila standing in the doorway.

She heard everything.