The night after the failed escape attempt, the villa was silent except for the distant sound of waves.
I lay in Alexander’s arms, my pregnant belly pressed against his side, the rose-gold collar warm against my throat. His hand rested protectively on my belly, thumb stroking slow circles as if trying to soothe both me and our unborn child. For the first time in weeks, I didn’t pull away. I was too exhausted — emotionally, physically, spiritually.
The grief for my mother had become a constant ache, but something else was shifting inside me. A quiet acceptance. A terrifying realization that I had built a life with the man who had taken her from me — and that part of me still loved him despite it all.
Alexander stirred, sensing I was awake. He turned toward me, his gray eyes soft in the mo
