When Love Rebuilds From Frozen Hearts

ra

ilarating freedom and heart-pounding terror. I had the signed pap

home. It was a museum, curated by Dante to project an image of untouchable wealth a

her sofa, the signed papers clutch

n my phone. It was from Julian. T

us retreat in the Swiss Alps. A place for artists to work in peace, surrounded by staggering beauty. It wa

ive. They needed a decisi

ion to make. This

hold, before I could second-guess myself. Then I bo

clothes Dante had bought me, the empty costumes for a role I no longer wanted to play. I packed

These things weren't mine. They were props. I took only the things that felt like me: a worn cop

down on the bed. It was a deep, bone-weary fatigue that had been clinging to me

shed to the bathroom, my stomach heaving. I gripped the cold ma

d refused to see. The fatigue. The nausea. The s

e days. My b

n't be. It w

uled, perfunctory. A duty he performed with cold efficiency once a month, a grim reminder of his claim o

smelling of whiskey and someone else's perfume. He hadn't been gentle. It was rough, detached, and over in mi

y heart hammered against my r

the street, my hands shaking so badly I could barely swipe my credit card. The pharmacist gave me

old, sterile guest bathroom I u

stretched into an eternity of dread. I paced the cold tile floo

nt off, a shrill, pierci

myself

and undeniable again

gna

out, and I sank down, my back sliding against the cold wall. I was pregna

innocent life created from th

o be just *Elara*, was suddenly

onger about s

thless world of the Bratva. From a father who would see them not as a per

a roaring inferno. I had to get out. Not just for me anymore. I