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But as I pull up to the station, a strange sense of calm settles over me. I am Avros Petrov. I've faced worse odds and come out on top. This is just another battle to be won.
With one last deep breath, I step out of the car and walk towards the entrance. This is never what I imagined I would be doing—voluntarily turning myself in. But for Sydney, I'll face it head-on without complaint.
The doors of the station swing shut behind me with a final-sounding thud. The game is on.
The processing is a blur of fingerprints, mug shots, and monotonous questions. I answer mechanically, my thoughts far away in a sunlit bedroom where Sydney waits for me. When they finally lead me to a holding cell, I sit on the hard bench and close my eyes, picturing her face.
The cell is a stark contrast to the world outside. The moment the heavy iron door slams shut behind me, a hollow clang reverberates through the room, like the final note in a song of defeat. I scan my surroundings, taking in the bleakness of it all.
The walls are a dull, lifeless gray, cracked and peeling in places as if time itself has given up on trying to hold them together.
The floor beneath me is cold, even through my shoes. It’s hard, uneven, the concrete chipped away in random patches, as though a million pairs of restless feet have paced these same few square feet, wearing it down over time.
The fluorescent light overhead hums, a low, grating sound that only adds to the discomfort. Its harsh glow reflects off the floor, casting long, sterile shadows across the cell. There’s no warmth in it, no comfort. Just a cold, artificial brightness that makes it impossible to hide from the reality of where I am.
I shift, and the sound of metal clinking draws my attention to the bars on the door. They look heavy, rusted in places, but solid. No amount of force would bend them, and even if it could, there’s nowhere to go. Beyond them, the corridor stretches on, empty except for the echo of distant footsteps and the occasional muffled voice. It feels like a world away from the chaos I left outside, from the noise of the city and the rush of life. Here, time seems to slow, dragging on with a heavy, oppressive weight.
I rub my wrists, still feeling the phantom pressure of the handcuffs, the metal biting into my skin, leaving behind a faint soreness that throbs with each pulse. The cool air prickles against my skin, making me aware of how damp my shirt has become, sticking uncomfortably to my back. Every movement feels sluggish, as though the air itself is pushing back against me.
The taste of copper lingers on my tongue, a reminder of the adrenaline coursing through me, the metallic bite of fear that’s hard to shake. But I swallow it down, focusing on the memory of Sydney, her laugh, the curve of her smile, the warmth of her touch. It's the only thing keeping me grounded, the only thing keeping the rising tide of claustrophobia at bay.
I close my eyes, but even in the darkness, the cell is still there. The cold, the damp, the smell of decay and the faint, ever-present hum of the fluorescent light. There’s no escape, not yet.
But I’ll endure it. For Sydney. For the life growing inside her. For the future I promised her, a future far away from this place.
I don't know how long I'll be here, or what challenges lie ahead. But I know one thing with absolute certainty. I will find my way back to Sydney and our child. No matter what it takes, no matter how long it takes, I will return to them.
As I settle in for a long wait, I allow myself a small smile. Sydney's strength, her unwavering love, has given me a new purpose. A reason to fight not just for power or control, but for something fragile and precious.
For the first time in my life, I have something worth losing everything for. And that, I realize, makes me more dangerous than ever before.
The sound of keys rattling in the lock pulls me from my thoughts. A guard appears, his face impassive. "Petrov," he says gruffly. "Your lawyer's here."
I stand, squaring my shoulders. Whatever comes next, I'm ready. Because now, I'm not just fighting for myself or my empire. I'm fighting for Sydney, for our child, for the future we deserve.
And God help anyone who stands in my way.
23
Sydney
The fabric of my blouse rustles softly as I smooth it down for what must be the hundredth time. I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror, barely recognizing the woman looking back at me. She's polished, poised, wearing an outfit that costs more than my old apartment's monthly rent. But her eyes, they betray the turmoil churning beneath the surface.
It's been three weeks since Avros turned himself in. Three weeks of sleepless nights, of aching for his touch, of talking to our unborn child and promising that their father would be home soon. Now, as I prepare to take the stand as a witness in Avros's preliminary hearing, I feel the weight of our future pressing down on me.
A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. "Come in," I call, turning away from my reflection.
Richard, Avros's lawyer, enters the room. His usual crisp demeanor seems slightly rumpled around the edges, but there's a glint in his eye that makes my heart skip a beat.
"Sydney," he says, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I have some news."
I inhale sharply, hope and fear warring in my chest. "Is it Avros? Is he okay?"
Richard holds up a placating hand. "Avros is fine. Better than fine, actually. It's about Miron's case."
The name of Avros's brother sends a jolt through me. I've never met Miron, but I know how much he means to Avros. How much of this mess started because of Avros's determination to protect him.
"What about it?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
