Page 40 of The Bratva Stalker and His Pregnant Bride

A doctor in blue scrubs walks toward us, pulling off his mask. His face is pale, clearly rattled by the sheer amount of heavily armed security guarding the wing, but his eyes are calm.

“Are you the parents of Ethan?” he asks, his gaze moving between Ashley and me.

“Yes,” I growl, stepping into his space, my massive frame towering over him. I don’t mean to intimidate him, but the raw, frantic desperation in my chest leaves no room for politeness. “Tell me he’s okay.”

“He is stable,” the doctor says quickly, recognizing the explosive tension in my voice.

A collective, ragged exhale ripples through the hallway. Ashley lets out a broken, breathless sob, her knees buckling slightly. I catch her by the elbow, pulling her flush against my side to keep her upright. She clings to my forearm, her fingers digging through the fabric of my sleeve into my skin.

“What happened to him?” Ashley chokes out, her voice trembling. “Why was he unconscious?”

The doctor sighs, checking his chart. “We ran a full toxicology screen. His system contains traces of a fast-acting synthetic sedative—a concentrated derivative of GHB. It was administered to keep him quiet and compliant.”

My hand furls into a fist so tight my knuckles pop like firecrackers. They drugged my three-year-old boy.

“Is there any permanent damage?” I ask, my voice dropping to a low, deathly vibration.

“Fortunately, no,” the doctor reassures us, looking directly at Ashley. “The dosage was calculated. It was not fatal. His vitals are steadying, and the sedative is already clearing his liver. He is sleeping naturally now, and we expect him to make a full recovery. We’re keeping him on an IV and monitoring his oxygen levels, but he should wake up within the next few hours.”

“Can we see him?” Ashley begs, her eyes bright with fresh, desperate tears.

“Yes. But only the parents for now. He needs quiet.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” I mutter.

The doctor nods and steps aside, gesturing toward the secure hallway.

The relief that floods through me is immediate, a massive wave that threatens to take my own breath away. Our boy is alive. He’s going to recover. But as I look down at Ashley, whose face is buried against my chest as she weeps in sheer, exhausting gratitude, the relief feels incredibly, terrifyingly fragile.

They poisoned my son. They used a chemical sedative on a toddler to play a sick, possessive game with us.

I look past Ashley’s head, my blue eyes locking with Lukyan and Sebastian. There is no triumph in their eyes, only a cold, shared understanding. The stalker is still out there. He bypassed our security, he took Ethan, and he left us a promise of more violence.

We got our son back, but the war has only just begun.

The nurse leads us into the private pediatric recovery room.

The harsh, sterile white of the corridor fades into a soft, dim twilight. Ethan looks incredibly small in the center of the oversized hospital bed, his pale face framed by the white sheets, a plastic cannula resting under his nose.

We wait in the quiet for another hour, the only sound the steady, comforting beep of the heart monitor. I stand by the window, my eyes constantly tracking the courtyard below where my men are positioned, while Ashley sits on the edge of the mattress, gently stroking Ethan’s small hand.

Then, his long eyelashes flutter.

Ethan lets out a tiny, sleepy yawn and opens his eyes. He blinks against the dim light, his gaze drifting around the room before landing on us.

“Mommy?” he whispers, his voice incredibly small and raspy.

Ashley’s composure breaks entirely. A choked sob escapes her lips as she leans down, burying her face in the crook of his neck, her hands gently framing his face. “I’m here, baby. Mommy’s right here,” she weeps, her voice cracking with a raw, overwhelming relief.

Ethan’s small arms weakly reach up to wrap around her neck. “I had a bad dream. A man with a mask…”

“It’s okay, buddy.” I step forward, my shadow falling over the bed. I lean down, placing my large hand over both of theirs, feeling the warmth of my son’s skin. “The nightmare is over. I’m here. No one is ever going to hurt you again.”

Ethan looks up at me, a tiny, trusting smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You chased the bad monsters away?”

“Every single one of them,” I tell him, my voice thick with a sudden, violent wave of emotion.

Standing here, watching my son hold onto his mother, the absolute weight of the moment settles deep into my bones. The invisible wall that has stood between Ashley and me for four years cracks, the shared trauma and the miraculous relief binding us together in a way that cannot be undone.