Page 43 of The Bratva Stalker and His Pregnant Bride

The resistance I held only seconds ago crumbles, leaving me feeling small and entirely cornered.

“You’re a monster,” I whisper, the words barely audible.

“I’m a man doing what is required to keep you alive,” he counters, his expression softening only slightly as he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

I pull away from his touch, my hands fisting at my sides. I look toward the living room where Ethan is laughing at his toys, and resolve to shield him from this nightmare settles over me.

“Fine,” I say, my voice brittle and cold. I pull my shoulders back, masking the terror behind a facade of icy defiance. “I’ll leave. I’ll come with you, and I’ll be there for whatever this power-trip is. But understand this, Samuel: I’m going for Ethan. I’m not agreeing to be your wife. Nothing you do today changes how I feel about this.”

Samuel simply nods, a dark, complicated look crossing his face. “Pack what you need, Ashley. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

I turn and walk up the stairs, my heart heavy, feeling the walls of my life closing in. I may be going with him, but as I head toward my room, I keep my chin high. I’m leaving this house, but I’m not surrendering.

The ride to the penthouse is an agonizing blur of city lights and the low, constant hum of the armored SUV’s engine. Samuel sits beside me in the back seat, his presence overwhelming, his silence heavy. He doesn’t touch me, and he doesn’t speak; he simply watches the streets with the eyes of a predator guarding his territory.

When the vehicle finally pulls into the secure underground garage of the high-rise, the transition is jarring. Everything here is concrete, steel, and high-tech security—a sprawling fortress that makes my old home look like a playhouse.

We ascend in a private elevator that opens directly into the foyer of the penthouse. The space is vast, minimalist, and cold, with floor-to-ceiling windows that turn the city into a sprawling, distant map beneath our feet.

Before I can even process the scale of the room, a familiar figure emerges from the hallway.

“Sofia!”

Ethan lets out a squeal of genuine delight. He abandons my hand, sprinting across the polished marble floor toward Sofia. She meets him halfway, dropping to her knees to catch him in a fierce, loving embrace. The sight of them—the pure, bright contrast to the dark weight of the men standing guard around us—is like a lifeline.

“I missed you, Auntie Sofia!” Ethan chirps, his voice echoing in the vast, sterile room.

“I missed you too, my little man,” Sofia says, pressing a kiss to his forehead. She looks up at me, her expression a mix of sympathy and caution. She knows better than to push, but her presence is a quiet plea for me to keep it together. “Come on, Ethan. Let’s go find your toys. I think we can set up a whole city in the guest suite.”

“Can we?” Ethan asks, already tugging at her hand, eager to move.

Sofia glances at me one last time, a silent promise to keep him safe and occupied, before leading him away down the long, shadowed corridor.

As the sound of their footsteps fades, the silence that descends on the main living area is absolute. The door to the guest wing clicks shut, leaving me standing in the center of the vast, hollow space.

Samuel is standing by the wall of windows, his back to me. He hasn’t moved since we walked in. He watches the city, his silhouette sharp against the sprawling night.

The air in the room feels thin. I am acutely aware of the guards stationed at the elevators and the heavy, electronic locks on every exit. I’m trapped in the heart of the Rusnak empire, and the man who put me here is currently standing only a few feet away, his tension vibrating through the floorboards.

I don’t wait for him to turn around. I don’t give him the satisfaction of waiting for his lead.

“You’ve taken me,” I say, my voice steady despite the way my heart hammers against my ribs. “You’ve taken my son, my home, and my autonomy. Is this it? Is this the ‘protection’ you promised?”

Samuel turns slowly. The ambient light of the city catches the hard, unyielding line of his jaw. He doesn’t look like a savior. He looks like a man who has calculated exactly how much damage he has to cause to ensure I stay exactly where he wants me.

“This is the start,” he replies, his voice a low, resonant growl that fills the room. “And you aren’t going anywhere else.”

“I’m not your prisoner,” I snap, stepping into the center of the vast, open-plan living room. I don’t care how many guards are listening or how high up we are. The cold, calculated permanence of this place makes my skin crawl. “You think you can just transplant me into this life and I’ll fall into line? I have a career. I have a life—”

“You have a target on your back,” Samuel interrupts, his voice booming. He paces toward me, his movements predatory, consuming the space between us. “The man who took Ethan is still out there, Ashley. You cannot see the threats I see. You cannot smell the blood in the water. I won’t have you debating me while he’s circling.”

“I’m not debating you. I’m telling you—”

“You’re telling me things that don’t matter!” he growls, his patience finally snapping. He stops right in front of me, his height casting a long, imposing shadow that swallows me whole. “I’m telling you that you belong to me, and you aren’t leaving this suite until—”

The sharp, sudden creak of a door opening cuts him off.

The heavy silence that follows is immediate. We both freeze, our heads snapping toward the hallway leading to the guest suite.