XXXIV

Sasha hadn't stepped foot in the school for the past week. She hadn't felt up to facing the curious stares, the whispered questions she knew would follow her now undeniable condition. Her once subtle baby bump had blossomed fully—round, prominent, impossible to hide beneath loose fabrics anymore. It was a silent announcement to the world that she had entered the most delicate phase of her pregnancy—her third trimester. The final stretch. The countdown had officially begun.

The delivery date had been marked firmly in her mind, etched into her heart with a strange mixture of anticipation and dread.

**January 30.**

A day that felt both impossibly far and alarmingly close.

She had followed every instruction, done everything by the book. She ate well, sticking to the diet her doctor had recommended, even when nausea made her stomach turn. She forced herself to sleep enough, despite the nights when her thoughts refused to quiet. Every piece of advice she clung to like a lifeline, desperate to protect the fragile life within her.

And yet, no amount of care or preparation soothed the deeper ache—the one that no meal, no vitamins, no doctor's visit could reach. The ache of absence. The ache of love and regret tangled together until they became indistinguishable.

Sasha sat at the small kitchen table, the quiet hum of the television in the background, her breakfast untouched on the plate. Absentmindedly, she rubbed her belly in slow, soothing circles, her voice soft as she spoke to the life she carried like a secret between them.

"Baby, do you like Mumma's food today?" she murmured, a smile ghosting her lips, though her eyes remained heavy. "We'll have strawberries for lunch, your favorite. Sweet and fresh, just how you like."

As if in response, a tiny, deliberate kick fluttered against her palm.

Her smile deepened, and she gently rolled her hand over the curve of her belly, feeling the life stirring beneath her skin.

"Okay, okay, I understand," she laughed softly, shaking her head. "But let's finish eating first, alright? Be a good baby for Mumma. Don't play too much now—just eat what I'm eating."

Another playful jab met her hand, quick and insistent.

She sighed fondly, her heart swelling despite the weight pressing on her chest. "So naughty," she whispered.

Her gaze drifted downward, her fingers tracing light patterns over her bump, and before she could stop herself, her thoughts wandered—drawn inevitably, uncontrollably—to him.

**He's just like you, isn't he?**

Darius.

The name echoed silently in her mind, sharper than any ache.

She wondered if their son would inherit his sharp, calculating mind, the way he seemed to command any room without trying. His unwavering strength, the quiet intensity that had always simmered beneath his surface. She wanted Damien to carry all those parts of his father. But more than anything, more than the strength or the brilliance, she wanted him to have the one thing that had slipped through her fingers—the love of his father.

That thought alone made her chest tighten unbearably.

Finishing her meal in silence, she stood and moved to the sofa, needing something—anything—to distract herself. The remote felt heavy in her hand as she flipped mindlessly through TV channels, her mind elsewhere.

Then, the familiar notes of an old song drifted from the screen.

*"Tu Hi Re."*

Her lips quirked into a bittersweet smile, nostalgia wrapping around her like a shroud, before her expression faltered.

How many times had she dreamed of a love like that? A love so deep, so consuming, it could blot out the world. A love that felt like destiny, undeniable and fierce.

She had always wanted it. And without realizing, she had found it—in the most unexpected man.

**In Darius.**

But she had only recognized the weight of it after she had walked away.

Her throat tightened, eyes glistening before she could stop them.

**I don't want his hatred.**

That single thought cut sharper than any blade. Love could build you, but hatred from the one you love… it destroyed you, piece by piece, quietly, cruelly. She had endured his anger, his coldness, but she knew—his disgust, his rejection—she wouldn't survive it.

She quickly swiped at her eyes, but the tears spilled faster, no longer asking for permission.

"Damien," she whispered, her voice cracking as she rubbed soothing circles over her belly, seeking solace in the only place left untouched by the storm.

A solid kick responded, earnest and strong.

A watery laugh escaped her lips, half a sob. "You are unbelievable. Always so active, my baby," she murmured, cradling her stomach with both hands, grounding herself.

She exhaled shakily, trying to gather herself. "I can't wait to see you," she whispered, her voice softer than before. "I want to hold you so badly. To kiss you, smell you… When will you come to me, hmm? Come soon, okay? Grow big quickly."

Another double kick answered her.

She giggled, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Oh, don't get too excited now," she teased gently. "You're hurting Mumma."

Her eyelids fluttered closed as she savored the warmth of his little movements, a moment of quiet peace amid the chaos in her heart.

And then, without meaning to, the words slipped out like a confession she couldn't keep bottled any longer.

"Dam… I love your dad."

Her breath caught, and her throat tightened as another kick pressed insistently against her.

She swallowed hard, her voice fragile now, exposed. "I really do," she whispered, as more tears slid down her cheeks. "I wish… I wish things had never turned out this way. I wanted a normal life. A happy life… like any other couple. I wanted you to have both your parents. I wanted us to raise you together. But now…" Her voice broke, trembling under the weight of her sorrow. "Now I don't even know how I'll face you when you ask me, *Where is my father?* What will I say?"

Her shoulders shook as she tried to hold herself together, her arms tightening protectively around her belly.

"I know he's hurt. And maybe I deserve that. But I can't let him find me, baby. I can't." Her voice cracked, almost inaudible. "I could take his anger. I could take anything. But not his hatred. Not that. I wasn't at fault… I was manipulated. Lied to. Used."

She exhaled shakily, wiping at her face as though she could wipe away everything she felt.

Her voice softened, aching. "Your grandpa and grandma… they would have never let this happen. If they were still here… none of this would've happened."

Her fingers trembled as she smoothed her dupatta over her lap, her tone turning distant, wistful.

"My papa… he would've protected me. He always did. And my mom… she took care of me so well. Made sure I ate right. She would've been so excited to meet you." A faint laugh escaped her, fragile. "She would've scolded me for eating junk food, just like she always did. We were happy, baby. So happy before all this."

The tears came freely now, and she didn't try to stop them.

Her voice dipped to a murmur, lost in memory. "You know, once, when I was little… someone touched me inappropriately at the mall. I didn't even understand what happened. But my mom… she knew." Sasha let out a watery laugh. "She hit that man so hard in his pelvic area, he screamed like a dying animal. She was fierce. My mama."

Her smile wobbled, her heart aching painfully. "I miss her so much today. I just want to sleep in her arms again. Hear her voice… feel safe."

**Ding-dong.**

The doorbell rang suddenly, slicing through her fragile world like a knife.

Sasha blinked, startled, quickly swiping at her wet cheeks.

**The neighbors?**

She paused the TV absentmindedly, wiping her palms on her kurta, steadying herself. Carefully, she rose from the sofa, adjusting her dupatta over her bump like a shield, hiding the vulnerability still clinging to her.

Taking a breath, she opened the door.

Sasha's breath caught painfully in her throat, her fingers twitching against the fabric of her dupatta as if the very air had thickened, trapping her.

There they stood.

Lea was smiling—soft, warm, familiar—yet beside her, Leon's presence felt like a dagger drawn too close. His cold, piercing gaze fixed on Sasha with such intensity, it stripped the air from her lungs.

Her lips parted slightly, the single word escaping her before she could think. "You…"

Lea tilted her head to the side, feigning lightness, though there was something searching in her eyes. "Why so shocked, Sasha?" she asked, as if they'd merely crossed paths at a market.

Sasha's heart thudded violently, hammering against her ribs. Instinctively, she tightened her trembling fingers around the edge of her dupatta, tugging it across her abdomen. As if she could hide the swell of her belly with sheer will alone.

But it was too late.

Their eyes had already found it. No amount of fabric could disguise the undeniable curve.

The silence that followed felt weighted, suffocating.

"You're not going to invite us in?" Lea's voice came light, almost teasing, her smile never faltering. As though this were a casual visit, as though Sasha hadn't spent months trying to disappear.

Sasha's throat worked, her mind racing furiously. For a moment, her legs threatened to lock beneath her.

But she quickly stepped aside, forcing a brittle smile, her body running on instinct while panic churned inside her.

Lea glided past her first, her steps graceful and sure, settling onto the modest sofa like she belonged there. Leon followed wordlessly, moving with calculated ease, taking the seat beside Lea—but his presence felt anything but casual.

Sasha's pulse roared in her ears.

**How? How did they find me?**

She had been meticulous. Every move calculated. Every connection severed.

But she should've known better.

You couldn't outrun a man like Darius.

You couldn't disappear from a world built by dons.

Her stomach twisted sharply, dread coiling in her gut.

**Does Darius know?**

**Will he take my baby away?**

A chill swept over her, colder than anything she'd felt in months. She stood there frozen, her mind spiraling so fast she didn't even register Lea speaking until her soft voice broke through the fog.

"Sasha?"

Her name sounded gentle, but it made her flinch like a slap. She swallowed hard, her voice thin. "Yeah?"

Lea's smile dimmed, something more serious flickering beneath the surface. She studied Sasha closely, concern woven into her features. "You seem… lost."

Sasha forced a weak, hollow chuckle, willing her legs to stop shaking. "No, I just… wasn't expecting you."

Her fingers fumbled as she stood abruptly, desperate for something to do, something to anchor herself. She moved toward the kitchen on autopilot, grabbing two glasses and the only thing she could find—juice and a plate of cookies.

Her back stiffened as she returned, feeling Leon's stare drilling into her as she placed the tray on the table. The glass in her hand trembled slightly, but she didn't dare glance at him.

Every movement felt scrutinized.

Lea's smile returned, warm but watchful. "Come sit with me."

Sasha hesitated. The invitation felt innocent, but nothing about this moment was. Still, she swallowed her apprehension and sat down beside Lea, careful to keep her hands resting protectively over her stomach.

Leon remained silent, but the weight of his gaze pressed heavily against her skin, making her spine rigid.

Lea reached for one of the glasses and handed it to Sasha. "Drink some."

Sasha's fingers closed tightly around it, though her throat felt too dry to swallow properly. Still, she took a few obedient sips, the taste of sweetness clashing bitterly with the tension knotting her insides.

Then Lea's tone softened, her eyes dipping to Sasha's belly, voice almost maternal.

"What month?"

Sasha's grip tightened reflexively around the glass. For a heartbeat, she debated lying. But she knew better.

"Seventh," she answered quietly, barely above a whisper.

Lea's smile grew faint, gentler. "And your due date?"

Sasha drew in a shaky breath. "January thirtieth."

Lea nodded thoughtfully, her gaze flickering between Sasha's face and her stomach. "Are you taking care of yourself? Is the baby fine?"

Sasha forced a nod, though her heart was pounding violently. "Yes. We're… both fine."

But the words felt fragile. Useless.

Because she didn't know where this conversation was headed.

And she feared the answer.

The quiet stretched.

It broke, sharp and cold, when Leon finally spoke.

His voice was low, biting, filled with something that made Sasha's blood freeze.

"Of course you're fine," he said, each word deliberate, dripping with contempt. "Why wouldn't you be? After all…" His eyes narrowed. "You killed my best friend."

The words sliced through her like a blade.

Sasha's breath hitched violently. Her throat closed. Her gaze dropped, unable to meet his eyes—unable to bear the accusation there, even though she knew it, expected it.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Lea, without missing a beat, reached across and subtly nudged Leon, her expression darkening. Her hand brushed his arm, and she shot him a pointed, silent warning. A tilt of her head, a quick glance toward the door—a clear message.

**Leave.**

Leon's jaw tensed, his nostrils flaring as if he wanted to say more. But after a moment, he exhaled sharply through clenched teeth and stood, his movement sharp, impatient.

Without another word, without a backward glance, he strode out the door.

The silence he left behind felt heavier than his presence.

Sasha remained frozen, her fingers clenched protectively over her swollen belly, the taste of fear thick at the back of her throat.

She knew exactly what would happen next.

Leon wouldn't keep this to himself.

He would tell Darius.

And when he did…

Everything she had fought so hard to protect—her fragile new life, her child—would be pulled out from beneath her.

The world she had tried so desperately to escape was about to come crashing back.