Page 55 of Scarlet Chains
I wipe my eyes and stand up, my legs still shaky but functional. Through the window in her door, I can see her lying in that hospital bed, small and fragile but still fighting, still breathing, still here. Still my mother, even changed by illness and reduced by circumstances beyond her control.
And for the first time since I left Boston, for the first time since I discovered the truth about Osip and my father, for the first time since I found out I was pregnant, I know exactly what I have to do.
I have to be the daughter she deserves. I have to be strong enough to help her through this, brave enough to face whatevercomes next, selfless enough to put her needs above my own fear and confusion and complicated relationship drama.
I have to be the person she raised me to be, even if I’m not sure I know how to be that person anymore.
Taking a deep breath, I push open the door to room 314 and step back into the space where my mother is waiting, where my new reality begins, where everything I thought I knew about my life ends and something else— something harder but maybe more honest— begins.
She’s still my mother. And I’m still her daughter.
For whatever time we have left, that has to be enough.
Chapter Twenty-One
Osip
The blinds are drawn tight across the panoramic view of Boston Harbor, darkening the hotel’s penthouse suite with shadows that match my mood.
Late afternoon sun tries to creep through the gaps, but I’ve made sure this place stays as dark as I feel. The silence presses against my skull— no noise of traffic or outdoor clamor here. Just expensive marble floors, Italian leather furniture, and the kind of luxury that only money can buy… without the satisfaction.
I’m not leaving this fucking city without her.
I lean back in the chair, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension that’s been building there for days. My head is hollow from lack of sleep and my mouth tastes like stale vodka. I feel like hell.
Ilona.
Her name echoes in my mind, relentless and consuming. The way she looked at me in that orphanage parking lot, like I was a stranger wearing her lover’s face. The way she flinched when I reached for her. The way she protected Slava from me—me, his own father— like I was some monster crawling out of her nightmares.
Maybe I am.
I reach for my phone, thumb hovering over her contact. Cameron Simpson gave me her number, along with a lecture about “respecting boundaries” and “personal space”. Fuck that. I’ve called seventeen times. Each ring that goes unanswered feels like a personal violation.
But I can’t stop.
Won’t stop.
The decision formed in my mind hours ago, settling over me like concrete hardening around rebar. I’m going to marry her. Not just because it’ll make the legal process easier— though Simpson assures me a married couple has better chances in family court than a single Russian father with shadows in his past. No, the real reason runs deeper than legalities and logistics.
I can’t live without her.
But it’s more. It’s not about the burn when she looks at me— I’ve had fires lit under me before. It’s not even about the way she used to move under my hands like she already knew how I wanted her.
It’s my boy. The way he responded to her so naturally. And she responded to him too. Without knowing who he was, she instinctively cared for my son. Loved him, even. You can’t put a value on that. It’s priceless.
Slava needs a mother as much as I need a wife.
There’s no one else who can fill that role. No other woman who could be the mother he needs, the wife I crave, the missing piece that could make this fucked-up family complete. It has to be her.
Itwillbe her.
I just need a plan to convince her of that.
Easier said than done, mudak.
The vodka makes everything sharper and softer at the same time. But alcohol doesn’t fix shit, useless against the fists clenched in my gut.
Ilona’s ghost won’t fucking leave.
