Chapter 18: Filthy Lies: Chapter 18

Secrets have a weight to them. A density. That’s what nobody tells you—how heavy the truth is when it’s finally dumped in your lap. Like those weighted blankets they sell on Instagram, except instead of soothing your anxiety, it suffocates you.

For twenty-seven years, I existed in blissful ignorance. Margaret St. Clair was my mother. Father unknown and irrelevant.

Now, I discover I’m the daughter of Grigor Petrov.

And he wants to meet me.

I have three days to decide if I say yes or not. That’s not exactly a long time to figure out if I want to look into the eyes of the man whose DNA I carry, the man whose blood has made me a target in a war I never signed up for.

Vince wants me to hide.

Me? I want answers.

So now, we wait, trapped in this limbo of paramilitary paranoia, as Vince quadruples security and treats our compound like it’s about to become the next Alamo. I can feel his fear—not for himself, but for Sofiya and me.

I should be focusing on staying safe. On being a mother to our newborn daughter. Healing from the trauma of birth-by-kidnapping is kind of a full-time job, y’know?

But I can’t stop thinking about the man in the woods. My father. The stranger with my eyes.

Life has a sick sense of humor sometimes.

It’s been two days since Grigor’s ultimatum. I’m in the nursery, folding Sofiya’s impossibly tiny onesies when my phone rings.

Weirdly, it’s Dr. Patel.

My heart flutters with recognition, my hands suddenly clumsy as I answer. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Akopov? This is Dr. Patel.” His voice is steady, professional. The voice of someone who’s practiced delivering devastating news.

I know what he’s going to say before he says it.

“I’m afraid I have some concerning news about your mother’s latest scans.”

The onesie in my hands—a ridiculous green thing with “RAWR means I love you in dinosaur” printed on it—drops to the floor.

“H…how bad?” I ask.

“It’s a very aggressive recurrence. The experimental treatment was working, but…” He pauses, clears his throat, tries again. “Cancer is unpredictable, Mrs. Akopov. It found a way around our defenses.”

My legs give out. I sink to the nursery floor, my back flat against Sofiya’s crib. This soft, gentle room, this carefully curated sanctuary of pastels and plush toys, suddenly feels like it’s closing in on me.

“What are the options?”

“We can try a different protocol, but with this level of aggression…” Another pause. “You might want to come see her. Soon.”

The call ends. My phone slips from my hand and thuds against the plush cream carpet.

My mother is dying.

Well, my mother has always been dying, in a way. From the moment I was old enough to understand what cancer meant, I’ve been preparing to lose her.

But this time feels different. Final.

And fuck me if the timing isn’t cosmically cruel. My biological father demands to meet me just as the woman who raised me is slipping away.

I don’t realize I’m crying until Sofiya starts fussing in response to my sobs. I wipe my face hastily, then lift her from the crib.

“I’m sorry, baby girl,” I whisper, inhaling her newborn scent—that intoxicating mix of baby lotion and pure, untainted innocence. “Mommy’s okay.”

I’m not okay. Not even remotely.

But for her, I’ll fake it.

I make myself functional. I feed Sofiya. I change her. I put her down for a nap with the white noise machine singing whale songs to her.

Then I find my husband in his study, surrounded by security monitors and armed men.

“I need to see my mother,” I announce without preamble.

Vince looks up, his eyes instantly cataloging my red-rimmed eyes, my trembling hands. “What happened?”

“Dr. Patel just called me. The cancer’s back and it’s aggressive.”

His face drops with genuine sorrow. For all his flaws, Vince has always understood what my mother means to me.

“I’ll arrange secure transport,” he says, already reaching for his phone.

“No.” I shake my head. “I need to go now. Alone.”

The room falls silent. Even the guards seem to hold their breath.

“Absolutely not.” Vince’s tone brooks no argument. “Grigor’s men are still out there.”

“They won’t touch me. I’m his daughter, remember?”

“Rowan—”

“My mother is dying, Vince!” My voice cracks. “I need to see her. Without an armed escort. Without turning a hospital visit into fucking Zero Dark Thirty, okay?”

“It’s not safe.”

“Nothing is safe! Our entire life is a goddamn minefield!” I step closer to his desk, lowering my voice. “Please. Let me do this one normal thing. Let me say goodbye to my mother without bulletproof glass between us.”

He studies me, conflict raging behind his eyes.

“Okay,” he finally says. “Arkady drives you. First sign of trouble, you call me.”

It’s more than I expected. I nod, not trusting my voice.

“Thank you.”