Chapter 307

Chapter 307
ISAIAH

Tamara might have said that finding out I was alive was the greatest shock of her life, but I was certain that discovering I had a daughter came in a very close second.

We were in my bed—our bed—back in our house, and even hours later, it still felt unreal. Like I might blink and wake up somewhere cold and empty again. Her head rested on my chest, heavy with sleep and exhaustion, her body curled into mine like it remembered this shape by instinct. The scent of her flooded me—floral perfume, her shampoo, her. It wrapped around my lungs and settled there, easing a tightness I had carried for far too long.

It felt like home.

Fabian had taken Leah earlier, muttering something about it being his turn anyway, giving us space without saying it out loud. The moment we crossed the front door, words stopped mattering. Explanations could wait. Grief could wait. The need to reconnect—to touch, to prove we were real—took over.

I relearned her body, reverently. The changes pregnancy had left behind. The new scars, faint but permanent. The way her curves had softened and deepened in places I knew by heart. She was still breathtaking. Still devastating. Still mine in the way that mattered.

My hand traced her ribs, fingers pausing over the ink there.
Even death will never be able to separate us.

Her only tattoo.

The irony of it sat heavy in my chest.

She shifted, then sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest like she needed a barrier. When she looked at me, her eyes searched my face the way people look at graves—like they expected nothing to answer back.

In some ways, I was a ghost to her.

“Where were you?” she whispered, her voice breaking before she could stop it. Tears filled her eyes, spilling over despite her effort to blink them away. “Isaiah… what happened that for almost two years you couldn’t give me a single sign of life? That you let me suffer a pain no one should ever have to suffer?”

I sat up too, resting back against the pillows. Being back on my side of the bed felt strange and familiar all at once. I thought of the nights I spent without her. The mornings I woke up aching, reaching for a body that wasn’t there. The restraint it took not to contact her, not to let her hear my voice, not to ruin everything by being weak.

The waiting had been torture.

“I had to disappear,” I said finally.

Her jaw tightened.

“I promised myself I was going to destroy Pakhan, Tom, and the Russian bratva,” I continued, my voice steady even as memories clawed their way up my spine. “And the only way to do that—to keep you safe, to stop the death threats—was to die on my own terms.”

“But you didn’t die,” she said sharply. “You hid.”

I nodded. “I had to pretend to die. To make it real enough that no one would keep coming for you. Believe me, malyshka, I didn’t even know if it would work. That’s why I prepared everything. The will. The flowers. The letter. I genuinely thought I was going to die that day.”

Her sniffle cut straight through me. She wiped her eyes, and my chest tightened painfully. I hated that I was still the reason for her tears.

“The day Tom texted me your whereabouts,” I went on, “I planned to kill myself in an accident. That truck you saw—it was premeditated. The moment it came into range, he was supposed to alert me. I would jump out, and the car—since it was automatic—would keep going. Ten minutes, give or take.”

Her breath hitched.

“I destroyed the drones first. I couldn’t let them see what I was planning. Once the other cars closed in, I replaced myself with a body double. Baba helped me contact a man who… creates them. It was built to match me. Height. Build. DNA. Everything.”

Her hand flew to her mouth as she gasped.

“I had to make it look real,” I said softly, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “I thought you’d notice. Fabian and Ian were in on it. Just them. I expected Fabian to tell me you suspected something.”

Her shoulders sagged.

“I couldn’t even look at your body,” she whispered, devastated. “God… I feel so stupid.”

She slapped her palm against her thigh, but I caught her hand immediately, massaging the spot like I could rub the pain away.

“You aren’t stupid,” I said firmly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I understand. Completely.”

She melted into me like she always had, and the familiar thrill surged through my veins. The way she reacted to me—trusted me—was better than any drug, any kill, any victory.

After a moment, she pulled back and muttered, “Fabian is such a devil.”

I smirked. “Why do you say that?”

She snapped her gaze to me and hit my chest, hard enough to make a point. I laughed under my breath, rubbing the spot.

“When I saw the flowers and the letter, I knew something was wrong,” she said heatedly. “I went to him and he made me feel crazy. I should have listened to my instincts.”

I pulled her closer, unable to help myself. Touching her was a need now, not a want.

“He was trying to protect you,” I said. “It was hard for him watching you like that.”

She exhaled. “So the killings… Pakhan, Tom… all of it was you?”

I nodded, burying my face in her hair. The scent drove me insane all over again.

“I needed the bratva destroyed so thoroughly they’d never recover,” I said. “But Tom and Pakhan? Their deaths were always going to be slow. Painful and Public. I staged it so you would see. So you would know I was coming back to you.”

Her breath stuttered.

“I was supposed to wait two more days before coming to you,” I admitted quietly. “But I couldn’t. I was tired of waiting.”

And I would have waited a lifetime if it meant keeping her safe—but God help me, I was done being dead.

“But what about the authorities?” she asked softly.
The question slipped out quietly, but her eyes widened the moment she finished speaking, fear blooming there like she had only just realized the implications. “They said they’re searching for the killer. Aren’t you going to be in trouble?”
I couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at my lips. It was instinctive. Automatic.
“I’ve been killing and torturing people for close to ten years, princess,” I said calmly. “I know how to hide my tracks.”
“But—”
“Can we talk about Leah?” I cut in gently. “Please.”
The shift in her was immediate.