Page 116 of Bought By the Ruthless Pakhan

"I thought when you brought me home, you just wanted to keep me like a caged bird. That you were just locking me up."

My eyes burned. My voice cracked. "But Gary told me. Who you are. He said you kept me locked up because I was your weakness. That you were protecting me. And then I remembered. The warm milk you left by my bed every morning. The way you stood in the kitchen doorway watching me chop vegetables. The way your arms tightened around me at night, even in your sleep."

"What kind of pet gets served by her owner?"

I smiled. "I'm sorry. I didn't trust you enough either."

Ivan lowered his eyes. His lashes hid the light beneath.

He didn't speak. Just held my hand. His thumb traced the fading red mark on my wrist where the zip tie had been. The mark had softened. From deep red to pale pink. The skin at the edges was slightly shiny—new and tender.

"I'm not a good man," he said. "I've done more than you know. Your world was clean. I didn't want you to touch any of this. But I couldn't stop it."

He looked at me. "Do you regret it?"

I looked into his eyes.

There was no test there. No doubt. Just quiet waiting. Like he was waiting for an answer he didn't think he deserved but still wanted to hear.

I smiled.

It came from somewhere deep. Effortless. Natural.

"I just left my father dying in the corner of an abandoned warehouse."

I could still see Gary's face. Eyes wide open in death.

But I felt calm. "When I did it, I told him he didn't deserve to be a father. Ivan, my world isn't clean either. But you caught me."

I paused. Felt his fingers tighten around mine.

Just a little.

"I don't regret it. Every choice I made was mine. You never made them for me. You just waited. Let me walk the path myself. Then you caught me."

His eyes finally filled.

A thin layer of moisture. Barely there. Just pooling at the edges.

But his shoulders dropped. Like a wall that had stood against the wind too long had finally found something to lean on.

He lowered his head. Pressed his forehead to my hand again. This time lighter. Like all the weight had finally come off. Like he'd set it down somewhere I could hold it.

Footsteps sounded outside the door.

Then the door cracked open. A small fuzzy head peeked through.

Alex wore his blue hoodie. The hood sat crooked. One hand gripped the doorframe. The other clutched something—a crumpled piece of paper.

He saw me awake. Froze. Then his eyes lit up. He shoved the door open and ran in.

He stopped at the bedside. Like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to climb up. He stood about two steps away, clutching the paper, looking up at me.

"Mom," he said. "You're awake."

His voice was breathless. But more than that—it was careful. Afraid to disturb something.

I reached out. He let go of the paper immediately. His fingers slipped into my palm.