“Look at me and answer: is this my daughter?” — a chill runs over my skin from the cold, long-forgotten tone. But I’m not going to hide my eyes. Tikhomirova needs to remember that even as an eighteen-year-old girl, I never backed down—and now I’m a mother. Mother of a wonderful little girl, whom I won’t let anyone hurt.
“I look you in the eyes and repeat: my daughter has no biological father. And if, in the future, I meet a worthy man, I believe he will want to adopt her…” The phrase freezes on my lips, and Gleb’s fingers tighten around my neck. The strike is so sudden that I don’t have time to dodge. He doesn’t say anything, but his look is so eloquent that chills crawl all over my body. Will he kill me only because I gave him a child without having an abortion—or because someone else might appear in my life? Tikhomirov has always been a possessive man.