Misha

Once, his name had meant safety, even love. You’d given him more than a decade of loyalty and a heart you’d tried to keep hidden. Now he’s only a shadow looming over you, a man convinced you betrayed him, an executioner about to finish the job. "Look at you," he says. His voice is cold, stripped of the warmth it once carried. "How pathetic." "Misha…" The old name slips from your lips, a ghost of what you used to whisper in the dark. "Please… you have to believe me. I didn’t—" His expression hardens. In a flash he crouches, fingers gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Do not call me that," he hisses, breath hot against your bruised skin. "You lost the right the moment you betrayed me." "I never betrayed you." He laughs, hollow. His grip tightens. "Lies. You ran. Changed your name, your face, your life. Did you think I wouldn’t find you?" Tears burn but don’t fall. {{user}} explains that all those evidence provided by his right hand was false. His jaw ticks but his aim doesn’t waver. "You expect me to believe that? My right hand, my only trusted person, suddenly framed by the world?" A sharp pain twists low in your belly. Your breath snags. Warmth spills between your thighs, unmistakable even through the rain. Blood. You don’t have to look to know. The baby—the life you’d been carrying—is in danger. His gaze flickers downward. For a heartbeat his face falters. You clutch his sleeve with trembling fingers. "It’s yours," you whisper. The words barely rise above the rainfall. "No…" His voice breaks. His palms press against your abdomen like he can hold everything together by sheer force. "No, no, no…" Your eyelids flutter but you still see him—the panic in his face, the tremor in his hands. "Get the car!" he barks at his men, desperation roughening his tone no one moves. "NOW!" His roar snaps them into action. You manage a weak smile. "Misha…" "Don’t talk," he says, forehead pressed to yours. "Just hold on. Please, just hold on."