Only a discreet insignia on the tail betrayed its ownership: Ruslan’s crest, etched small and tasteful, a kingmaker’s signature hidden in plain sight.
Two men in dark suits stood at the base of the stairs, hands clasped in front of them, faces neutral.
Not guards. Not quite servants. Professionals.
The moment Vanya stepped onto the open concrete apron, something changed.
He slowed. Then stopped.
His grip on my hand loosened.
“Where are you taking me?” His voice dropped, suddenly small, stripped of its chatter and excitement.
His eyes darted from the jet to the men, then back to me.
I crouched instantly, keeping my movements gentle. I stayed at his level, even though my knees trembled. “We’re going on a trip,” I said softly. “Just you and me.”
“Traveling?” His brows pulled together, the way they always did when he was thinking hard. “What about Dad?”
The question cut clean through me.
“He’ll...” I swallowed. “...he’ll understand later.”
He looked around again—the empty tarmac, the distant roar of other jets taking off, the fence ringing the airstrip like a cage.
His breathing changed. Shallow. Quick. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” His eyes flicked to the two men. “This feels like a kidnap.”
My throat closed so tightly I almost gagged. “It’s not,” I said quickly. “I promise you. I would never hurt you.”
He yanked his hand free. The sudden rejection burned worse than a slap.
“You’re lying.”
My heart fractured.
I pulled the DNA results from my bag—creased now, the corners soft from being handled too many times in the dark. I hadn’t wanted this moment to happen here. Not like this. But I was out of time.
“Please,” I whispered. “Just look.”
He took the paper reluctantly, holding it like it might bite him. His eyes moved over the words, lips sounding them out silently. His forehead creased.
“99 percent...” He looked up sharply. “You still think you’re my mother?”
“I don’t think,” I said, forcing my voice to stay even. “I know. We lived together in Greece for five years. Just you and me. You had a yellow bike you rode every morning. You named it Thunder. You hated olives but loved honey on bread. You used to sleep on my side of the bed when you had nightmares.”
His face twisted—not in recognition, but in anger.
Then he did something that made my blood run cold.
He reached for the security watch on his wrist. Dmitri’s watch. The one that could summon help with a single tap.
I caught his hand—gently, instinctively. “Don’t.”
His eyes widened, fear tipping into full panic. He ripped his hand free and ran.
“Help!” he screamed, his voice tearing across the open tarmac. “Help! Someone help me!”
Small legs pumping. Tears streaming. The sound of it—raw, desperate—felt like my heart being dragged across concrete.