Mile High Daddy: Chapter 26

Mikhail doesn’t leave my side.

Not when I get dressed. Not when the doctor gives me final instructions. Not when I’m wheeled out of the hospital in a chair I insist I don’t need.

And definitely not when we get home.

I half expect him to disappear into another room once we step inside, to give me space like he usually does. But instead, he guides me straight to bed, his hands firm but careful on my waist.

“You need to rest,” he says, his voice gruff but not unkind.

I roll my eyes. “I’ve been resting all day.”

He just gives me a look, the kind that shuts down any argument before it starts.

So I let him tuck me in. Let him fuss.

And I pretend I don’t feel my chest ache at how gentle he is.

I expect him to go back to business as usual, to sit in the living room brooding over his phone, to pace by the windows like he always does when he’s thinking too much.

But instead—he stays.

And I mean, he really stays.

The next morning, I wake up to the smell of something shockingly edible. When I drag myself into the kitchen, Mikhail is at the stove, frowning at a pan like it personally offended him.

“You’re cooking?” I ask, blinking at the sight.

He doesn’t look at me, but I see the corner of his mouth twitch slightly. “I was told you need a proper meal. I don’t trust you to take care of yourself.”

I snort, lowering myself onto one of the bar stools. “And you’re suddenly a chef?”

“I’m more capable than you think, kiska.”

I don’t believe that for a second. But then he sets a plate in front of me—scrambled eggs, toast, and even sliced fruit—and I can’t deny it looks…good.

When I take a bite, my eyes widen slightly.

“It’s…edible,” I admit.

He smirks, finally sitting down across from me. “High praise.”

That’s how the weekend goes.

Mikhail stays close, making sure I eat, drink water, rest—all while pretending he’s not hovering. He massages my swollen feet without me asking. He adjusts pillows behind my back before I even realize I need them.

And every time I wake up in the middle of the night, uncomfortable or just restless, I find him already awake, watching me like he’s waiting for me to ask for something.

I don’t.

But somehow, he always knows anyway.

I sit on the couch, curled under a blanket, sipping tea. Mikhail sits at the other end, his phone in hand, but his eyes are on me.

“You’ve been really…” I hesitate, searching for the right word.

“Really what?” he asks.

I exhale, looking down at my mug. “I don’t know. Kind.”

Silence stretches between us.

When I glance up, his expression is unreadable.

“You think I’m not capable of that?” he asks, voice quiet, but rough.

I swallow. “I don’t know what you’re capable of, Mikhail.”

He watches me for a long moment.

Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m capable of taking care of what’s mine.”

The knock at the door makes me pause mid-sip.

I glance at Mikhail, expecting him to react, but he’s already sitting up straighter, his entire body going tense.

That’s my first clue that something is off.

I frown. “Who the hell would be here at this time of night?”

Mikhail doesn’t answer right away. And that’s my second clue.

“Who could that be?” I mutter, setting my mug down.

Mikhail shifts beside me.

I push off the couch and head toward the door. “Lila,” Mikhail says behind me, his voice low, careful, but I ignore him.

I swing the door open⁠—

And immediately wish I hadn’t.

Because standing there, looking perfectly at ease, is my father.

“Hello, darling,” he greets, smiling like he owns the world.

Annoyance spikes through me so fast I almost slam the door in his face.

Instead, I turn to Mikhail, my hands curling into fists.

“Did you call him?” I demand.

Mikhail doesn’t answer right away. He just holds my gaze, his expression unreadable, tense.

Which is enough of an answer.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter, shaking my head, my blood boiling. “I don’t need whatever lecture you both have planned, so just⁠—”

“Now, now, daughter,” my father interrupts, his voice smooth, patronizing. “Don’t be so annoyed. I actually have a surprise for you.”

I roll my eyes, about to tell him exactly where he can shove his surprises⁠—

But then a figure steps out from behind my father, and my heart stops.

My mother.

She stands there, looking at me like she can’t believe I’m real. Her dark hair is pulled back in a tight bun, her eyes wide and searching. She looks exactly the same and yet completely different—like she’s aged overnight, like the weight of the last few months has settled into her bones.

I can’t breathe.

“Mom?” My voice barely makes a sound.

She presses a hand to her mouth, her eyes misting. “Lila.”

I’m frozen. Paralyzed. I don’t know what to say, what to do.

Then suddenly—I’m moving.

I launch forward, wrapping my arms around her, clutching her like she might disappear. Her arms tighten around me instantly. She’s warm, solid, real.

“I thought—” I break off, my voice cracking.

“I know,” she whispers, stroking my hair. “I know, baby. I’m here.”

I feel her shaking, but I don’t let go. I don’t think I can. Tears spill down my cheeks, and I don’t even try to stop them.

For months, I didn’t know if I’d ever see her again. If she was safe, if she was alive.

And now she’s here.

Alive. Real.

I pull back just enough to look at her, my hands still gripping her arms like she might vanish if I let go. “How—how did you get here?”

“That would be me,” my father says smugly.

I barely spare him a glance, but for once, I don’t snap at him.

Because right now? None of that matters.

I turn toward Mikhail, blinking back my tears, my heart still hammering in my chest.

“You did this,” I whisper, realization settling over me.

Mikhail holds my gaze. Unflinching. “You asked for her,” he says simply. “So I brought her to you.”

Something sharp lodges itself in my throat.

I don’t know what to say.

I don’t know how to process this.

Mikhail didn’t have to do this. He could have ignored me, brushed me off, told me it wasn’t possible.

Instead—he brought her back to me.

I swallow hard, my emotions still too raw. “Thank you.”

Mikhail doesn’t say anything, but something in his expression shifts.

Before I can figure it out, my mother squeezes my hands, drawing my attention back to her. “Lila, baby,” she breathes. “I’m so glad to see you.”

I grip my mother’s hand and pull her inside, shutting the door behind us.

She’s here.

She’s safe.

That’s all that matters.

I take a step back, just looking at her, drinking in every detail.

God, I missed her.

“Come sit,” I say, finally finding my voice.

She nods, letting me lead her to the couch, her fingers still laced with mine like she doesn’t want to let go either. Mikhail stands near the doorway, arms crossed, watching carefully, but for once, I don’t focus on him. It’s just me and her.

When we sit, she reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from my face, her eyes softening. “You look beautiful.”

I let out a shaky laugh, pressing my hand to my belly. “And big.”

She smiles, her fingers grazing my wrist. “I can’t believe it. Twins.”

I swallow, my throat tight. “I wanted you to be here. For all of it.”

“I know, baby,” she whispers, her own voice thick with emotion. “I wanted that too.”

A silence stretches between us, filled with all the things we lost, all the time that passed.

I could cry again.

I almost do. But instead, I just squeeze her hand and say, “Tell me everything.”

She exhales, leaning back slightly, gathering her thoughts.

A slow clap breaks the moment.

I turn toward my father, already bracing myself for whatever nonsense he’s about to spew. He’s leaning against the doorframe, looking pleased with himself, like he just personally orchestrated a grand reunion.

“Touching,” he says, smirking. “Really. Almost like a happy family.”

I roll my eyes, barely containing my disgust. “What do you want, Dad? A thank you? A gold star?”

His smirk widens, and I swear, it takes everything in me not to throw something at him.

“Just appreciating my own handiwork,” he says, gesturing toward my mother like she’s some trophy he delivered. “I do believe you asked for her, and now here she is. Safe and sound. You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

I resist the urge to groan out loud.

What an idiot.

He didn’t do this out of kindness. He did it because it benefits him, to look good in front of my husband. He owes Mikhail big-time.

Before I can snap back, Mikhail speaks.

“Thank you,” he says flatly, with zero warmth.

I blink, startled. Did he just—thank him?

Mikhail’s posture is completely at ease, but his eyes? Cold. Deadly.

And then—he steps forward.

And suddenly, my father’s smirk flickers.

Mikhail tilts his head slightly, his voice still calm. “You’ve done your part. You can leave now.”

My father scoffs, but it’s forced. “Come on, no drinks?”

Mikhail doesn’t even blink. “Leave.”

For the first time, I watch my father’s confidence waver, like he’s just now realizing that he’s out of his depth.

He clears his throat, adjusting his cuffs like he was already planning to go anyway. “Fine. I have better places to be, anyway.”

Mikhail doesn’t move as my father steps past him, heading toward the door.

But just before he leaves, he looks over his shoulder and says, “Don’t forget who made this happen, daughter.”

I don’t respond.

I just stare at him until he finally walks out and shuts the door behind him.

My mother touches my hand. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head, laughing dryly. “I just can’t believe I’m related to that man.”

Mikhail mutters, “Neither can I.”

And somehow, that actually makes me laugh.

The next morning, the house is quiet.

Mikhail has stepped out, but my mother and I sit at the small breakfast table, two steaming cups of tea between us.

I feel lighter today. Maybe because she’s here. Maybe because, for the first time in months, I don’t feel like I’m constantly looking over my shoulder.

But the moment she speaks, I realize this peace won’t last long.

“Lila,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “I’m worried about you.”

I stir my tea absentmindedly, not looking up. “I know.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” she continues, lowering her voice, as if Mikhail might walk in at any moment. “I don’t understand why you’re still with him. He took you from everything you knew.”

I hesitate for just a beat before answering. “He took care of me.”

My mother’s head snaps up, her sharp eyes narrowing in surprise. “What?”

I sigh, finally meeting her gaze. “He took care of me. After I left, after everything—I was alone. I was sick. And then he found me.”

Her expression hardens. “And you think that excuses everything?”

I open my mouth, then close it.

I don’t know how to explain it.

I don’t know how to make her understand that the lines between enemy and protector, captor and husband, love and hate⁠—

They blurred a long time ago.

I stare into my cup, my fingers curling around the warm ceramic.

For so long, I convinced myself that I hated Mikhail. That he was the worst thing to ever happen to me. That if I could just escape him, I’d be free.

But…what is freedom, really?

Was I free when I was alone in Camden Hill, lying awake at night with my hands on my belly, wondering if I’d made a mistake?

Was I free when I woke up gasping from dreams about him, dreams where I still felt his hands on me, his breath on my skin, his voice whispering in my ear?

Was I free when, after months of convincing myself that I didn’t want him, I still longed for him in the quiet moments, still felt his absence like a missing piece of myself?

And now—he’s here.

And I don’t want him to leave.

The realization hits me so suddenly, so violently, that I almost flinch.

I love him.

I, Lila Evans, love Mikhail Ivanov.

The truth settles deep into my bones, terrifying and inevitable all at once.

I can’t fight it anymore.

I can’t pretend he’s just some villain in my story, some nightmare I need to wake up from.

Because the truth is—he’s everything.

I swallow, glancing up at my mother, who’s still watching me closely, expectantly.

But what am I supposed to say? That I love the man who stole me?

That I love the man who bound me to him in a forced marriage, who hunts his enemies like a wolf, who lives in a world drenched in blood and loyalty?

That, despite all of that, he is the only place that has ever felt like home?

I can’t.

I won’t.

So instead, I say, “It’s complicated.”

Her eyes darken. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

I force a small smile, even though my chest feels too tight.

You and me both, Mom.

My mother hesitates, her lips parting like she’s about to say something important. “Lila, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

I glance at my phone and frown. “Too late,” I say, standing up. “My ride should be here any minute.”

Her brows furrow, like she wants to protest, but I’m already grabbing my bag and heading for the door. “We’ll talk later, okay?” I say over my shoulder.

I don’t wait for an answer as I step outside.

The morning air is crisp, the faint hum of traffic drifting from the main road. I spot Maggie’s car idling at the curb and jog down the steps.

As soon as I slide into the passenger seat, I glance around, confused.

“I thought Alex was coming,” I say, buckling my seat belt.

Maggie checks her watch, wrinkling her nose. “He got caught up in something. So lucky you, you get to suffer through my driving.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Great. Can’t wait.”

She grins, throwing the car into gear.

As we pull onto the road, I feel a small twinge of guilt for brushing off my mother so quickly. But I push it aside.

It’s probably nothing.

And besides, work is waiting.

The shift passes quicker than I expect, and by the time I step out of the coffee shop, stretching my arms from the long hours, I half expect to see Mikhail’s car parked across the street like it usually is.

But it’s not.

Instead, Maggie’s leaning against her car, scrolling through her phone.

She looks up when she sees me and waves. “Come on, I’m your ride today.”

I frown slightly as I make my way over. “Where’s Mikhail?”

Maggie shrugs, opening the driver’s side door. “No idea. I offered, so here I am.”

That’s…weird.

Mikhail always picks me up. Even when I don’t ask him to. Even when I pretend I don’t want him to. But I shake the thought off and slide into the passenger seat. Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he finally got the hint that I can get home on my own.

Maggie starts the car, and as we pull onto the road, I notice she keeps glancing down at her phone, checking the screen every few seconds.

I raise a brow. “What’s that about?”

She flashes me a quick smile, but there’s something a little off about it. “Nothing. Just waiting on something.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, giving her a look. “And what exactly are you waiting on?”

She hesitates just a little too long before answering. “Well…we actually need to take a little detour.”

That gets my attention. “A detour?”

“Yeah, I have to pick something up,” she says, keeping her tone light, casual. “It won’t take long, promise.”

I narrow my eyes slightly. “Fine,” I say, leaning back in my seat. “But if this is some elaborate plan to make me try sushi again, I’m saying no in advance.”

She laughs, rolling her eyes. “I’d never trick a pregnant woman.”

“Uh-huh. We’ll see about that.”

I settle into my seat, the city lights passing by as we drive.

It’s probably nothing.

And even if it’s something, I’m too tired to care.

Maggie’s phone lights up again, and she barely glances at it before letting out an exasperated groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mutters, tapping furiously on the screen. “We’re already here!”

I sit up, my suspicion growing. “Where?”

Maggie winces, throwing me a sheepish look as she pulls into a parking lot.

“Surprise,” she says, grinning way too wide. “It’s your baby shower!”

I blink.

Then blink again.

“You’re kidding,” I say, my brain struggling to catch up.

“Nope,” Maggie chirps, putting the car in park. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but someone—I won’t name names—just texted in the group chat that the party is pushed back by a few hours.”

My jaw drops. “Group chat? How many people did you invite?”

Maggie waves a hand dismissively. “Not many, just a few of our neighbors and customers. Oh, and your husband insisted.”

I almost choke on air.

Mikhail?

Maggie gives me a look. “He helped me plan it.”

I stare at her, my brain struggling to process that information.

Mikhail—the man who glares at anyone who looks at me too long, who acts like he’s allergic to social gatherings, who probably thinks baby showers are a waste of time—helped plan one for me?

“You’re lying,” I say flatly.

Maggie laughs. “Swear on my life. He was all, ‘Make sure it’s elegant, don’t let her lift a finger, and don’t let anyone bring cheap cake.’ He was very specific about the cake, by the way.”

I blink rapidly, trying to picture it—Mikhail discussing decorations, approving guest lists, making sure I had a proper cake?

The image is so ridiculous I almost laugh.

Almost.

Because underneath my shock and confusion, something warm spreads through my chest.

Mikhail did this for me.

He planned this for me.

And I have no idea what to do with that information.

I step out of the car, my boots crunching against the gravel, and glance around.

“Where are we, anyway?” I ask, still feeling a little dazed from everything Maggie just dropped on me.

She grins, motioning to the elegant stone building in front of us, warm lights glowing from its tall windows. “Fevre Inn. The best thing we have in Camden Hill.”

I take it in—the cobblestone path, the twinkling fairy lights strung along the outdoor patio, the soft hum of music floating through the air. It’s…beautiful.

“You really went all out,” I murmur, but before Maggie can respond, she shoots me a knowing smile.

“Mikhail went all out,” she corrects. “He wanted it to be outdoors, so you wouldn’t feel claustrophobic.”

Something tightens in my chest.

Mikhail thought about that?

I press a hand to my belly, swallowing down the sudden rush of emotion.

It’s been a long time since someone planned something just for me.

And it’s never been Mikhail.

Not like this.

Darkness is falling rapidly, the sky painted in deep indigo, a few early stars winking into existence. The warm glow of lanterns flickers along the outdoor setup, casting everything in a soft golden light.

Maggie claps her hands together. “Now, before you go in, I have something for you.”

I raise a brow, watching as she moves to the back seat and pulls out a garment bag.

She holds it out, smirking. “A dress. Handpicked by your very thoughtful husband.”

I stare at her, then at the bag, my throat going tight again.

Of course he’d do this.

Of course he’d make sure I have something special to wear.

My fingers brush over the fabric, smooth beneath my touch.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

So I do neither.

Instead, I just whisper, “He really thought of everything, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Maggie says as we walk toward the inn, the warm glow of the lanterns growing closer. “But I don’t think he wants Alex here. I get the feeling he doesn’t like him.”

My face heats instantly.

Mikhail’s jealousy isn’t exactly subtle.

But before I can say anything, Maggie suddenly slows her steps, her brow furrowing. “Except…I can kind of see him walking toward us?”

I frown and turn⁠—

And sure enough, Alex is there.

My stomach drops.

He’s moving fast, his expression tight, his gaze locked directly on me.

“What the—” I start, but then he reaches us, gripping my shoulder, his fingers digging in just enough to send a spark of panic through me.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, his voice low, urgent.

“What?” My heart skips a beat. “Alex, what are you⁠—”

And then a gunshot splits the air.

I freeze.

The sound rips through the night, so close, so deafening, that for a second⁠—

Everything stops.

The air around me crackles with tension.

Maggie gasps, stumbling back. Alex curses, his grip on me tightening.

And suddenly, chaos erupts.