Page 38 of Accidentally Knocked Up By the Bratva

I nod, moving to her side. "I'm sorry, Zara. I wish I could stay, but this can't wait." I cup her cheek gently, my thumb brushing her soft skin. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

She leans into my touch, her eyes searching mine. "When will you be back?"

"I'm not sure," I admit, the weight of my responsibilities pressing down on me. "But I'll return as soon as I can."

I lean in, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. The scent of her perfume lingers as I pull away, reminding me of what I'm leaving behind.

Chapter 14 - Zara

I’ve kept my cool all morning and afternoon, but now something tells me he could be in trouble. My heart pounds as I pace the marble floors of Abram's duplex, my heels slapping against the cold stone. I have so much nervous energy pent up that I feel every atom on my skin radiate. I check my phone for the hundredth time—no new messages, no missed calls. Nothing but silence.

Wherever the hell could he be? He never came back last night. This morning, I saw his bed unmade. When I called, I got no response. Lunch came and passed. No response.

After the whole Tatiana fiasco, Abram’s never pulled a stunt like this. I trust him enough to know he would have called if he could. Something very serious must have happened for him to maintain such cold silence. He’s never gone this long without making contact.

My calls become more frantic, texts more frenzied.

Now, the sun’s about to set.

The worry gnaws at my insides, twisting my stomach into knots. It's been a whole day of unanswered texts and calls that go straight to voicemail. I run situations through my mind, thinking of what my next steps could be.

A snippet of our conversation from the previous night comes to mind. He’s left important numbers on the fridge.

I rush over and hunt through the list until at last, I see a name and title for his secretary at the office.

I dial his office, my fingers trembling. "Abram Zolotov’s office, how may I help you?"

The clipped tone of his assistant brings me little comfort. I recognize the voice from back when I was coordinating shipments while decorating Abram’s home. Why didn’t I think to call her earlier?

"It's Zara. Zara Lyons. Is Abram there?"

"I'm afraid Mr. Zolotov hasn't come into the office today. I haven't been able to reach him either."

Panic rises in my throat, sharp and acrid. "What do you mean you can't reach him? Where is he?"

"I apologize, but I have no information about Mr. Zolotov's current whereabouts."

The line goes dead, and I stare at the phone in my hands, willing it to ring. But silence envelops me, broken only by the ragged sound of my breathing. My mind runs to the worst possible scenarios. What if something happened to him? What if he’s lying dead in a ditch somewhere or in a car accident, and no one knows?

I close my eyes, trying to quell the rising panic. There has to be an explanation. But until I hear his voice, feel the warmth of his arms around me…I won't rest easy.

I can't sit here and wait any longer. I need answers, and I need them now.

"Enough," I mutter to myself, pushing off the couch. "I’ll simply have to find him myself."

I rush over to the key hanger near the hallway. My fingers tremble slightly as I grab my keys, the metal cool against my palm.

There’s only one place I could find answers and so, I turn toward Abram's home office.

The door creaks as I push it open, the sound amplified in the quiet house. I hesitate on the threshold, guilt warring with determination. This is a violation of his privacy, but the fear of losing him overrides everything else.

I slip inside, my eyes adjusting to the dim, fading light filtering through the windows. Abram's scent lingers here—leather, whiskey, and something uniquely him. It wraps around me, both comforting and painful.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, approaching his massive oak desk. "But I need to know you're safe."

My hands shake as I pull open the top drawer. Pens, notepads, nothing unusual. The second drawer yields similar mundane items. I bite my lip, frustration mounting.

"Come on, Abram. Give me something."

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