Page 50 of Perfect Stalker

“I’d rather take you back to bed.” With a sigh, he turns and walks back to the bedroom and to the bathroom beyond. I follow him, and we shower together.

An hour later, I’m seated across from Marcus in my office. He slides a leather folder across the desk. “This should be everything,” he says.

I open the folder with trembling hands. A few more photos of Ivan as a child—playing in the snow, sitting at a classroom desk, and standing beside a kind-looking woman, who must be a caretaker. Each image offers a glimpse into the past of the man I’ve come to care for so deeply.

“Thank you, Marcus,” I say with gratitude. “This means… I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

He nods, a hint of understanding in his expression. “Ivan’s past isn’t easy, but it made him who he is. It might be good for him to have a connection to that, so I’m glad to have helped.”

As he leaves, I begin the painstaking process of arranging the photos and notes into a leather-bound album that I brought with me for the task, along with the items Marcus gave me before. Hours pass while I carefully place each image, adding handwritten captions garnered from the reports to guide Ivan through the story of his childhood.

The locket photos take center stage—now I understand why they’re so precious to him. Seeing young Ivan’s solemn face, I ache for the child who lost so much.

As I put the finishing touches on the album, I’m excited but nervous. This gift will affect Ivan deeply, and I hope it brings him some measure of peace.

A week later,I rush through the halls of “Markov Entertainment.” The office party at “The Georgian Terrace” is tonight, and my to-do list seems endless. As I round the corner, Natalia’s voice stops me in my tracks.

“Jenny, the caterers need the final headcount for tonight.”

I suppress a groan. “I’ll handle it after the meeting, I promise.”

She nods. “Don’t forget. They’re getting antsy.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

I hurry into the conference room, sliding into my seat just as the meeting begins. Ivan sits at the head of the table, his presence commanding as always. As the discussion progresses, a wave of nausea hits me. I try to ignore it, focusing on the financial projections on the screen, but the feeling intensifies. “Excuse me,” I mutter, standing abruptly. “I need some air.”

I barely make it to the bathroom before emptying the contents of my stomach. Gripping the cool porcelain, I take deep breaths. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt off lately, but I’d chalked it up to the stress of planning the party on such short notice.

After splashing water on my face, I return to the conference room. The meeting has ended, and Ivan’s concerned gaze locks onto me.

“Jenny, are you all right?” His voice carries a note of worry.

I wave off his concern. “Just a stomach bug. Nothing to worry about.”

Ivan’s eyes narrow. “You’ve been looking pale lately. Perhaps you should see a doctor.”

“Already ahead of you,” I say, forcing a smile. “I have an appointment in an hour.”

He nods, seemingly satisfied. “Good. Take care of yourself. The company needs you at your best.” He lowers his voice. “So do I.”

As I gather my things to leave, my mind races. A stomach bug. That’s all it is. It has to be. The alternative... I push away the thought, unwilling to consider the possibilities. In the elevator, I slouch against the wall, closing my eyelids. The doctor will confirm it’s just stress or a minor illness. Nothing more. Nothing life-changing.

The doors open, and I step out into the lobby. Andre, my ever-present shadow, falls into step beside me. Daniil must already be in the SUV.

“Ready to go, Ms. Graham?”

I nod, comforted by his presence. I’ve gotten used to them. As we walk to the SUV, I’m concerned it’s not just a stomach bug. Rather, I suspect I’m about to meet the consequences of my actions.

“Jennifer Graham?”A nurse in pale blue scrubs calls my name from the doorway, her clipboard held against her chest.

I stand, my legs shaky as I follow her down the sterile hallway. The antiseptic smell makes my stomach roll. Andre and Daniil wait in the lobby. I insisted on privacy for this visit.

“Right in here.” The nurse gestures to an exam room. “I’ll need a urine sample first. The bathroom is right across the hall.”

She hands me a small plastic cup. My fingers tremble as I take it. In the bathroom, I manage to provide the sample, though my hands shake so badly I nearly drop it. In the exam room, I perch on the edge of the paper-covered table. The crinkle of the paper seems deafening in the quiet room. The nurse takes my vitals—temperature, weight, and blood pressure.

“Dr. Matthews will be in shortly,” she says with a reassuring smile before stepping out.

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