Page 119 of Beautiful Agony

Gunfire comes to life all around us. I recognize the sharp crack of my men's weapons answering the heavier boom of assault rifles. Bodies start falling like autumn leaves in the wind, and people stampede toward the exits.

My vision blurs at the edges as I press my hand against the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. The metallic scent fills my nostrils, mixing with smoke and cordite.

No. Not like this.

I force my eyes to focus on Lacey. Our gazes lock across the chaos. She's still standing on the catwalk, one hand protectively curved over her belly. Over our daughter.

Kirsan moves with that fluid grace, stepping between the screaming attendees as he approaches the stage. His men provide covering fire, keeping my security team pinned down.

I try to stand but my legs won't cooperate. The blood loss is already affecting me. All I can do is watch as he gets closer to her with each step.

Run, I mouth silently, willing her to understand.Please run.

The terror in her eyes tells me she sees the blood seeping between my fingers. Sees Kirsan approaching. But she's not moving.

Run! Please!

37

LACEY

I can't move.Can't breathe. Can't think.

Vadim crumples to the ground, his hand pressed against his stomach as crimson blooms across his white shirt. He tries to push himself up but stumbles. The world tilts and spins around me as screams erupt from the audience.

Kirsan stalks toward me, the bloody knife glinting under the harsh runway lights. His eyes are cold and empty – a predator's gaze fixed on its prey. But I can't look away from Vadim. My husband. The father of our child. Our little Larina kicks inside me, as if sensing my terror.

One foot in front of the other, Kirsan advances up the catwalk steps. The knife drips red onto the pristine white runway. His lips curl into a grotesque smile that doesn't reach his dead eyes.

"Like father, like son," he says, his cultured accent making the words sound almost musical. "Bastard or not."

Vadim struggles to his feet again, crimson spreading across the floor beneath him. The sight finally breaks through my paralysis. Reality crashes back like a wave of ice water.

I turn and run, my heels clicking against the catwalk as I flee backstage. My heart pounds so hard I can barely hear the chaos erupting behind me. Blood rushes in my ears. My hands instinctively cradle my belly as I run, protecting our daughter.

I'm sorry, Vadim. I'm so sorry.

But I have to protect Larina. I have to get away from the monster with the knife who wants to take everything from us.

I race through the backstage area, my lungs burning as I try to navigate the maze of dressing rooms and storage spaces. The sound of screaming and gunfire echoes off the walls, making it impossible to tell where anything is coming from. Models huddle under makeup tables, clutching each other and sobbing.

My hand stays pressed against my belly as I run.Stay safe, little one. Please stay safe.

The sound of Kirsan's footsteps follows behind me, unhurried and constant. Each time I dare to look back, I see Kirsan's tall figure stalking after me with that same dead-eyed smile. Behind him is a trail of crimson droplets.

Vadim's blood.

Oh god, Vadim...

I force the image of him crumpling to the ground from my mind. I can't think about that now. I have to keep moving. Have to protect our daughter.

I dodge around racks of clothes and boxes of shoes, trying to lose Kirsan in the chaos. But he keeps coming, methodically following my path like a predator that knows its prey is cornered.

My shoe catches on an electrical cord and I stumble, catching myself against the wall. The momentary delay is enough for Kirsan to gain ground. I push myself forward again, heart thundering in my chest.

I round another corner and freeze.

Dead end.

---