Page 105 of Convenient Vows

Beside her walks a little boy. His hand is wrapped tightly around hers, but it’s not the helpless cling of a child. It’s… protective. Like he’s anchoring her. My stomach turns, and I can’t say why. Or maybe I can. I just don’t want to.

Lev’s voice cuts through the silence. “We followed the vehicle that took her through street feed, but three miles south of the airport, they ditched the damn car in a dead zone.”

He’s seated at the war table, feet up, but there’s nothing relaxed in his posture. His eyes are sharp and focused.

“No CCTV,” he continues. “No traffic cams. No drones. No trace. Just… gone. Whoever ordered this stint knows the area well.”

Viktor stands by the far window, arms crossed. He hasn’t said a word since I stormed in. But I know he’s listening. Calculating. His silence says more than most men’s speeches.

I stop pacing and watch the footage again.

“They couldn’t have just disappeared,” I mutter. “Not like this.”

“We’ve tapped every feed in that grid,” Lev says. “ Even leaned on airline ground staff. But we found nothing. No chatter. No trail.”

I slam my fist into the edge of the table. The steel groans. Pain blossoms through my knuckles, but I welcome it.

“This wasn’t random,” Viktor clears his throat. “This was surgical. And whoever did it knows exactly how we operate.”

Something cold rushes down my spine as the CCTV footage freezes on a single frame. It’s Mara’s son looking up at her, his features half-lit. Yet even through the grain, I see it.

The shape of his mouth. The lines around his eyes. The set of his little jaw.

“I must be fucking seeing things.”

I blink, but the resemblance doesn’t go away. That face... There’s something of me in it. I tell myself.

“I’ll be damned,” Lev mutters suddenly, tone lower now, more careful. “Zee, that boy is a miniature version of you.”

I go still. “You think?”

Lev shrugs slowly, eyes narrowing at the screen. “The kid. The way he carries himself. That chin. The scowl. Could be your clone.”

Viktor crosses his arms. “It’s not just the face. It’s the way he moves. Protective. Controlled. Too aware for his age.”

Their voices sound muffled and distant. I move closer to the screen. The boy is frozen mid-stride, slightly ahead of her, even though his hand is in hers.

A rush of blood pounds in my ears. I try to speak, but the words get stuck in my throat. My jaw flexes and then locks. I study the boy again—the angle of his cheekbones, the way his lips press together, and even the shape of his ears look familiar.

It’s impossible.

It should be impossible.

Unless…

I back away from the screen, dragging a hand down my face. But the image is burned into me now.

That kid cannot be mine, because she wouldn’t…

But the thing is—she would. If she thought it was safer, or that I didn’t deserve to know.

I ball my fists again. My voice comes out like gravel. “Get me everything. Every frame. Every second of audio. I want facial recon, shadow analysis, heat mapping. I want to know what brand of gum the fucking driver chewed.”

Anton, who has joined us, doesn’t argue. He stands, grabs his tablet, and starts tapping.

Viktor watches me closely now, and I don’t look away because the truth is screaming in my chest. And if that boy is mine?

Someone just made this personal.

---