Five Years of IVF While He Already Had Twins Chapter 05
After my “death,” I changed my name to Nora and rented an apartment in a small coastal town in Rhode Island.
During those first few days, I’d sit on the couch by the window for hours at a time, staring at nothing.
Shaking the memory of Alexander Volkov proved to be an impossible task. He wasn’t just a collection of
memories; he was muscle memory.
Every instinct I had was still stubbornly tied to him.
Waking up, I’d roll over groggily and reach for the nightstand automatically.
Empty.
Just cold wood under my fingers.
A few seconds of dead silence. Then memory flooded back like a tide.
For five years, there’d been a glass of warm milk on that nightstand every morning when I opened my yes. He always woke earlier, always put it there before I stirred. Perfect temperature. He’d calculated exactly when I’d wake.
I sat up abruptly, staring at that empty surface. The phantom pain was like an amputation, suffocating.
Damn it.
Two months, and that bastard had already put his
mistress’s twins on the altar. And here I was, still thinking about cheap warm milk.
At night, I’d automatically roll to the right–empty.
He used to sleep on my right. His arm as my pillow, never moving all night. I’d told him not to bother. He said he liked it.
Now the right side was cold.
ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face.
The woman in the mirror looked terrible. Dark circles.
Tangled hair.
I told myself it was just hormones. My body adjusting. Needing time.
His child–our child–was growing stubbornly inside line.
Back in bed, listening to the waves, tears would come whether I wanted them or not. Not because I still loved him. Because I hated him. Hated wasting five years on a man like that. Hated being haunted by the past even now.
“To hell with him.” I wiped my tears and opened my laptop.
If love was unreliable, I’d use my brain.
My double degree from Stanford wasn’t for nothing.
I’d designed top–tier financial security systems once Now I’d design myself a way to live.
I started coding.
A women’s mental health app. I’d call it “Nora.”
For myself. For every woman trying to climb out of the abyss.
Six months later.
My belly had ballooned. Eight months pregnant, I waddled like a penguin. Couldn’t even tie my shoes.
But “Nora” was on fire.
It wasn’t just a chatbot. It was an eerily accurate emotional analyst. Users downloaded like crazy. That simple blue icon appeared on millions of women’s phones.
Investor emails flooded my inbox.
But I couldn’t show my face.
If that man knew where I was, my freedom was over,
“Zoe, this one’s on you.” I called my best friend over, struggling to pour her water with my awkward body. “You’re the CEO now. Signings, launches, investor meetings–all you.”
Zoe looked at my belly, eyes full of sympathy. “You sure? This is your baby.”
“If you hadn’t faked that shipwreck for me,” I laughed bitterly, “I’d probably be waiting for him to throw me out, or watching him flaunt his bastards in my face.”
“I just want to survive and have this child,” I said, touching my belly. “Fame and money–they’re yours.”
“I’ll handle it for you.” Zoe knelt and patted my stomach. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
Zoe took the bullet for me. She was my shield. My Voice.
Yesterday, Zoe called, excited.
“Big deal! Some mysterious angel investor wants our core algorithm. The offer’s insane. Sign this and you’ll never worry about diapers again.”
“Who?” I asked warily.
Unknown. They’re sending a rep. Meeting at a café in Boston.”
For the baby, I needed that money.
Sign it.”
I never expected that decision to almost destroy everything.
That afternoon, Zoe walked into the café, The man across the table looked up. His professionally fake smile froze.
Dmitri.
Alec’s chief aide. His most loyal dog.
He recognized Zoe.
Zoe had been Ella Volkov’s best friend in college. The only bridesmaid at that secret wedding.
And that explained things.
The day the boat went down, there’d been heavy fog.
Visibility near zero.
Forensic tech analysis now showed the *Mrs. Volkov* hadn’t sunk from “èngine failure.” Someone had expertly hacked its navigation system, altered its course, even blocked its distress signals.
That level of hacking wasn’t random terrorists.
And Zoe… Zoe was a top–tier cybersecurity expert.
One of the few who could pull it off.
He looked at the “Nora” contract in Zoe’s hand, thought about that app’s brilliant algorithms.
The puzzle clicked.
If Zoe was here, Ella Volkov was here too.
The boss had been hunting her like a madman. He’d nearly killed Dmitri for failing.
Now he’d found her.
Dmitri didn’t react.
He signed the contract calmly, even smiled as he shook Zoe’s hand.
But the moment she left, he made the call.
For six months, no one had dared call Alec with news of Ella.
“Boss,” Dmitri’s voice was low, hunter’s excitement in it. “I’ve found Volkov.”