The news had struck like lightning in the stillness of the night. Viktor Petrova was livid—his only daughter was pregnant. The young woman, with hair as fiery red as the blood coursing through the Petrova family’s veins, had no marriage, no alliance, only a forbidden love with a man Viktor could never accept.
With fury blazing in his eyes, he made a decision that would alter the fate of his family forever. He would not allow the Petrova lineage to be tainted by something as fleeting as love. In his world, power and loyalty were the only true partners.
— “Anya must leave.” —he muttered in an icy tone, sealing his daughter’s future with a cruelty only a king could wield. — “Let her go from this house, far from the eyes of our associates, from the world. She’ll give birth to that bastard and stay there.”
Her fate was written in red and black, the colors of passion and loss. And as night fell over Siberia, a shadow loomed over poor Anya—a shadow that threatened to consume them all, especially her.
— “What is all this, Anya? Why have you done this to me? You’re my only daughter! You’re pregnant, and soon everyone will know who the father is. Tell me, what have I done to deserve this?”
— “Yes, Papa. It’s true. I’m pregnant.” —she said, standing before her father, her green eyes filled with both fear and determination.
— “And who is the father? Who dared to tarnish the Petrova name?” —Anya swallowed hard.
— “It’s Nikolay, Papa. I met him at a party. He’s a good man, an artist.”
Viktor rose from his armchair, rage flashing in his eyes.
— “You think you can fall for an artist and bring him before me? This is unacceptable, Anya Petrova. I won’t allow it.”
Anya’s hands trembled.
— “Papa, I’m in love with him. I love him. I can’t just…” —her father cut her off with a sharp gesture.
— “Love has no place in our world. We are Petrovas. Our legacy isn’t built on feelings or infatuations. I can’t let my only daughter stain our name with an illegitimate child.”
Anya began to cry, her tears a mix of pain and sorrow as she saw how her father treated her.
— “What are you going to do, Papa?” —her father approached her, unrelenting.
— “I’m sending you away. To Moscow. There, you’ll give birth to that bastard in secret. No one will know of its existence. And you… you’ll return here. I’ll find you a husband who can overlook your disgrace.”
— “Papa, please…” —she said, her voice breaking.
— “This is how it must be. The consequences of your actions cannot tarnish the honor of the Petrova family. And you, you’ve proven yourself weak.”
Silence hung heavy between them, and Anya clutched her belly, feeling the weight of her unborn child. Pain and suffering intertwined in the room as the patriarch of the Petrovas made a decision that would forever change Anya’s life.
Anya was devastated by her father’s words. She retreated to her room, locking herself inside to weep. She had nowhere to go, and Nikolay had left Siberia early that morning. His staff had told her he’d return in a few days. The thought that her father had discovered everything pained her deeply.
At that moment, there was a knock at the door. When she opened it, she saw her nanny, her only confidante in all of this, the one person she needed to talk to. She let her in, noticing the tray of food in her hands.
— “Your father ordered me to bring this to you and to help you pack your things because you’re going to Moscow. Why would your father do this?”
— “Oh, Nanny! Papa knows I’m pregnant. Did you speak to him?” —her nanny frowned and replied.
— “Early this morning, a young man came to speak with him, and he left your father’s study in a panic.”
— “So Nikolay was here talking to Papa. That’s why they told me he’d left town.”
— “Child, I don’t know what to tell you. You know how your father is. He always wants things his way, and no one can stop him.”
— “The only one who could was Mama, but she’s gone. Now he lives in bitterness.”
— “What can I say, my dear? Your father has made his decision, and now you must follow his orders.”
— “Where Papa plans to send me, I don’t know anyone. And he wants me to leave my baby with who knows who.”
— “What can this old woman tell you? Nothing, Anya, except that you must do as your father says.”
— “Come with me, Mirath. Come to Moscow with me. Don’t leave me alone.”
— “I’m so sorry, Anya, but your father wants me to stay here. You know how he is. I can’t risk him firing me. I feel at home here, and my children are far from Russia, unable to care for me. This is my home. I’m so sorry, Anya.”
Tears streamed from Anya’s eyes. She would go to Moscow alone, with her child growing inside her, waiting for the day it would be born—only to give it up, as her father had decreed. After her nanny helped her pack, Anya sat on the edge of the bed, burying her face in her hands. She wept with raw emotion, shattered by everything happening to her. Anya began to reflect on her life and her baby’s future.
“I feel your gentle movements in my womb. I’ve thought of so many things, my little one, about the path we’ll take together now. I know it’s not the conventional road, but I believe our path is to be together. When I found out I was carrying you, I wanted to stand up to Papa, and I did, you know. But he doesn’t want me to keep you close. I know your father was threatened by him, but don’t worry—I will protect you and love you with all the strength of my heart and soul.”