Page 50 of Baby for the Bratva King

As far as I’m aware, the drama about me is still circulating, but I tune it out and focus on what is in front of me.

The media are targeting Saskia more than me, calling her a whore, but she doesn’t seem fazed. Maybe she’s been called this before.

I curl my hand into a fist, switching on the TV to switch off my mind.

“...As you may know,” says the journalist not one second after the screen loads. “There’s been some online discourse about Felix Pozharsky recently.”

“Ah, yes,” says Vesper Brouwer, addressing the journalist. “At Neptune Gentlemen's Club. I’m well aware.”

I sit forward, curious to know what my Friday-night ventures have to do with this bastard.

“Is it true that your eldest daughter was the woman Felix grabbed?”

“Absolutely not,” says Vesper without hesitation. “There must be some kind of mistake.”

“Indeed,” says the journalist. “The lighting in there was dim, and we know how social media users like to manipulate things.”

“Yes.” Vesper keeps his responses clipped, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Not quite the smiling, happy man he was a few moments ago.

“Remind me which daughter they are referring to here,” says the journalist.

“Saskia, I believe.”

Surely fucking not.

“Ah yes, such a beautiful name.”

“Her mother was Dutch, therefore both of my girls have Dutch names.”

“She was the one wearing the beautiful red dress at Jude Swindon’s ball.”

“Correct,” says Vesper, playing off the tension with a smile. “I had my daughters dresses hand made.”

“How come they never attend events with you these days?”

“Like I said, they fled the nest and have their own lives to focus on now.” Vesper relaxes into the couch. “They can’t be my babies forever. That’s the hardest part about being a parent—the part nobody prepares you for.”

“Certainly,” says the journalist, a few members of the audience agreeing.

“To be a parent is to let go,” says Vesper, rising on the couch. “Which is why it’s so important to cherish the moments while they last,” he says. “Enjoy the birthdays, the thanksgivings. Never miss a beat.”

“Always an inspiration,” says the journalist.

“Well, I do try my best.”

“Speaking of thanksgivings, congratulations on the marathon. All the money raised will go to families who need it the most.”

“Hard work always pays off. I was running into the wind for⁠—”

I switch off the TV, grabbing my phone.

I type ‘Jude Swindon Gala’ in the search bar, pulse spiking as I wait for the results to load.

News articles appear, Jude at the center of them all. He’s a powerful political figure here in the city, a similar status to Vesper. I know their names, not their stories. Their lives have never interested me. But now I might have to pay closer attention.

I switch over to images, scrolling through shots from the night. It was an exclusive event, invite only…