Reclaimed By My Alpha (Natalia and Andrei) novel Chapter 88

**He Knows the Door to My Soul and Who Forgot to Novel 88**

Andrei

I poured myself another glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling enticingly in the low light. This was my third—or was it my fourth?—of the night. It didn’t matter anymore. The warmth of the alcohol was a welcome companion in the gloom of my study. As I tipped the glass, a few drops spilled over the rim, coating my fingers in a sticky residue. But I brushed it off; the sensation barely registered in the haze of my thoughts.

Bringing the glass to my lips, I took a deep draught, savoring the familiar burn as it slid down my throat. It was a comforting agony, a reminder of the chaos swirling inside me.

The study was cloaked in shadows, illuminated only by the weak glow of a desk lamp and the flickering embers of the fireplace. I preferred this dimness; it matched the weight of my heart.

My child was dead.

It had been five years since that tragic day, yet the pain felt achingly fresh, as if the wound had just been inflicted moments ago. It was as though I was experiencing the loss anew, mourning a baby I had never had the chance to cradle in my arms, never given the opportunity to know.

And in a twisted way, that was the truth. Natalia’s words echoed relentlessly in my mind. Just that very morning, she had unveiled the truth, shattering the illusion I had built around her absence.

For all this time, I had harbored the belief that Natalia had made a cold, calculated decision to abort our child, a decision fueled by her desire to escape with my brother—my own flesh and blood. I had envisioned her sitting in a sterile clinic, calm and composed, erasing my legacy with a mere choice, all while plotting her escape.

But reality, as I had just discovered, was far more tragic.

The truth was a knife twisting in my gut, far worse than the hatred I had clung to. If she had acted out of spite, I could have continued to loathe her, to paint her as the villain in my story. But this revelation—this painful truth—had complicated everything.

The simplicity of hate was gone, replaced by a labyrinth of emotions I was ill-equipped to navigate.

I took another long gulp of whiskey, closing my eyes as the fiery liquid coursed through me, momentarily dulling the ache.

Natalia had never chosen to end our child’s life. No, she had been a victim of a cascade of unfortunate events. She had fled, had been on the brink of death, and in that tumult, she had lost our baby.

While I had spent countless months picturing her as a scheming, deceitful woman who had orchestrated her own demise and that of our child to escape with my brother, the reality was likely far more complex and nuanced than I had ever allowed myself to see.

Perhaps she had been terrified. Perhaps the wreckage of our marriage, compounded by Lilith’s unexpected reappearance and my own coldness, had left her deeply scarred.

Then there had been the accident, the one that had left her traumatized and injured. I could vividly recall the horror etched on her face when I had pulled her from the depths of the swimming pool a few months back, as if she had been thrust back into that moment of fear.

And to add the loss of her baby on top of that trauma…

Damn it. I had been so wrapped up in my own anguish that I had failed to consider the depth of her suffering.

And then, in a moment of weakness, I had taken advantage of her last night. I had played the manipulator more than she ever had.

The memory of her body beneath mine was still raw and vivid. The warmth of her skin, smooth and inviting under my fingertips. The sound of her breath hitching in her throat, the arch of her back, her eyes rolling back as she reached that peak of ecstasy—it had been a sight I had longed for over the past five years.

God.

I had initiated that encounter with a singular purpose: to extract answers. I had thought that intimacy would soften her heart, make her more willing to share the truth. And to some extent, it had worked.

But it had also felt undeniably good. Not just in a physical sense, but emotionally as well.

In those fleeting moments, tangled in the sheets with Natalia, I had felt as if we had been transported back in time. Our intimacy had once been the glue that bound us, the one thing we had done right during our marriage. It had been our sanctuary, a place where we could truly connect.

I hated to admit it, but I had missed that connection. I had missed her. For five agonizing years.

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