Raising My Boss's Child

Chapter 8 : Bad Omen

DASHA'S POV

That evening, Senya wasn't as tired, so he didn't fall asleep at the table.

We were reading books. He had snuggled up to me so willingly when he was scared of karim, and now he sat close enough to see the pictures, but still a little distant.

"This is a giraffe," I told him. "It has a very long neck. I saw a giraffe at the zoo, it's wonderful. We'll go there too on the weekend, okay? And this is a baby giraffe, and its mom, just like you and me."

Senya was interested in everything. He kept walking back and forth in the hallway, looking at the scooter, but he didn't dare touch it, even though I could see that he really wanted to.

And before bedtime, we had a little incident. I was making the beds, and then I went to put on some night cream. When I came back, I saw that Senya was already in bed, covered with a blanket, and next to him, on a little stool, was a diaper.

All the children in the orphanage wore diapers. I understood the women who worked there—I think it's challenging to potty-train children, and I hadn't dealt with it yet. I knew it would happen, but I didn't want to rush Senya.

He had already gone through so much stress in his little life, and everything would come in time, but not right away. And now the child had taken off his diaper, refusing to sleep in it.

"Are you sure?" I asked. Of course, there was silence in response.

"Now you'll have to use the washroom. It's big, and you'll need my help. Will you call me?"

Senya was covered up to his chin with the blanket, holding it with his hands, and he looked as cute as always. He looked at me silently, his big brown eyes already a little sleepy.

He thought for a few minutes and then nodded again.

So I could say that Senya and I had a full conversation for the second time because a nod is also an answer. I wasn't ready to sleep yet, so I lay down to read a book, constantly getting distracted by thoughts and having to go back and reread the same pages.

I kept thinking about my mom. Would she want to be a real grandmother, or would she not be able to overcome her inexplicable disgust for the child?

Every now and then, I thought about karim, the great and terrible. I wondered why he had brought a scooter himself.

He could have sent a courier, but instead, he came and bought it himself.

Karim was an extremely strong and intelligent man, and I accepted that without question, but he completely ignored the mundane details of everyday life. He never chose or bought flowers for any of his mistresses—I did all that. I even knew that Natalia liked roses, and Victoria preferred peonies.

I kind of hated those women for how easily they spent time with the incredible Balkov, laughing at his jokes and accepting his kisses, but I diligently chose gifts so that the girls would be happy. Because it was my job, and I always took my work seriously.

Therefore, the gift delivered by Karim himself meant a lot, and I kept pushing away unwanted thoughts.

The gift didn't mean anything—it was for my son. And yes, damn it, I have a son. And he dominated all my thoughts.

We will be happy. I am already happy!

That night, I dreamed about Karim. Not for the first time, and I'm afraid not for the last.

"You will do whatever I want," he said, twirling an expensive pen decorated with platinum and diamonds in his fingers. "Otherwise, I'll take away what's dearest to you."

I couldn't imagine him wanting my body—Karim always looked at me indifferently, and all his mistresses were alluring beauties with perfect bodies.

What could I offer compared to them? Then I realized what he wanted.

"You have nothing to take from me," I smiled. "My son is the only thing precious to me. Why would you want a stranger's child?"

The pen slipped from his fingers and clattered on the table, then fell to the floor. Balkov leaned towards me, and his gaze was so predatory and cruel that I woke up in a cold sweat.

I woke up and couldn't calm my racing heart for a long time. Then I turned my head to look—Senya was sleeping at the very edge of the bed, almost at my feet.

He must have been waiting for me to fall asleep before coming to me.

I wanted to hug him. To tell him that we would be together forever, that no one would separate us, that we were a family. To hold him tightly. But I remembered that personal space was important for a little child.

We would become closer, but I wouldn't push him; I would take this journey slowly, step by step. I didn't want to scare away my happiness.

The next day, we went for a lot of walks too. Extremely many. We ate cotton candy—we both got messy, but it was so much fun.

Senya smiled again, and I carefully stored each of his smiles in my memory.

Each one was precious to me. Our good mood was spoiled suddenly, as we were leaving the park.

We were holding hands. The exit from the park was a small gate in a wrought-iron fence. A disheveled man in a torn jacket and dirty pants stumbled and fell right at our feet.

Scared, Senya pulled away. I picked him up in my arms—the little boy was shaking all over. The man smelled of alcohol, and I concluded that Senya had already seen drunk people. He remembered and was still afraid.

"The day of reckoning is coming," the man mumbled and stupidly giggled, lying on the asphalt.

I turned around, looking for a way to get away. "What are you looking at, boy? Do you think life is sweet? No way! Life is s**t, sonny. And you'll get a taste of it too, little one. The clouds are gathering!"

I hurried away, back into the park. I'd take a different route. Senya was still trembling, and he kept looking at the man lying on the ground over my shoulder.

"Don't listen to him," I stroked Senya's back. "He's stupid. We're together. If something bad happens, we'll handle it. Because we're a family. We'll be happy."

The day was bright, sunny, and unique, as only late autumn days can be.

Senya was so close to me that I could inhale the childish scent of his hair. But I couldn't regain the sense of peace I had felt before.