His runaway queen

Chapter 4:The strangers

*Aria's POV*

Morning arrived too quickly.

Dawn crept over the mountains in thin gold streakes, brushing against the rooftops and spilling through the attic window like it was trying to gently pry me out of sleep. But I hadn't slept. Not really. My eyes had remained half-open through the night, ears trained on every creak of the old buildong, every gust of wind, every shift in the snow outside.

I hadn't felt this kind of unease in years.

Not since him.

Not since I ran.

Adrian stirred beside me, his tiny body rolling into my warmth and curling against my stomach. His amll hand rested instinctively iver my ribs, right where he used to kick from the inside. Four years later, I still felt that echo.

"Morning mommy." He mumbled, half-asleep.

I kissed the top of his head. "Good morning, amore."

His lashed lifted, silver-gray eyes blinking up at me. Lucian's eyes. A constant reminder of the man who owned the shadows in my life, even now.

A reminder I loved more than I could ever ebar alound.

"Why are you awake so early?" He asked through a sleepy pout.

"I couldn't sleep." I said softly.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Nightmares?"

If only.

"No." I whsipered, brushing his cheek. "Just thinking."

Adrian accepted that answer easily. He wasn't like other children, he felt more than he understood. I had always been afraid he inherited that from the Drakov bloodline: that sharp instinct, that quiet awareness, that predators intuition disguised behind innocence.

And last night, every instinct in me screamed.

"Come on." I said, lifting him from the covers. "Let's get you dressed. We need to open the bakery early today."

"Do I get to frost pastries?" He asked hopefully.

"If Mr Rino agrees." I said, forcing a smile.

Adrian grinned and ran to the wardobe with tiny stomping feet.

Good. Let him stay cheerful. Let him stay innocent. Let him stay unaware of the storm pressing its weight against our little word.

A storm wearing a dark coat and snow-dusted boots.

A stranger who should not have been here.

My chest tightened.

Strangers didn't belong here.

Which meant last night wasn't an accident.

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By seven the bakery was warm again. Heat from the ovens filling the air with the sweet scent of butter and sugar. The village woke slowly, like it always did, quiet and sleepy. Mr Rino hummed as he kneaded dough, flour dusting his beard like powdered snow.

Adrian sat on a little stool, sipping his fingers into a bowl of icing and pretending to be a master chef. He always thought I didn't notice when he ate the frosting.

"Good morning Elena." Rino said without looking up. "You look tired."

"I didn't sleep well."

"Storm kept you up?"

"Somehting like that."

I kept my tone neutral. Calm. Unbothered.

If I had learned anything from my mother's world, it was that fear looks exactly like a spotlight—you keep your expression still, your voice soft, your posture relaxed.

Never show the weak point.

I moved to the counter, arranging fresh pastries behind the glass. Outside, snow glittered across the village square. A group of elderly women walked toward the church, gossiping under their scarves. Two children chased each other through the snowbanks.

Everything was normal.

Except it wasn't.

My pulse spiked when the bell above the bakery door chimed.

For a split second, I thought— him.

But it was only Mrs. Falco wanting her daily loaf.

I served her with a steady hand, but the tension twisting my stomach didn't ease. Every sound felt sharper, louder—footsteps crunching outside, a car door shutting in the distance, laughter echoing from the inn.

The inn.

Where the stranger had gone.

I forced myself to breathe.

He could've been anyone.

A traveler.

A tourist.

A lost hiker.

There were a dozen harmless possibilities.

Only one dangerous one.

Lucian's world.

Lucian's enemies.

Lucian's men.

"No," I whispered under my breath, wiping the counter. "Not here. Not after four years."

I had been careful. Methodical. Invisible.

No digital footprint. No contacts. No mistakes.

Lucian had probably moved on with his life by now—become colder, harder, as the rumors whispered.

He ruled his mafia with an iron fist.

He burned down an entire network after my "death."

He built an empire on top of his grief.

He survived.

Just like I did.

Until now.

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By noon, the bakery slowed down.

Adrian sat drawing in his sketchbook at one of the tables, tongue poking out in concentration. He looked peaceful. Safe.

"Mommy," he asked suddenly, "can we get hot chocolate later?"

"Yes," I said, brushing his curls. "After your nap."

He smiled proudly, holding up his drawing. It was of a goat. With very sharp horns.

"Very intimidating," I told him.

He giggled and went back to coloring.

I stepped outside to shake snow from the doormat.

And froze.

Across the square, two unfamiliar men stood near the inn entrance—both tall, both dressed in dark winter coats, hands buried in their pockets. Their posture was wrong. Heavily trained. Military-like. And one of them kept glancing at a phone in his hand.

My blood turned to ice.

More strangers.

Three in twenty-four hours.

This village never saw more than one in a month.

Something was happening.

My throat tightened. I slipped back into the bakery quickly and locked the door. Rino looked up, surprised.

"Elena? Everything alright?"

"Yes," I lied smoothly. "Just a bit cold."

I moved to Adrian as fast as I could without alarming him.

"Sweetheart," I whispered, kneeling by his chair. "Finish your drawing quietly, okay?"

He blinked, recognizing the seriousness in my tone. "Okay, mommy."

Good boy.

I approached the window subtly, peeking between the curtains.

The two men were still there.

One man lifted his phone, showing the screen to the other. He pointed toward the bakery.

My stomach plummeted.

No.

No no no.

Then—

A third man stepped out of the inn.

The man from last night.

He spoke to them quickly. Gesturing. Pointing.

My breath stuttered.

I moved away from the window, heart hammering so loudly I felt it beneath my ribs like an earthquake.

They weren't tourists.

They weren't lost.

They weren't passing through.

They were looking for something.

Or someone.

My legs felt weak. I gripped the counter to steady myself.

Four years of silence.

Four years of hiding.

Four years of praying no one from Lucian's world ever found a thread leading to mine.

And now... three men stood outside in the snow.

Investigating.

Watching.

Asking questions.

The stranger last night had seen me.

Even if he hadn't seen my face... he saw enough.

"Elena?" Rino asked, frowning. "You're pale as a ghost."

"I'm fine," I whispered.

I wasn't.

My entire body was shaking with the kind of fear I thought I had buried years ago.

If they were Lucian's men—

If Lucian had found a lead—

If they saw Adrian—

The world I built would collapse in a single breath.

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The bell above the door chimed.

I jerked my head up.

My blood went cold.

The stranger from last night stepped inside.

Not the other two—just him.

Snow clung to his shoulders. His gaze swept over the bakery, lingering briefly on Rino... then on me.

And then—

On Adrian.

His silver-gray eyes.

Something flickered across the man's face. Confusion? Recognition? Curiosity?

I forced myself to step between the stranger and my son, blocking Adrian's view.

"Good afternoon," I said, voice steady despite the terror clawing up my throat. "How can I help you?"

The man tugged off his gloves. "You work here?"

"Yes."

"You live upstairs?"

My breath caught.

"I'm not obligated to answer personal questions," I said quietly, sharply.

He lifted his hands in apology. "Sorry. Didn't mean to come off strange. I'm actually looking for someone."

The world tilted.

Someone.

No.

No, please—

The man pulled out his phone. My heart stopped.

"Have you seen this woman?"

He turned the screen toward me.

My lungs collapsed.

Because there—

Even in the pixelated, cropped surveillance image—

Even with my hood up—

It was me.

Me.

From four years ago.

At the airport.

The night I ran.

--------------------------------

I felt the blood drain from my face.

Rino glanced over, concerned. "Everything alright, Elena?"

I couldn't speak.

I couldn't breathe.

The stranger watched my reaction with too much attention.

Too much awareness.

Like he'd been trained to read every flinch.

Every inhale.

Every lie.

"She went missing four years ago," he said casually, like it meant nothing. "Her family thinks she's dead. But someone thought they saw her nearby, so—"

He shrugged.

"We're just checking."

Checking.

No one checks for ghosts.

Only hunters do.

I forced a breath.

Forced a smile.

Forced a lie.

"No," I whispered. "I haven't seen her."

The man studied me. His eyes dipped briefly to Adrian, who was coloring quietly behind me.

Then he nodded.

"Alright. If you see anything... let me know." He slid a card across the counter.

A card with no name.

No title.

Just a number.

My hands trembled as I took it.

He gave one last lingering look at Adrian.

Then he left.

The moment the door closed, I locked it again and dropped to my knees beside my son.

"Mommy?" Adrian whispered, startled. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lied, hugging him tightly. "I'm here. I'm with you."

But inside me—

The panic was spreading.

Because a stranger just showed me a photo from the night Lucian thought I died.

Because someone had seen something.

Because three men were searching the village.

Because one of them looked at my son's eyes and hesitated.

Because Lucian's world was getting closer.

Closer than ever.

Close enough to touch the life I'd built.

Close enough that the past wasn't knocking—

It was breaking down the door.

And deep in my bones, I knew:

Lucian Drakov was coming.

Maybe not today.

Maybe not tomorrow.

But soon.

And when he arrived—

There would be no running left.

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