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“You may kiss the bride.”

Erik's hands frame my face, thumbs brushing away tears I didn't realize had fallen. His lips meet mine in a kiss that's tender and desperate, claiming and surrendering all at once.

When our lips finally part, the ballroom erupts in applause. Still, the sound feels distant and muffled, like I'm underwater. My heart pounds so hard I wonder if everyone can hear it echoing through the vaulted ceiling.

This is real. This is actually happening.

Six months ago, I was a woman who had everything mapped out—my company, my independence, my carefully constructed walls that kept everyone at arm's length. I thought I knew what strength looked like. I thought I knew what freedom meant.

I was so wrong.

Standing here in my grandmother's lace, Erik's ring heavy on my finger, I realize I've never felt more powerful or more vulnerable in my entire life. The man beside me—this dangerous, beautiful, broken soldier—he's seen every part of me. The parts I'm proud of and the parts I hide. The ambitious businesswoman and the woman who craves surrender. The ice princess facade and the fire that burns underneath.

And he loves all of it. All of me.

The thought steals my breath. Growing up as Igor Lebedev's daughter taught me that love was conditional. That affection was earned through compliance and perfection. But Erik? He fell for me when I was fighting him, defying him, being my most difficult self.

He didn't want to change me or control me—well, not in the ways that matter. He wanted to possess me, yes, but only because he saw something worth claiming. Something worth fighting a war for.

This man, who can kill without hesitation, who moves through violence like it's breathing, chose tenderness with me.Chose patience when I needed it, strength when I was falling apart, control when I craved surrender.

I used to think love was a weakness. That needing someone made you less than whole.

But this? This feeling consuming my chest, this overwhelming certainty that I would burn the world down to keep him? This isn't a weakness.

This is the most terrifying, exhilarating strength I've ever known.

And I'm never letting it go.

39

EXTENDED EPILOGUE

ERIK

The Maldivian sun hangs low over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of crimson that seem impossible, like something from a dream. I've seen sunsets from military bases across three continents and witnessed beauty in places torn apart by war, but this moment is unparalleled.

Nothing compares to watching the sunset with her.

Katarina lies beside me on the white sand, her skin golden from three days of paradise. The sarong she wore over her bikini has been discarded somewhere behind us, leaving her in that scrap of emerald fabric that drives me to distraction. She's propped on her elbow, tracing lazy patterns on my chest with one finger.

“I never thought I'd be the type of woman who goes on honeymoons to tropical islands,” she murmurs, her voice soft with contentment.

“What type did you think you were?”

She tilts her head, considering. “The type who works through vacations. Who schedules romance like board meetings.”

I catch her wandering hand, pressing it flat against my heartbeat. “And now?”

“Now I think I could stay here forever.” Her smile is radiant and unguarded. “Just you, me, and room service that doesn't ask questions when we don't leave the villa for eighteen hours straight.”

The memory of those eighteen hours sends heat coursing through me. Mrs. Ivanov has proven to be even more insatiable than I believed possible, and that's saying something. Marriage has unleashed something in both of us—a hunger that feels bottomless, desperate, like we're both still afraid this might disappear.

“I love you,” I tell her, wanting her to hear it again, even though I've whispered it against her skin a hundred times since we arrived.

Her eyes soften. “I love you too, husband.”

Husband. The word still sends a shock through my system.