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“You were injured the night that bullet grazed your arm, too, but we shared a bed that night,” I tilt my head.

“That's not the reason, is it? Agafon, I was angry, yes, but we can still talk. I obviously came back here to let you help me heal, when I could have gone to my brothers or cousins, for a reason. I still…trust you. You came for me, Agafon. Even after I told you I didn’t want to see you, you came for me. So…why? Why are you being so distant?”

His hands clench into fists on his thighs.

“I don't deserve to be near you,” he says finally. “Not after what happened. Not after—”

“You said I mean nothing, and you’re waiting to hurt me the way I hurt Nikandr?” I prompt again.

This time, he meets my eyes with courage, and I know whatever he speaks will be the truth.

“I love you,” he says, the words seeming to tear from him.

“I love you, and I married you to hurt you. To get revenge for my brother. I fell so entrapped in that idea that I couldn’t get myself to admit the truth, that I lied to myself, to the world, and said you meant nothing when you, Lilibeth, are everything.

I can’t imagine my life without you in it, god damn it.

I love you, and I acted like you were nothing.

” He lets out a bitter, deprecating laugh.

“What kind of monster does that make me?”

I reach for his hand, but he pulls away.

“I told myself I was protecting the family. That Nikandr deserved justice. But I kept finding reasons to spend more time with you, to make you laugh,” his eyes meet mine, harrowed.

“And then I realized I never wanted to hurt you, and my words were all I had to pretend I wanted revenge. My actions could never harm, but if I admitted I loved you—love you, I thought I’d be betraying Nikandr. I was a fool, an utter fool. ”

“Oh, Agafon,” I whisper, reaching out to cup his face gently. His eyes flutter closed at my touch, and he pulls back.

“You deserve better than a man who used you for his own agenda,” he continues, voice low and fierce. “Better than someone who put revenge above basic decency. You deserve someone who loved you from the beginning, not someone who realized too late what he had.”

Heat rises in my chest, but it’s not from tenderness; it’s the fire of indignation.

“Don't you dare,” I snap, and I sound so serious that he’s forced to look into my eyes. “Don't you dare decide what I deserve.”

His eyes widen with surprise.

“You don't get to choose for me, Agafon,” I continue, holding his gaze. “I decide what I deserve. I decide what I want.”

I push off the covers and sit straighter, ignoring his instinctive move forward to help me.

“You made mistakes. So have I. So has everyone who's ever loved someone.” My voice softens slightly. “You think I don't understand family loyalty? I have four brothers who would burn the world down for me, just like you would for yours.”

“It's not the same—”

“It is,” I insist. “You love fiercely, Agafon. Sometimes wrongly, sometimes blindly, but completely. That's not something to be ashamed of.”

I move over to place my legs down on the bed shakily, sitting beside him, and this time when he moves to steady me, I let him. His hands on my arms are warm and safe.

“I love my family,” I tell him, looking into those gray eyes I miss so much. “And I love you. Maybe that makes me a fool, but it's the truth.”

For a moment, he seems unable to process my words. Then slowly, as if afraid I might break, he pulls me closer.

“Say it again,” he whispers.

“I love you,” I repeat, feeling the weight of truth in each syllable.

“I've loved you since you drove me for Chinese take-out and took me to the cabin. I've loved you from the moment you showed me you listen, from when you involved me with your work, and from how you welcomed me into your office. I love you for all that’s good in you, for all the mistakes you’ve made. For better and for worse, remember?”

His forehead touches mine, our breaths mingling. “I don't deserve you.”

“Stop saying that,” I murmur. “Love isn't about deserving. It's about choosing—and I choose you, Agafon. The question is, do you choose me? Not out of guilt or obligation, but because you want to?”

His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks with such tenderness that I melt, that I know I’m right.

“I've never wanted anything more,” he admits.

“Even when I was at my angriest, when revenge consumed me, something about you called to me. Your light. Your goodness.” His smile is small but real.

“The way you stand up to me when everyone else fears to.”

“Someone has to keep your ego in check,” I tease gently.

He laughs—a real laugh that erases the walls he’s built around himself. Then he sobers, his expression turning serious.

“I married you for the worst reason,” he says. “But I want to stay married to you for the best one. Because I love you, Lilibeth. Because you've somehow become the center of everything.”

My heart feels too full, like it might burst from my chest. I lean forward, ignoring the protest of my healing body, and press my lips to his.

The kiss is gentle at first, mindful of my injuries, but deepens as though we both know we’ve been starving. When we part, both breathless, I see nothing but love in his eyes.

“Stay with me tonight,” I whisper against his lips. “Just hold me.”

He lifts me with ease, laying me carefully back on the bed before stretching out beside me. I curl into him, finding that perfect space against his chest where I fit just right.

“I was afraid,” he admits into the darkness. “That night, when I found you... I've never been so terrified. The thought of losing you—” His arms tighten fractionally around me.

“You didn't lose me,” I assure him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I’m right here. And I plan to stay here for a long, long time.”