Page 19

Chapter 19

Unraveling the Beast

Galina

V ictory feels hollow in Vasiliy’s penthouse.

The windows stretch from floor to ceiling, offering a glittering view of Manhattan’s endless sprawl, but all I see is my reflection. Tired. Frustrated. Trapped. I should feel safe after the chaos at the club, but the silence here hums like a threat.

His voice echoes in my mind like a curse: ”You belong to me. You’re carrying my baby. I’ll be the baby’s father. That’s final.”

As if that ends the conversation. As if I don’t get a say in my own goddamn future.

“You should rest, lisichka ,” Vasiliy says, stepping out of his bedroom. The jacket’s gone, his tie hanging loose around his neck. He looks…disarmed. Almost casual. But the possessiveness in his voice is still there.

I don’t move or turn around. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

His footsteps stop.

“It suits you.” A careful pause. “It’s just a nickname.”

“Not to me.” My voice slices through the quiet.

The silence stretches. Then I hear him approach, like he knows he’s stepping into a minefield.

“What about it bothers you?” he asks, low and cautious.

“Like I’m something you get to name. To command.”

“You are mine,” he says, quiet, but unyielding. “And you’re carrying my child. Everything I do is to protect you.”

“Protect?” I laugh, sharp and hollow. “Is that what you call it? Locking me away? Controlling my every move? Making choices for me?”

His shadow spills across the floor, long and dark. “You know why I had to?—”

“My father used to call one of the dancers lisichka ,” I cut in, my voice quiet but sharp. “At first, it sounded sweet. Intimate.”

He stills.

“Until it wasn’t anymore,” I continue. “Until her wrists were bruised, and she flinched every time he said it. He also claimed it was for her protection.”

The air between us is taut. Forty floors below, the city pulses with life. Up here in the clouds, it’s just the two of us—and the weight of what we won’t say.

When I finally look at him, something in his eyes has changed. The heat is still there, but it’s wrapped in something quieter. Regret, maybe. Guilt.

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Controlling you through pain and fear?”

I should back away. But I don’t. My body won’t let me.

My pulse trips over itself as his presence crowds mine. Heat flushes my skin, nipples pebbling beneath my blouse like a traitor. Every instinct screams danger , but not the kind I want to run from.

“What else would you call it?” I say, breathy. “You act like the baby gives you the right to put me in a cage.”

His hands rise to my shoulders. Not rough. Not claiming. Just…present. “You’re not that dancer,” he says quietly. “And I’m not your father. I protect what’s mine, yes. But I’m not trying to break you.”

“Then stop trying to own me,” I hiss. “This baby isn’t a contract.”

“No,” he says. “But the deal you agreed to is.”

My throat tightens. “Maybe,” I say. “But?—”

He cuts me off gently, tipping my chin up. His eyes search mine—hard, haunted. For a moment, I see something raw flicker there. Something unguarded.

And then he kisses me.

Not like before. Not with hunger or command. But with something soft. Something almost reverent. As if I’m not just his. As if I’m real to him. Important.

And in that fragile breath between denial and surrender, I let myself believe it. Let myself melt into the kiss. Pretend the walls between us are gone. Pretend he feels it, too.

The ache. The fear. The impossible hope.

Even if it’s all a lie.

The tenderness shatters me more completely than any threat ever could. I melt into him, my spine softening, breath hitching, as the last pieces of armor I’ve held onto clatter to the floor between us. His hands slide up my back—no restraint, no command. Just warmth. Just want. Just him.

“Let me show you,” he breathes against my lips, voice rough with need, “that not everything between us has to hurt.”

Then he kisses me again, and the world goes silent.

It’s not dominance. It’s devotion. His mouth moves over mine like he’s tasting something forbidden, something sacred. His tongue teases, coaxes, claims—slow and devastating. And when his hand curves possessively over my stomach, I break. A moan slips free, helpless and raw, because this isn’t control.

This is surrender.

He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t snarl or snap or drag. He leads me through the penthouse with the kind of reverence I didn’t know he possessed. The bedroom is shadowed in dark wood and quiet luxury, but I barely notice. Because he’s looking at me like I’m something he’s afraid to ruin. And that look on his face undoes me.

When he lays me down on his bed, it’s with a care that borders on worship. The zipper of my dress slides down like a secret, his fingertips skimming fire across my skin. But there’s no greed in his touch tonight. Just heat. Hunger wrapped in silk.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice almost broken.

I tremble under his gaze. Not from fear, but from the way he sees me. As if I’m more than a woman carrying his child. As if I’m something he never thought he’d be allowed to touch without ruining. The memory of his roughness lingers in my bones, but it’s fading now, chased away by every brush of his lips, every stroke of his fingers.

“Now spread your legs,” he rasps, mouth tracing the line of my throat, breath hot and ragged. “I want to taste you.”

His hair brushes my bare chest as he lowers himself, and my whole body arches toward him, hungry and unguarded.

This isn’t a beast taking.

This is a man learning how to love.

And I don’t know if it’ll destroy me—or save him.

But right now?

I need it like I need air.

When his mouth finds the spot between my thighs, it’s slow and deliberate, seeking more than a way to sate us. Tongue and fingers draw intoxicating pleasure from my throbbing pussy, demanding nothing except my release. I surrender, shuddering beneath the slow, torturous rush of sensation.

I tangle my fingers in his thick blond hair, gasping. “Take off your clothes.”

With a grunt, Vasiliy lifts himself and pulls his shirt over his head. My hands trace the path of his tattoos, following them down the contours of his sculpted chest and abs. When my fingers linger at his belt buckle, his pupils dilate.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, moving my hand to the small strip of exposed skin above his belt. “I want to take care of you first.”

It’s new to be seen and recognized like this. But I know that Vasiliy can’t see past the baby in my belly, isn’t capable of loving beyond his claim. I can’t allow myself to embrace him fully. He can’t hurt me without hurting his own child, so we’re evenly matched. For now.

Even half naked, Vasiliy still looks formidable, his fists closed by his side, his brow furrowed with desire, and— Is that fear? He always feels most in control when he’s stripped me bare and vulnerable. But now, it’s the opposite.

“Don’t hide from me.” My words land somewhere on the far shore of his guarded expression.

There’s fierceness in his eyes. “How could I?”

With that, his touch takes over again, a whirlwind of feeling, even as the pace stays slow and steady. His mouth slides down my naked body, finding my center again, acting like a man starved. But also for the first time, there’s gentleness. Those usually rough touches smooth over my skin, holding my hips in place as I writhe under him. I gasp, my nails dragging across his skin as his tongue strokes over my opening, pausing at my clit and sucking on it. My body arches off the bed, but he’s keeping me firmly in place, and all I can do is hold on to his head as he drinks me in. He strokes me until it’s impossible to hold the sensation any longer, my trembling need consuming me. His fingers find their way inside me, his movements controlled, but firm.

And in the darkness, with my legs parted, vulnerable against the hard, scarred body of my enemy, I feel safe. Protected. Shielded from a world where violence is the only currency. For a moment, there’s no other world beyond these four walls.

When the waves finally crash over me, it’s with such intensity that it steals the air from my lungs. The pleasure is shattering, the sharp release slicing through everything in its path. I ride the waves in a daze, savoring every point of contact between us. It lasts forever and not long enough.

“Now you,” I breathe as he slides up, suddenly aware of the rock-hard press of his cock against my thigh. My need blooms anew, hot and insistent, pushing against the edge of reality.

“How do you want me?” he asks. It’s his way of giving me control and taking it back all at once. I squirm beneath him, my hands roaming up his chest.

“Like this,” I whisper, pushing at his shoulder.

He lies back on the bed, heavy lidded and strong. I follow him, drawing slow lines down his chest and abs, unbuckling his pants and sliding it down his legs. Circling his thick length, I gather up the wetness dripping from my opening, stroking my slick arousal over his cock. I feel dizzy with sensation. Without another word, I line him up with my entrance and sink down. He groans, the sound becoming a low rumble of approval as I rock my hips, taking him deeper. Slow and teasing, I ride him, exploring every reaction. We don’t speak beyond low murmurs of need and encouragement. His large hands find my hips, fingers digging into my soft flesh, but it’s not the punishing grip of possession I’ve come to expect. It’s something softer. Gentler.

I bring myself to the brink of another orgasm and hold there, savoring the new sensation of being in control. The heavy haze of pleasure expands until it engulfs us both. I struggle to maintain my rhythm, desperate to prolong this new realization. I never dreamed it could be this way.

“Let me,” Vasiliy demands, urging me to lie back. He climbs on top of me, fucking me with steady purpose. Drawing out each stroke of his cock, making the pleasure last and last. He kisses me as he moves, his broad body a weight to ground me, to keep me tethered. When he growls his release, it’s accompanied by a tenderness that makes my own orgasm coil and release all at once, until the only thing I can feel is the exquisite sensation of him filling me up with more than just cum. With something tender. Something sweet. Something unexpected.

Afterward, he holds me close, his hand splaying protectively over my stomach. Through the windows, the city stretches out below us like a sea of stars. The silence between us feels different now—charged with possibility rather than restriction. He draws me closer, his body spooning mine.

My traitorous heart kicks in my chest. In that moment, I’d give anything to make this real. To see past our differences and separate lies from truth.

Tomorrow, we’ll go back to hating each other. Back to the fight.

But for now, Vasiliy’s closeness lets me forget. And right now, there’s no one I’d rather be with.

“I won’t call you that name again,” he says, surprising me, his voice rough with emotion. “And I’ll try—” His voice catches. “I’ll try to give you the freedom you need. But you have to understand, the thought of losing either of you...”

“You have to trust me to protect myself.”

He hugs me tighter, cradling me like he’s trying to hold back the darkness. I feel him nod against my hair. It’s not a solution to everything, but it’s a start. Whatever this is between us—this dangerous, beautiful thing we’re building—it’s about more than just ownership or control. It’s a partnership forged in fire, tempered by understanding.

It’s a promise.

A vow.

As sleep claims me, I let myself believe that maybe we can find a balance between protection and freedom, between his need to possess and my need to be my own person. Our child deserves parents who can work together, who can love without destroying each other.

For the first time since learning about my pregnancy, I allow myself to hope for something more than just survival. Something that feels dangerously like a future. The city lights flicker beyond the windows like distant stars, each one a possibility I never dared imagine. Maybe even with the person I thought was the monster from my darkest nightmares. His steady breathing beside me whispers of change, of walls crumbling stone by stone. Maybe Vasiliy and I can change. Not in grand gestures or dramatic declarations, but in these quiet moments between breaths. For our child, we must try.