Page 22

The Bratva headquarters is alive with tension. Men come and go, voices hushed yet urgent, the air thick with the scent of cigars and aged whiskey. Papers shuffle, deals are made, but I hear none of it. My focus is sharp, locked on the man standing before me—one of my best informants, Vasily.

His face is drawn, his usual cool confidence absent. That alone tells me whatever he’s about to say is serious.

“Say it again,” I order, my tone deceptively calm.

Vasily shifts on his feet but doesn’t falter. “Denis. It was Denis who orchestrated Valeri’s murder.”

For a moment, the words don’t register. Then they slam into me like a bullet to the chest. I don’t move. Don’t speak. Just sit back in my chair, gripping the edge of the armrest with enough force to crack the leather.

“Explain,” I bite out.

Vasily exhales, nodding to Ivan, who steps forward and tosses a thick folder onto my desk. It lands with a heavy thud, the weight of its contents almost mocking.

I flip it open.

Inside, photos, financial transactions, and phone records spill out. The evidence is clear—too clear. Bank statements showing large, unexplained withdrawals from Bratva accounts. Surveillance images of Denis meeting with outside men, some of them known zaslantsy —traitors to our organization. Reports of whispers exchanged in dark corners, of plans set in motion.

And then, the final blow, a grainy image of Denis himself, shaking hands with an outsider mere hours before Valeri was executed.

My blood runs cold. Betrayal. A word I’ve known all my life. A word that defined my father, a word that I swore I’d never let taint my legacy. Yet here it is, within my own ranks. From family.

The realization settles like lead in my stomach, an acidic burn crawling up my throat. Denis—the man who strutted around Valeri’s funeral, pretending to grieve. The man who smirked at me during the Bratva gathering, taunting me for marrying Julie. The man who had stood in the shadows, watching, waiting—

All this time, he was the one responsible.

I don’t remember rising from my chair, but I’m suddenly on my feet, pacing the length of the office. Ivan watches me carefully, but he doesn’t speak.

Smart man.

Vasily clears his throat. “Boss… what do you want to do?”

I let the question hang in the air for a moment, rolling my shoulders, trying to release some of the tension coiling through my body. Then I turn, my voice ice. “Find Uncle Denis. Now.”

A chill spreads through the room at my command. Ivan nods, already pulling out his phone. “We’ll locate him within the hour.”

Vasily moves toward the door, but I stop him with a glance.

“Not just find him,” I explain, my voice is low, dark. “Bring him to me. Alive.”

Vasily hesitates only a second before nodding. “Understood.”

The moment the door shuts behind them, I let out a slow breath, pressing my fingers to my temples.

Denis. That bastard.

The betrayal isn’t just personal—it’s a crack in the very foundation of what we stand for. The Bratva is built on loyalty, on brotherhood. If that fractures, if men start turning on each other, then we become no different from the filth we crush under our boots.

I will not allow that to happen.

I grab my glass of whiskey and take a slow sip, but the burn does nothing to soothe the fury inside me.

This isn’t just about revenge. It’s about correction. Denis is about to learn what happens to those who betray me.

I sit in my chair, staring at the scattered evidence on my desk, my fingers drumming absently against the polished wood. The rage in my chest is a slow burn, simmering just beneath the surface, coiling tighter with every second.

Denis. The name alone is enough to send a pulse of fury through my veins.

I allowed him near Julie.

I picture them speaking at the gathering, Denis with that smug grin, his easy banter, the way he appraised her like she was some kind of curiosity. The memory now turns my stomach. That man—who stood in my home, drank my vodka, laughed at my expense—was the same man who put a bullet in Valeri’s head.

How the fuck did I not see it?

I lean forward, rubbing a hand over my face, trying to push back the anger enough to think clearly. This isn’t just about Denis. It’s about me.

I should have known.

I have built an empire on knowing people’s intentions before they even think them. I can read a man’s eyes and tell if he’s lying, sense a shift in a room before a single word is spoken. Yet, I let this snake slither around me, let him move freely in the same space as my wife.

The thought sends another surge of fury through me, one so sharp my vision darkens at the edges.

I don’t feel like this often—this specific brand of rage. Not since my father.

Not since the day I watched him kneel before the Bratva, his fate sealed by his own treachery, his execution a lesson to every man in that room. I had taken over after him, forced to clean up his sins, to carve out my own legacy in the blood-soaked shadows of his betrayal.

I promised myself I’d never let something like that happen again.

A sharp knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. I don’t look up when Ivan steps inside, but I can feel his presence, his usual ease laced with quiet tension.

“How are you holding up?” he asks, crossing the room.

I huff out a breath, shaking my head. “How do you think?”

Ivan exhales through his nose, moving to the liquor cabinet and pouring himself a drink without asking. That’s how I know he understands.

“You’ve been sitting in here for hours,” he says, dropping into the chair across from me. “That’s never a good sign.”

I lean back, letting my eyes drift to the ceiling for a brief moment before looking at him. “I’m fucking furious.”

“I figured.”

“Not just at Denis,” I admit, the words gritted through my teeth. “At myself.”

Ivan frowns slightly but doesn’t interrupt.

I clench my jaw, forcing myself to say it. “I should have seen it, Ivan. Denis was in my home, in my wife’s presence, and I let it happen.”

Ivan lets out a slow breath, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Yeah,” he says finally, voice quieter. “That part is fucked.”

I let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “No shit.”

Silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken words.

Then Ivan speaks again, softer this time. “It’s not the first time, is it?”

My fingers tighten around my own glass. I don’t need to ask what he means.

He’s talking about him. My father.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I stare into my drink, watching the liquid shift under the dim light of my office. “It feels the same,” I say finally, voice low. “That fucking… disgusting feeling. The betrayal. The rage. The knowing that someone close to me was planning my downfall the entire time.”

Ivan nods slowly, not pushing, just letting me speak.

“I was sixteen when it happened with my father,” I continue, more to myself than to him. “Denis was there, you know. At the execution.” I scoff, shaking my head. “He stood there watching, looking just as disgusted as the rest of us. Now look at him.”

Ivan taps a finger against the rim of his glass. “Some people pretend so well they start believing their own lies.”

I lift my gaze to meet his, my voice cold. “Denis is going to die for this.”

Ivan smirks faintly, raising his glass. “Oh, I never doubted that.”

I exhale, running a hand through my hair. The rage is still there, a living thing inside me, but beneath it is something else—something I hate acknowledging.

It hurts. I trusted Denis. Not fully, not blindly, but enough to allow him near. Enough to share drinks, to exchange words that weren’t laced with suspicion.

Now, all of that is ash. Just like it was with my father. Just like it will be with anyone who dares betray me again.

I straighten, setting my glass down with a click against the wood. “Find him,” I tell Ivan. “No delays. No fuckups. I want him alive, but barely.”

Ivan grins, standing with a stretch. “With pleasure.”

As he turns to leave, I exhale again, rolling my shoulders, forcing the tension from them.

No more doubts. No more distractions. Denis will pay for what he’s done.

As Ivan strides out of the office, his usual confidence evident in the way he carries himself, I watch him go, my jaw tightening. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with the weight of my thoughts. The silence of my office stretches around me, but inside, I’m anything but calm.

Denis. That snake. I want to put a bullet between his eyes myself, but not yet. He doesn’t get to die quickly—not after what he’s done.

I reach for my glass again, but before I can take another drink, my phone buzzes against the desk. The screen flashes with a number from my estate. A call from home.

Frowning, I pick up. “What is it?”

Silence, followed by hesitant breathing. Then, “Sir, we have a problem.”

My grip on the phone tightens. “Speak.”

“It’s Julie. She’s… missing.”

The words hit me like a gunshot.

I sit up straighter, the slow burn of rage that had been simmering in my chest now igniting into a full-blown inferno. “What the fuck do you mean, missing?”

The man on the other end stammers, “W-we don’t know exactly. The guards outside the estate saw nothing, but she’s not in her room, and the cameras didn’t catch anything—”

I don’t hear the rest. I’m already on my feet, grabbing my coat.

Julie is gone. Someone is going to pay for it.

Chapter Twenty-Two - Julie

I grip the USB so tightly that the edges press into my palm. My heart is still pounding from the escape, from the weight of what I’ve just done. But there’s no turning back now.

The car pulls up to the grand Spade estate, and I barely get a second to breathe before the front doors swing open. Two guards step forward, their expressions unreadable as they escort me from the car.

“Julie?” My father’s voice.

James Spade steps into the dim glow of the entrance, sharp eyes narrowing the second they land on me. Sophia follows a few paces behind, arms crossed, expression stoic.

I swallow, lifting my chin. “Hi, Dad. Miss me?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just looks me over like he’s assessing damage. His silence is more infuriating than anything else.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he finally says.

That’s it? Not where have you been? Not are you okay?

A bitter laugh escapes me. “Wow. Not even a glad you’re alive?”

Sophia steps forward, her gaze flicking over me carefully. “You took a big risk coming here.”

I meet her eyes. “I had to.”

She watches me, waiting for more.

Dad watches our exchange, jaw clenching. “Do you understand what you’ve just done?”

My grip on the USB in my pocket tightens. “No, you have no idea what you’ve done. You gave me to him. You let this happen. And now you’re acting like I’m the problem?”

Sophia sighs, rubbing her temple. “Come inside. We’ll talk.”

I hesitate only a second before stepping through the doors. The moment I do, I feel it—this house, this family, it doesn’t feel like home.

Maybe it never did.

Dad watches me with that same calculating look he always has, like I’m an asset to be measured.

“I assume you understand what happens next,” he says.

I cross my arms. “I didn’t come here for a lecture.”

Sophia leans against the table. “You’re sure you got everything?”

I nod. “Mikhail left his office unattended for a few minutes. I used what you taught me.”

Her lips curve slightly. “Maybe you’re more useful than I thought.”

James, however, doesn’t seem as amused. He steps forward, looming over me. “You’ve just declared war.”

I fight the shiver down my spine. “I did what I had to do,” I say, forcing strength into my voice.

Sophia and Dad exchange a look.

“He’ll come for you,” my father says finally. “When he does, it won’t be pretty.”

I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

“I know.”

I stand there, chest tight, as Sophia looks at me with something I can’t quite place. For the first time in my life, my sister—the cold, untouchable Sophia Spade—looks… proud.

“Sister… I am proud of you,” she says softly.

Then, to my shock, she pulls me into a hug.

I freeze for a moment, my mind struggling to catch up. We’ve never been close. Never shared the kind of bond sisters are supposed to. She was always the strong one, the untouchable one. And me? I was the afterthought, the shadow trailing behind.

Slowly, I lift my arms, hesitantly hugging her back. It doesn’t feel right, this isn’t what I came here for.

I step back, breaking the embrace. My hands tremble as I reach into my pocket, pulling out the USB. Sophia watches me expectantly, waiting for me to hand over the weapon she thinks I’ve stolen from Mikhail.

I place it in her palm.

She raises an eyebrow. “This is everything?”

I nod, but not in the way she’s expecting.

“It has all the pictures from my phone,” I say quietly. “Pictures I kept of you and us. Notes that I wrote for you and father but never gave you. My business idea that I wanted so badly but none of you ever paid attention to.”

Her fingers tighten around the device as I keep going.

“There are pictures from all my forgotten birthdays. Things I saved, things that mattered to me.” My voice shakes now, and I take a deep breath to steady it. “Take them. I will be leaving them behind now.”

Sophia blinks, caught off guard. “Julie, what—”

“I’m done,” I cut in, my throat aching. “I know what you really wanted from me. You didn’t come to save me. You didn’t even try. You came because you needed me. I was never your sister. I was just… convenient.”

Her brows draw together. “That’s not true.”

I let out a broken laugh. “Isn’t it?”

She doesn’t answer.

James watches this exchange with unreadable eyes, arms crossed. He hasn’t spoken since I gave Sophia the USB, but I can feel his judgment pressing down on me.

I shake my head, stepping back again.

“Just stop,” I whisper. My voice is thick, my throat closing up. I fight the tears burning at the corners of my eyes. “I’m not your pawn, Sophia. I was your sister.”

Sophia flinches, but she doesn’t deny it.

I turn away before they can see me break.

I take a step back, my heart pounding as their words echo in my ears.

“He will kill you,” Sophia’s voice is sharp, cutting through the thick air like a blade. My father stands beside her, arms crossed, his expression blank. Neither of them moves to stop me.

I glance at them one last time, memorizing their faces, burning this moment into my memory.

“Better than living here,” I murmur, my voice hoarse, before turning on my heel and walking away.

The second I step outside, the weight of everything crashes down on me. My breath catches, my chest tightening so hard it hurts. The cold night air burns against my skin, and I feel like I might throw up.

I press a shaking hand to my stomach, forcing myself to breathe. In. Out. One foot in front of the other.

I don’t have time to break down. I don’t have time to let the fear consume me.

Mikhail. The thought of him makes my stomach twist.

He’s going to be furious. No—furious doesn’t even begin to cover it. He’s going to hunt me down. He’s going to find me. Then… I don’t know. Maybe Sophia’s right. Maybe he’ll kill me for running. Maybe this is it.

My vision blurs for a second, but I push forward, my mind screaming at me to keep moving.

I reach the street and lift my hand, hailing the first taxi I see. The car slows, and I climb in, slamming the door shut behind me.

“Where to?” the driver asks, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.

I part my lips, but no words come out. Where do I go? Back to Mikhail? To the man I just betrayed?

To the man whose wrath I know will be waiting for me? I close my eyes for a second, thinking. “I… just take me to a café,” I say finally, my voice steadier than I feel. “Anywhere quiet.”

The driver nods and pulls into the road.

I stare out the window, my hands trembling in my lap. Minutes pass in silence. I try to ignore the way my pulse is still erratic, the way my mind is spinning with every possibility.

The second the car stops, I push it all down. I step out, my movements stiff, and walk straight into the café.

The warm scent of coffee and fresh pastries surrounds me. The low hum of conversation buzzes in the air. It feels… normal.

I walk to the counter and order a coffee. My voice is even, my expression blank. I pretend like I belong here. Like I’m just another person in the crowd. Like I’m not running from a man who could destroy me.

The café hums with quiet life. Soft jazz plays over the speakers, blending into the gentle clatter of ceramic cups and the occasional hiss of steamed milk. People talk in hushed tones, wrapped up in conversations that don’t matter to me.

I curl my hands around the warmth of my coffee cup, letting the heat seep into my cold fingers. The rich scent of roasted beans fills my lungs with every breath, familiar and comforting.

I don’t feel comfortable. Not really.

Once upon a time, a place like this was my escape. I used to love cafés—used to spend hours in them with Elise, flipping through magazines, chatting about nothing, watching the world go by.

Now, I feel like a stranger in this world. Like I don’t belong, I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I stare down into the dark liquid, watching the way the foam swirls with each small movement of my hands.

A couple sits a few tables away, their voices drifting toward me.

“I think I’m going to quit,” the woman says, pushing her spoon around in her half-eaten dessert. “I can’t take that office anymore. Every day feels like the same damn thing.”

“Seriously?” her friend asks, raising a brow. “You just got promoted.”

The woman sighs. “Yeah, but… I don’t know. I want more. I feel like I’m wasting time.”

I take a sip of my coffee, swallowing down the bitter taste. Wasting time. It feels ironic, hearing that now, I don’t even know what time means to me anymore.

Another table over, a group of college students laughs over something on one of their phones. Their easy smiles, their carefree energy—it’s like looking into a past life.

Once, I would have been like them. Now? I glance at the café window, at my own faint reflection staring back. My hair is a little messy, my face pale, shadows dark under my eyes. I don’t look like someone who belongs in this world anymore. I look like someone who has seen too much.

I finish the last sip of my coffee, setting the cup down with a soft clink .

Enough. Enough pretending.

I press my palms against my thighs, grounding myself before standing.

It’s time. I need to face him.

I step outside, the night air biting against my skin. The quiet of the café disappears, swallowed by the distant sounds of the city—cars passing, voices murmuring, the occasional honk of a horn.

I take a breath, steadying myself. The fear is still there, lurking beneath the surface, but I push it down. I’ve made my choice.

Now, I have to face the consequences.

I flag down a taxi, sliding into the backseat as soon as it stops.

“Where to?” the driver asks. It’s a different guy this time, older, with a bushy beard.

My fingers tighten in my lap.

The driver’s eyes flick up to the rearview mirror as he waits for an answer. My mouth feels dry, my heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape before I can go through with this.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Take me to the Sharov estate,” I say, my voice just steady enough to not betray the storm inside me.

He raises a brow slightly—maybe recognizing the name, maybe just surprised at my clipped tone—but he doesn’t ask questions. He nods, shifts the car into drive, and pulls away from the curb.

The ride is quiet. Too quiet.

I press my fingers into my thighs, grounding myself. The city passes in a blur of neon lights and dark alleys, but I barely see any of it. My mind is already at the estate. Already bracing for what’s waiting for me there.

When the car rolls to a stop outside the gates, I take a breath, shove my hand into my pocket, and pull out a wad of cash. I had to steal it from Mikhail, back before I left. I didn’t want to, but I hadn’t exactly had a choice.

I count out the fare, pressing the bills into the driver’s waiting hand.

“Keep the change,” I mutter before pushing open the door and stepping out.

The air is cold. The estate looms in front of me, dark and quiet, but the moment I step inside, chaos erupts.

The first person I see is one of the maids—a woman I recognize but don’t know by name. Her face pales the second her eyes land on me.

“Miss Julie—” she breathes, stepping back as if she’s seen a ghost.

Before she can say anything else, two guards appear from the hallway, moving fast. Their hands hover near their weapons, their bodies tense.

My pulse spikes, but I don’t flinch.

“Where the hell have you been?” One of them—Sergei, I think—demands, his voice sharp with panic. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

The other, Boris, glances toward the door like he expects Mikhail to storm through at any second. “Mikhail knows,” he mutters. “He knows you left. Do you know what that means for us?”

The weight of their words settles in my stomach like a stone.

Their jobs. Maybe even their lives.

Mikhail doesn’t take disobedience lightly.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. My voice is soft but firm, my hands clenched at my sides. “I had to do something. I’ll explain to Mikhail when he gets home.”

Sergei scoffs. “That’s not gonna be enough.”

Boris shifts his weight, clearly uneasy. “You can’t tell us anything now?”

I shake my head. “No, I swear I’ll tell him everything when he gets back.”

The three of them stare at me, uncertain. I stand my ground. I just hope I have the strength to follow through with my words when the time comes.

Chapter Twenty-Three - Mikhail

The moment I step out of the car, I know something is wrong. The estate looms in front of me, dark and still, but there’s an energy in the air—thick, charged, waiting to snap.

She came back. That’s what I’m told. Julie is back.

I don’t know what I expect when I push through the front doors, but I don’t expect to see her standing there, perfectly still, like she’s been waiting for me.

She doesn’t run. She doesn’t look away. She simply raises her hand, and in it, a phone glints under the dim light.

My stomach tightens.

“I’ve had this for a while,” she says, voice even.

I step closer, my boots heavy against the marble floor. I don’t take the phone from her just yet. Instead, I study her—the way her fingers tighten around the device, the slight tremor in her shoulders, the way she breathes just a little too fast.

Guilt.

“Go on,” I murmur, my voice dangerously low.

Julie licks her lips, and my eyes flick to the movement before she speaks. “I used it to contact Sophia,” she says.

The anger inside me sharpens into something more lethal. Of course.

I exhale slowly, deliberately, keeping my expression unreadable. “And?”

Julie’s throat bobs. “I was supposed to steal information from you,” she continues, her fingers twitching. “That’s why she sent Arlo. He’s been leaking everything back to the Spades.”

A muscle ticks in my jaw. Arlo. That fucking bastard.

I should’ve known. I should’ve caught it earlier. I think back to every moment he was near, every interaction that seemed unassuming at the time. Now, it all fits.

Julie watches me carefully, like she’s waiting for me to snap. “He’s probably gone by now,” she adds.

Probably. Or maybe he’s still lurking like the rat he is. Either way, it doesn’t matter—he’ll be dealt with.

I take another step forward, and this time, I take the phone from her. It feels cold in my palm.

“You’re still here,” I say, my voice quieter now, but no less dangerous.

Julie blinks. “Yes.”

“You could’ve run.”

“I could have.”

I tilt my head, eyes narrowing. “Why didn’t you?”

She hesitates, and for a moment, I think she won’t answer. But then she squares her shoulders, meeting my gaze without flinching.

“Because I didn’t want to.”

Something dark stirs inside me. She had betrayed me. Lied to me, but she had come back. That means she’s mine.

The silence stretches between us, heavy, filled with things neither of us says. Then, before I can stop myself, I reach for her.

Julie gasps when my fingers grip her chin, tilting her face up to mine. Her skin is warm beneath my touch, her lips parting slightly, breath catching.

She expects rage. She expects punishment. Instead, I lean in, my mouth hovering just over hers.

“You’re mine,” I murmur, the words brushing against her lips. “Mine alone.”

Her breath stutters. I feel it—the way her body tenses, the way she’s fighting whatever it is she feels for me.

I smirk. She can fight it all she wants, but we both know this is where she belongs.

I should be furious. I should be questioning her, demanding to know if this is some elaborate game she’s playing. I see it in her eyes—raw, unguarded truth.

Julie exhales slowly, as if forcing herself to say the words out loud. “I can’t go back.”

I step forward, closing some of the space between us. “Why not?”

Her lips part, then press together again, and I see the war inside her—the hesitation, the vulnerability.

Then, she shakes her head slightly. “Because in your captivity, I learned what freedom really is.”

My breath stills.

She swallows hard, her voice quieter now, but steady. “I lived my whole life for them, Mikhail. I did everything to be noticed. I tried to be what my father wanted. I tried to be the sister Sophia wanted me to be. No matter what I did, I was always an afterthought.”

Her hands curl into fists at her sides, as if the memories are clawing at her. “But you….” She lifts her gaze back to mine, and there’s a fire in her eyes that wasn’t there before. “You looked at me with a warmth they never did. You made me feel seen. Wanted.”

I clench my jaw, barely holding myself back from reaching for her.

She keeps going. “You kissed me like you craved me. Touched me like you were meant to. Heard my ideas.” Her throat bobs, and she forces out the last words, raw with emotion. “How could I leave that behind?”

My pulse thunders in my ears.

She’s choosing this. Choosing me.

I step even closer, until there’s barely an inch between us. My hand lifts, fingers ghosting over the side of her face. I don’t touch her fully—I just feel her warmth, the way she leans into it, the way she doesn’t pull away.

“Why?” I ask, my voice lower now, quieter, dangerous in its demand for the truth.

Julie takes a long breath, as if gathering the courage to say the one thing that will change everything between us.

Then, she exhales.

“I think I’m falling for you.”

The words settle between us like a brand, burning into the space where her hesitation used to be. For a moment, I don’t move. Don’t speak.

She just gave me everything. Every damn piece of herself. I could break her. I could twist those words, use them to control her, to ensure she never strays from me again.

I finally let my fingers trail down her cheek, careful and focused, before tilting her chin up so she’s fully looking at me.

Her lips tremble slightly, but not from fear.

“I think you’re a fool,” I murmur, my thumb brushing over her lower lip.

Julie exhales a shaky breath, but she doesn’t flinch. “Then I’m your fool.”

Something inside me snaps. I crush my mouth to hers, my hand tangling in her hair as I take what’s mine.

She melts against me, her fingers digging into my suit jacket, pulling me closer. I can feel it in the way she kisses me back—the truth in her words, the undeniable pull between us.

I bite down on her lower lip, pulling a soft gasp from her before I slide my tongue against hers, devouring the taste of her surrender.

She whimpers, pressing her body against mine, and I groan into her mouth. My grip tightens in her hair, tilting her head back so I can claim her deeper.

I force myself to speak, to remind her of what she just admitted. “If you think this changes anything… it doesn’t.”

Her brows knit together slightly, but she doesn’t look away.

“You’re still mine,” I continue, my voice rough. “Still bound to me. If you think falling for me will make me go easy on you, you’re wrong.”

Julie exhales a soft, unsteady laugh, and I feel the warmth of it against my lips.

“I don’t want you to go easy on me,” she whispers.

She’s turned my whole world upside down, and she doesn’t even realize it.

I grip her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Then don’t expect me to let you go. Ever.”

Her lashes flutter, and I feel the slightest tremor in her body. It’s not fear. Julia’s lips are slightly parted, her breath coming fast. I don’t miss the way her body reacts—how she leans into me, her skin warming beneath my touch.

I lower my head, brushing my lips against her ear, my voice rough with desire. “You feel it, don’t you?”

Julie swallows hard, her lashes fluttering. “Mikhail—”

I cut her off by dragging my hand down her throat, my fingers pressing lightly against the delicate skin there before skimming lower, down the curve of her shoulder. Her dress has slipped slightly, revealing the smooth expanse of her collarbone. I press my lips there, inhaling her scent—warm, intoxicating, completely mine.

She lets out a soft gasp, her body arching slightly as I slide my hands to her waist. Her dress is thin, and I can feel every line of her beneath it. I curse under my breath, my jaw clenching.

I want to rip it from her. I want to mark her, claim her in every way possible.

Instead, I pull her closer, pressing her body against mine. She fits perfectly, as if she were made for me, as if the universe had no other intention but to bring her here, to this moment.

Julie trembles slightly, but she doesn’t pull away.

I slide my fingers into her hair, tilting her head back so she has no choice but to look at me. Her lips are swollen from my kisses, her eyes hazy with something between hesitation and need.

A flicker of something—relief, frustration, maybe both—crosses her face.

I don’t give her time to think. I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her against my chest, letting her feel exactly what she’s doing to me.

Her breath hitches, and I smirk against her temple.

“I want you to remember this,” I whisper, my hand sliding down her back, resting just above the curve of her ass. “To know that even though I want you, I also want to be with you. Like this. No expectations.”

Julie’s nails dig into my shoulders, her entire body tense.

I kiss her once more—deep, slow, deliberate—before finally, finally stepping back. She sways slightly, her fingers still curled in my shirt as if she’s reluctant to let go. I chuckle softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“Go to bed, hmm,” I murmur. “Before I change my mind.”

She stares at me, dazed, her lips still parted as if she wants to protest.

I guide her upstairs, my hand resting low on her back as we move in silence. The air between us is thick with unspoken words, unfulfilled desires.

In our bedroom, she turns to face me, her eyes searching mine for something—reassurance, understanding, maybe even a promise I can’t put into words.

I reach for the zipper of her dress, dragging it down slowly, watching the fabric loosen and slide down her shoulders. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away.

She lets me undress her, the silk pooling at her feet.

She does the same for me, her fingers hesitant but then sure as she unbuttons my shirt, brushing against my skin. Every touch leaves a fire in its wake.

We slip beneath the sheets, my arms pulling her against me, her body curling into mine as if it belongs there.

Her breath evens out, warm against my chest, her fingers resting lightly over my heart.

I press a slow kiss to her temple, inhaling the soft scent of her hair.

For the first time in years, I don’t feel the weight of the world on my shoulders.

With her in my arms, I simply exist.

I could never ask for anything else.