I woke up slowly, like drifting out of a dream, only to realize I was still inside one.
Viktor's arms were around me; it was heavy, warm, and steady. His chest rose and fell against my back, and the rhythm of his breathy lullaby lasted through the night. For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn't wake up with fear clinging to my throat. There was no dread, no coldness in my stomach, no panic about what waited outside the door. But, it was just... stillness.
The house was quiet; too quiet for a man like Viktor. I could hear faint sounds, like a guard shifting outside, the distant hum of the city waking up, but nothing sharp, nothing dangerous awaited us. The air itself felt lighter, as if ever the walls of this house knew the storm had passed.
I lay still, letting myself take it in. How many mornings had I woken with my stomach tight, bracing for bad news, for humiliation, and for another reminder that my life wasn't mine? Too many... like cold sheets, lonely rooms, the suffocating silence of waiting for someone else's decision to shatter me. But now... now there was him, just him and me.
His arm was curved around my waist, not gripping, not caging, but just resting, and it was steady and protective. His hand spread over my stomach like it belonged there, like he had claimed, not only me but the tiny future inside me, too.
I turned carefully, just enough to see his face. Viktor asleep was not Viktor awake. Gone was the steel, and the constant tension in his jaw, the weight of command. His face looked younger and softer. The faint scar that cut across his brow looked less like a warning and more like a story. His lips parted slightly, and his breathing was even. For once, he looked like a man, and not Pakhan.
A man who once terrified me but now felt like the safest place I'd ever known. I stared too long, and I knew I did, because suddenly his lashes flickered, and his eyes opened just enough to catch me.
"Are you watching me sleep?" His voice was husky and rough in the morning.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. "Maybe,"
"Dangerous thing to do," he murmured, his lips curving slightly. His voice didn't carry the edge it usually did, no orders, no sharpness, just lazy amusement.
I lifted my chin, trying not to look embarrassed. "I was memorizing your scars."
That pulled him fully awake. He then raised a brow; his gaze was still heavy-lidded but sharp now. "Memorizing them? Why?"
"Because..." I hesitated, biting my lip. "Because they tell me you always survived."
And for a moment, silence stenched between us. His hand tightened slightly on my waist, not possessive, but firm. His eyes searched mine, and then he spoke, softer than I'd ever heard him.
"And I'll keep surviving," he said. "For you, for what we've made." His hand slid lower, brushing over the flat plane of my stomach.
My throat ached, and I wanted to look away, but I didn't. I couldn't because his honesty pinned me in place.
"You mean that?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I've bled for less," he replied simply.
I let out a shaky laugh, but it wasn't because it was funny. It was because my chest was too full, too tight, and laughter was the only way to ease the tension.
"Your way of saying 'I love you' is terrifying," I teased.
"It's the only language I know," he said, but there was a hint of a smile at the edge of his mouth.
We lay there for a while, and the kind of quiet that wasn't heavy but whole. My hand moved on its own, brushing lightly against his chest, tracing the scar that curved down towards his ribs. He didn't flinch, didn't pull away.
"You don't hide them," I said softly.
"Why should I?"
"Most men would."
"I'm not most men," his voice was calm, steady, and almost playful. "These scars are proof. They remind me that no one has managed to kill me yet, and no one ever will."
"Confident, aren't you?" I whispered, half-teasing.
He leaned closer, his lips brushing my hairline. "It's not confidence, Emilia. It's a promise."
The words sank deep, threading through me like a vow I hadn't asked for but needed more than anything. I couldn't stop myself, so I pressed closer, my lips brushing his throat, and my voice broke free before doubt could cage it.
"I'm happy."
