The air between us feels stretched thin, charged with everything from the last eighteen months. My body leans toward him without permission, the pull instinctive and confusing andachingly strong. I can see it in his eyes too. The restraint, the effort it’s taking for him to stay where he is instead of closing the distance.
He reaches out, stops himself halfway, and lets his hand fall back to his side.
A breath shudders out of me.
“You sleep here tonight. I’ll bring up your bag. We can go back for your things tomorrow and end your lease. You can decide if you would like to resign from the company or not. Whatever you choose, I will support you.” His eyes never leave mine. Dark promises and sparkling truth.
“I’ll let you settle in and I’ll take the chair tonight.” He points to an oversized armchair in the corner, one built for nights snuggling up with a book and a mug of something hot.
I nod, even though some traitorous part of me aches at the boundary.
The door closes softly behind him, the sound final without being unkind.
I stand there for a long moment, listening to my own breathing, to the quiet hum of a place that already feels more like shelter than captivity.
My mind is still a mess. Fear. Desire. Grief. Relief. They twist together until I can’t tell where one ends and another begins. But beneath all of it, something steady is forming, something clear.
I chose this because the life I’m leaving behind was already breaking me, piece by piece, and I’m done pretending endurance is the same as living.
I sit on the edge of the bed and press my palm to my chest, grounding myself in the decision before I can talk myself out of it.
Avros’s world is dangerous, but it’s honest about the cost.
He doesn’t make me feel like I’m waiting to be discarded. In the few hours since he burst into my life fully, he has made me feel like I’m stepping into the next stage of my life on my own terms. Even if the man I’ve chosen to stand beside is the most dangerous man I’ve ever known.
Avros
I shut the barn down methodically.
Doors first. Lights next. Locks checked twice, even though I know they’re secure and security around the estate is top of the line. Habit keeps my hands busy while my body burns with things I am not allowing myself to touch.
The tension sits high in my shoulders, coiled and restless. I roll my neck slowly, feeling the tight pull of muscle protesting restraint. My jaw aches from clenching it too long. Control always has a cost. Tonight, it demands more than usual because she is under the roof I built with her in mind. Exactly where I wanted her. That’s progress even if it’s enough to drive me to madness.
Eighteen months of restraint, of not allowing myself to feel pleasure, has trained me in other ways, too. But with her here, in my bed…
I take my phone from my pocket and send a single message to the family thread in a bid to distract myself.
She’s here. Emma is moving in. She’s under my protection.
No explanation. No justification.
Responses come quickly.
Yury’s acknowledgment is curt. Vitali’s carries amusement and approval. Zakhar asks if this is permanent and whether it means I’ll finally be removing the stick from up my ass.
I ignore him.
Yes,I type back.She’s mine and aware of the Pakhan’s orders.
That ends it.
I slide the phone away and stand still for a moment, breathing through the heat in my blood. I’ve waited eighteen months. One more night of restraint won’t kill me. It just feels like it might.
I climb the stairs and slow to a stop deliberately outside the bedroom door. I can hear her breathing. Controlled, but not asleep. I knew she wouldn’t be. Women like Emma don’t collapse into rest when their world tilts. They lie still and take inventory.
I open the door quietly and step inside, shrugging out of my jacket and unbuttoning the top few buttons of my shirt.
The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow from the lamp near the armchair. She’s lying on her side, facing away from me, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other resting against her stomach like she’s holding herself together. Her breathing changes the moment I enter. Just a fraction. Enough to tell me she’s aware of me.
