I once believed I could live without love. That duty, power, and control were enough. I was wrong. Dead wrong.
Because watching her now, candlelight dancing in her eyes, our son pressed to her chest, I realize something—
I would burn this entire world down to protect this.
To protect them.
And I wouldn’t lose a single night of sleep over it.
Katia rises from her chair and begins to sing an off-key rendition of happy birthday. Adrian, always the playful one, quickly joins her, and soon the rest of my cousins and friends, who Zoe has met over the past few months, join them.
She makes a wish and blows on her candle, and I allow her to laugh and have fun with the others before moving behind her chair and resting a hand gently on her shoulder. The guests are deep in conversation now—wine glasses half full, laughter rising and falling in waves. The night is warm, easy. For once, I don’t feel the need to scan the exits.
I lean down, my mouth close to her ear. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”
She tilts her head back, looking up at me with that smile—the one that still knocks the breath from my lungs.
“I’m happy, Lukin,” she says softly. “I’m so happy.”
Her words lodge themselves somewhere deep in my chest, in a place I don’t have a name for. A place I thought had turned to stone years ago.
Adrian’s halfway through one of his ridiculous stories, gesturing wildly, his voice animated. Katia jumps in to mock him, tossing out a joke just sharp enough to make the tableerupt in laughter. Even the baby giggles from Zoe’s lap, as if he understands the joy in the room.
And for once, there’s nothing behind the laughter. No hidden tension. No gunpowder in the air. No shadows slithering along the walls, waiting to pounce.
Just peace.
Just her.
Just us.
The front door silently creaks open, and we don’t pay much attention to it, thinking it’s one of the staff who’s been attending to the table since the party started.
Then Katia lets out a sharp gasp. “Maria?”
The name ripples through the room like a wave. Heads turn. Smiles bloom. A few people even clap. But my eyes go straight to Zoe.
She gasps too, rising so quickly from her chair it scrapes hard against the floor. For a heartbeat, she doesn’t move. Just stares.
Maria stands at the threshold, dressed in soft pastels, her hair pulled back in a low bun, eyes warm. There’s no trace of bitterness in her smile.
“Hope I’m not too late for your birthday, Zoe,” she says softly.
Zoe doesn’t hesitate. She rushes forward and wraps Maria in a tight embrace. No tension. No awkward small talk. No apologies.
Just… healing.
Forgiveness.
Something that was broken stitching itself quietly back together.
The room holds its breath. I watch as Maria leans down to take her baby brother into her arms, her fingers cradling his head like she’s done it a thousand times. She kisses his cheek, then lifts her gaze to Zoe with a look that says everything: I see you. I’m happy for you.
“I love you, Zoe,” Maria whispers.
Zoe’s face crumples, her eyes filling with tears. She nods, breath catching in her throat.
Maria’s voice is steady, filled with something like pride. “And I’m proud of you. I saw your fashion interview. Your business… it’s going so well. Just like I knew it would.”
