“I know,” Anton replies, leaning back in his chair. “But do you really think Lucas can handle all of this when he’s finally yours?”
“Handle what?” I ask, eyes narrowing slightly.
He arches a brow, deliberate. “Being with a Petrov. The attention. The constant surveillance. The media digging up everything they can find. Our father already pulling strings to uncover every inch of his past like it’s some sort of background check for war.”
My jaw tightens.
“I won’t let anyone fuck with him, Anton,” I say, my voice low and firm. “Not the press. Not our father. No one.”
He studies me, silent for a long beat. I let him. I want him to see it—that I’m not playing games. That whatever this is with Lucas, I’m in it—fully and Unshakably.
Then Anton exhales and gives me that crooked half-smile, the one he saves for the rare moments he’s genuinely amused. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes, lights one with steady fingers, and inhales like he’s carrying the weight of two younger brothers on his lungs.
“You and Maksim are going to be the death of me,” he mutters, smoke curling from his lips. “You with your obsession, him with his recklessness. And me—the poor bastard having to deal with it all.”
I open my mouth to respond, but my phone buzzes across the table. Mike’s name flashes on the screen. My heart stutters.
I answer it immediately.
“Tell me he’s with you.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Mike’s voice, steady but cautious:
“He’s not. He told me he’s not coming.”
My grip on the phone tightens, my jaw clenches so hard it feels like it could shatter.
“That’s enough stubbornness,” I mutter, rising from my chair and tossing back the last of my whiskey.
Anton watches me, one brow raised in mild surprise.
“Where are you going?”
I give him a sly smile, “Guess.”
TWENTY-SIX
LUCAS
I’m on the mat in the living room, legs folded, spine long, arms stretched. Slow inhale, hold, then exhale. Again. Breathe through it, let it go.
It’s what I do when everything feels too loud. Pilates helps me quiet the noise even when I can’t hear anything at all.
Three days. I haven’t gone to teach Alexander ASL in three days.
I’ve been stretching for over an hour now, trying to lose myself in the rhythm and silence. Trying to chase him out of my head. But every breath I take carves the shape of his name deeper into my chest.
I haven’t seen him since Sunday. Since that… whatever that was: an argument, a rupture, a goodbye. I don’t know. But I miss him. God, I miss him so much it physically aches.
And it’s stupid, isn’t it? Missing someone who was never really mine to begin with. Someone I shouldn’t want, shouldn’t be with. I hate myself for feeling this way. I hate my heart for betraying me.
But I’ve fallen for Alexander.
Somewhere between all the silence and the chaos of him, I fell. And I didn’t even notice until it was too late. That argument didn’t just shake me; it broke something open. And in thataftermath, I saw it clearly. I’m in love with him. I don’t know when it happened, only that it did.
And I hate myself for it.
Because I begged my heart not to feel, I made a promise to myself—to stay safe, to stay numb, to stay untouched. And now look at me. Cracked open and aching for someone I told myself not to take seriously.
