Her lips twitch. “Don’t start.”
“Not starting anything,” I murmur, stepping close enough that she has to tilt her head back to look up at me. “Just…clarifying.”
She meets me, glare for glare, and that actually makes my heart skip.
“I won’t allow myself to be isolated again, Alexei,” she says, her voice softening. “The way Yuri treated his wives—I won’t live like that. I deserve to have a life and friends.”
The mention of Yuri slices through me. Every muscle in my body goes taut. She doesn’t know how deep that name cuts, or howoften I’ve promised myself never to become the man who raised me.
I swallow hard, reach for her face, and cup her cheek with my palm. “You’re right,” I say quietly. “You do.”
Her eyes flicker, surprise breaking through her defenses.
I lower my head and kiss her slowly. There’s no heat this time, just me baring myself to her as best as I can.
“Call him. Set it up,” I whisper after pulling back.
She breaks out into a big smile that lights up her whole face. The sight hits me like sunlight after years underground.
She's so damn beautiful.
She turns away to grab her phone, her face bright with excitement as she starts typing. I watch her, a quiet vow forming in my chest: I’ll do right by her, no matter what it takes.
Even if I’m still keeping secrets.
Even if the truth could break everything that I’m trying to rebuild.
But not today. Today, I’ll give her London.
And ten days to fall in love with me all over again.
Chapter Five
Anya
Being back in New York feels like walking into a dream I’m not sure I’m ready to wake from. Everything is familiar and foreign at the same time—the skyline, the smell of roasted nuts and exhaust, even the way the air feels heavier here.
I miss London, not for any sentimental reason like the weather, but for the life I'd built there. I miss the chaotic lunch dates with Bryant and my quiet mornings with Alyosha.
Leaving Alyosha with Bryant was probably the most difficult thing, not because I didn't trust Bryant to care for him, but because I couldn't trust myself to let go. Grumpy as he is, my cat’s one of the few things that kept me sane in the past four years. On some very lonely nights, it was his rare snuggles and grudging meows that pulled me through.
Good thing Alexei is making my decision worth the sacrifice.
He’s been attentive, softer somehow. He reaches for my hand when we walk down the street, pours my coffee before his, and watches me with this quiet intensity that makes me feel both cherished and uneasy. Like he’s waiting for something…or maybe it's all in my head.
It’s too good to be true.That’s the thought that keeps circling in the back of my mind, no matter how many times I tell myself to just be happy.
The house he brought me to isn’t the one I remember. It can’t be. The bones are the same, but the soul of it—if it ever had one—has been stripped bare and rebuilt.
He gutted the place. New floors, new walls, new everything… The old heavy drapes are gone, replaced with tall, light-filtering linen curtains. The grand chandelier that used to hang like a threat in the foyer is gone, too. In its place hangs a simple iron pendant lamp, clean and modern.
If I didn’t know the address, I wouldn’t believe this was the same house.
And thank God for that.
Because I don’t think I could’ve borne the weight of the memories otherwise.
I walk through the rooms slowly, my hand brushing over the back of a leather chair, the smooth marble countertop, and the curve of a steel staircase railing that gleams under the light. Everything is expensive, immaculate…and somehow lifeless.
