Yuri steps out of the open elevator doors, and the second I see him, the tension in my shoulders drains away like water. He’s carrying something in his hand, looks like takeout, and the look on his face when his eyes meet mine is a mix of surprise along with something quieter, deeper.
He smiles. Not big, not dramatic. Just enough to make my heart ache.
And just like that, I know I’m safe.
We’re safe.
At last.
I meet him halfway across the living room, the marble floors cool and grounding beneath my feet. Yuri's smile deepens as I approach, the devastating smirk that always manages to undo me just a little. His eyes flick down, taking in the oversized T-shirt I’ve stolen from his drawer, the bare legs, the way my hand rests on my stomach. I don’t see hunger in his gaze—I see reverence.
With a magician’s flourish, he pulls a large bouquet from behind his back.
I smile at him. “They’re gorgeous.”
They really are beautiful—cream-colored roses, dusky blue thistle, and pale eucalyptus wrapped in parchment and velvet string.
“I thought you’d earned something nice,” he says. “And flowers are just the beginning.”
I raise a brow, amused. “You do know I’m not the kind of woman who needs presents to feel loved, right?”
His grin turns wolfish. “Too bad.”
I laugh, then lean in and kiss him, fingers curling lightly into the collar of his jacket. It’s not a frantic kiss, just warmth and connection. The kind of bond shared after surviving hell.
When I pull back, I ask the question that’s been lingering at the edges of my mind. “So… how is everything?”
The softness fades slightly from his face. A calculating gleam slides into his eyes—the part of Yuri that’s always measuring threats, strategizing, and balancing power. “Spalding’s going sing like a bird,” he says. “And if he’s lucky, he might get isolation for the information, instead of gen pop.”
I nod. “And Christian?”
Yuri’s expression darkens, calm but absolute. “Let’s just say he’ll spend the rest of his life behind bars, but it won’t be a long life.”
I swallow. There’s no sadness in me for De la Rosa. That chapter’s over.
Yuri sees something in my face—maybe exhaustion or the lingering fear—and shakes his head. “Enough of that. It’s over. Now we get to build the life we want.”
We settle onto the plush sofa. I curl into his side as he pulls me close, his hand resting over mine on my belly. The room smells like leather, flowers, and him.
“I love you,” he says suddenly, fiercely. “Like mad. I should’ve said it sooner, should’ve shouted it. But I didn’t. And that nearly cost me everything.”
My breath catches.
“As long as I’m breathing, Astrid,” he continues, brushing his lips against my hair, “you’ll never have to wonder if you’re loved. You’ll never go without. You’ll never feel alone.”
I close my eyes. His words settle over me like a blanket. Steady and unshakable.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “I love you too,” I whisper. “So much. And I can’t wait to see you become a father.”
He turns, kissing me again, deeper this time.
The flowers sit in a vase, full and lush on the table, but Yuri’s eyes draw mine, not the roses.
Him. Always him.
“I can’t believe we’re here,” I say.
He laces our fingers together. “You almost died.”
