The space between us suddenly feels bigger than it is.
“Astrid,” he says. “I will protect you. I’ll provide for you. And for the baby. That is not a question.”
“No,” I whisper. “But everything else is.”
He takes a step forward. I want to back away but don’t. I hold my ground.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” he says softly.
I close my eyes for a second. “Maybe I do,” I murmur. “Or maybe I just don’t want to be someone’s secret shame. Some woman you tuck away in a safe house while you carry on being who you need to be for everyone else.”
He doesn’t respond right away, but I can see how my words land. Like I’ve struck a nerve he thought was long dead.
“Please go,” I say. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”
His breath catches for a second, then he nods—one sharp, precise movement—just like he does everything. Controlled. Restrained.
I turn away from him. The door opens then closes.
And I’m alone again.
But this time, it feels like something inside me has gone with him.
CHAPTER 24
YURI
The mansion is quiet when I step inside.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the kind that settles in after something bad has happened. I don’t bother turning on the lights, just walk straight through the dim halls, the sound of my footsteps echoing off the marble floor, until I reach my study.
I close the door behind me and lean against it for a second, listening to the rain tick against the windows.
The decanter’s where I left it. I pour a glass, staring at the amber liquid as I swirl it.
“This isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”
Her voice keeps playing in my head. Like she’d already made peace with the idea of doing it without me. Like she never planned to let me in at all.
And I can’t fucking stand that.
I told her I’d protect her. That I’d take care of her and the baby. I meant it. I still do. But that wasn’t what she needed to hear. Shedidn’t want strategy. She wanted something I’m not sure I know how to give anymore.
She wanted love.
I walk to the window and stare out at the garden, glimmering beneath the rain. My reflection flashes in the glass—I look tired, disheveled, and tense.
For a moment—for one brief, electric moment—I felt happy. Alive. Things I haven’t felt in years.
But she pushed me away.
Not out of spite. Not even out of fear. But out of conviction.
She’s doing what she thinks is right, but I’m not sure I can accept that knowing she’s pregnant with my child. I want to protect her, protect both of them, take care of them.
There’s a knock at the door. Soft. Almost polite.
I don’t respond. I stay in the shadows, glass in hand, rain beating down on the windows. Thinking of her. Thinking of what I’ve already lost and what I might still be able to find a way to keep.
