He gathered his things and headed for the elevator, already planning the meal they’d prepare together and the conversation they’d share over wine afterward. These were the moments that made everything else worthwhile—not the business victories or strategic triumphs, but the quiet contentment of coming home to someone who understood him completely.
The drive through Moscow traffic gave Viktor time to reflect on the day’s accomplishments and plan the evening ahead. The meeting with Adrian had gone better than expected; their professional relationship continued to evolve from grudging cooperation toward a genuine partnership. It was progress that served the interests of both their families while also bringing Anka happiness, which remained his primary motivation for most decisions.
But as he navigated the familiar route home, Viktor found his thoughts drifting beyond business considerations toward more personal satisfactions. Tonight would mark three months since Anka had moved back into their home, three months since they’d committed to rebuilding their marriage on afoundation of honesty rather than the careful omissions that had characterized their earlier relationship.
The house felt different now—warmer, more alive, filled with the sound of Anka’s laughter and the scent of her perfume and the constant background hum of contentment that had been missing during their separation. Viktor had forgotten how much space one person could fill until she returned to fill it, and had forgotten how empty silence could feel until her voice chased it away again.
The security gate recognized his car and opened automatically, allowing him to drive up the curved driveway toward the mansion that had finally started feeling like home rather than just an impressive piece of real estate. Lights were on in the kitchen and living room, suggesting that Anka had arrived before him despite her text about running late.
Viktor parked in his usual spot and gathered his briefcase, already anticipating the moment when he’d walk through the front door and hear Anka call out a greeting from wherever she’d settled with whatever book had captured her attention today. It was such a simple pleasure, but one that never failed to make him feel like the luckiest man alive.
The front door opened before he could reach for his keys, and Anka appeared in the doorway, wearing one of his dress shirts over leggings, her golden hair loose around her shoulders, and her smile bright enough to light up the entire neighborhood. The sight of her still hit him like a physical blow—not painful, but overwhelming in its intensity, a reminder of how close he’d come to losing everything that mattered.
“How did the meeting with Adrian go?” she asked, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him hello with the easy affection that had taken months to rebuild but now felt as natural as breathing.
“Better than I expected,” Viktor replied, dropping his briefcase to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her closer. “We’re actually starting to work well together. I think we might even develop mutual respect eventually.”
“Look at you, making friends with people you used to want to destroy,” Anka teased, her eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief that had first attracted him to her years ago. “Next, you’ll be inviting him over for dinner parties and sharing embarrassing stories about your childhood.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” Viktor said dryly, though he was smiling at her enthusiasm. “Professional partnership and personal friendship are very different things. I’m not sure the world is ready for Adrian and me to become drinking buddies.”
“Maybe not,” Anka agreed, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt in a way that suggested she was more interested in getting him out of it than discussing his business relationships. “But I’m proud of you for choosing forgiveness over revenge. I know it wasn’t easy, giving up something you’d planned for so long.”
Viktor felt his expression grow serious at her words, struck by the weight of what she was acknowledging. It hadn’t been easy, abandoning his carefully constructed plans for Adrian’s destruction in favor of building something constructive together. There had been moments when his old anger had flared, when the temptation to return to familiar patterns of manipulation and punishment had been almost overwhelming.
But every time he’d wavered, he’d remembered the way Anka had looked at him in that warehouse district parking lot—exhausted and disappointed and resigned to losing him again. He’d remembered the choice she’d presented: love or revenge, building or destroying, choosing her or choosing the past.
When framed that way, it hadn’t really been a choice at all.
“It was easier than I thought it would be,” Viktor admitted, his hands settling at the small of her back with possessive familiarity. “Once I decided that your happiness was more important than my anger, everything else became simple. Not easy, but simple.”
“Simple, how?” Anka asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.
Viktor considered how to explain the shift in perspective that had made forgiveness not just possible but inevitable. “Before, every decision was filtered through anger and pain. How could I make Adrian suffer? How could I balance the scales for what he’d taken from me? How could I ensure that justice was served?”
He paused, watching understanding dawn in Anka’s hazel eyes.
“But once I started filtering decisions through love instead—how could I make you happy? How could I build something that served our marriage? How could I create a future rather than punishing the past? Suddenly, the answers were obvious.”
Anka’s smile was radiant, transforming her entire face with joy that made Viktor’s chest tight with emotion. “I love the man you’ve become,” she said simply, her voice carrying conviction that reached something deep in his soul. “Not just because you chose me, but because you chose to be better than your worst impulses.”
“I chose to be worthy of you,” Viktor corrected, meaning every word. “I chose to be the husband you deserved rather than the one you settled for.”
Instead of responding with words, Anka pulled him down for another kiss, this one deeper and more demanding than her earlier greeting. Viktor responded instinctively, his hands tangling in her hair as months of rebuilt trust and intimacy flowed between them like electricity.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing harder, Anka’s eyes were dark with desire and something deeper—love, contentment, the kind of bone-deep satisfaction that came from being exactly where you belonged.
“Dinner can wait,” she said, her voice husky with want.
Viktor felt the heat pool in his stomach at the suggestion, desire mixing with tenderness in a combination that never failed to overwhelm him completely. This was what he’d missed during their separation—not just the physical intimacy, but the emotional connection that made every touch feel like coming home.
“Are you sure?” he asked, though his hands were already sliding beneath the shirt she wore, mapping familiar territory with reverent attention. “I promised you that pasta dish, and I hate to break promises to my wife.”
“I’m sure,” Anka replied, her own hands working at the buttons of his shirt with efficient determination. “The pasta will keep. This won’t.”
Viktor laughed at her logic, the sound rough with desire and affection. “When you put it that way, how can I argue?”
Instead of heading toward the bedroom, Anka surprised him by pulling him toward the living room, where she’d apparently been reading earlier—her book lay open on the coffee table next to a cup of tea that was probably cold by now. The space felt intimate in the evening light, warm and inviting in away that made Viktor grateful all over again for the home they’d built together.
