Something in my chest cracks open at that. I slide my hand up her spine. “You’re not broken,” I say. “You’re human. You survived something that would have hollowed other people out completely, and you still choose softness. That’s not a flaw. That’s strength.”
She swallows. “I don’t want to be a secret. I think that has been playing on my mind too.”
Guilt washes over me. “You’re not,” I say immediately. No hesitation.
I lift her chin so she has to look at me. “I’m done hiding the thing that matters most to me. You’re the center of my life, Lily. Not something I tuck away to keep the peace.”
Her breath hitches.
“Your father will know,” I continue calmly. “I’ll tell him the truth. That I love you. That I chose you with open eyes. That whatever I lose by standing beside you is worth it.”
I press my forehead to hers.
“I-I don’t want you to lose anything because of me, Drago.”
I sigh, stroking her cheek. “There is nothing that exists that I wouldn’t sacrifice to keep you, Lily. I would lay down my life for you,” I say, not dramatic, just certain.
Tears slide down her cheeks, and she laughs softly through them. “I’m still a mess,” she whispers.
“A hot one.” I wink.
I lean in and kiss her softly, proving to her that I mean every single word I say. “I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper.
She folds into me, finally letting her weight rest fully in my arms.
Lily isn’t my weakness. She’s my gravity. The thing that everything else revolves around. I’m not guarding something I’m afraid to lose.
I’m holding the woman I love.
And I’m home.
I wake as the door to Lily’s bedroom opens, light spilling across the dark. Lev’s shadow fills the doorway.
My first instinct isn’t anger. It’s dread.
Careful not to wake her, I press a kiss to Lily’s cheek, tuck the covers around her like she’s something precious—because she is—and slip out from under her. I close the door quietly behind me.
When I turn, Lev isn’t shouting. That’s what guts me. There’s no rage in his face. No violence itching under his skin. Just disappointment.
The kind that sits heavy in your chest and makes you feel like you’ve failed at something you never wanted to fail at.
He opens his mouth.
I lift my hand. “Not fucking here,” I hiss, low and controlled. “Not where she can hear.”
Then I turn and walk down the stairs, forcing myself not to look back. Forcing myself not to hesitate.
This is my house. And she is my woman.
In the kitchen, I grab two glasses and the vodka. My hands don’t shake, but my chest aches as I pour. I’ve played this moment over in my head for weeks, but now that it’s here, it feels heavier than I imagined.
I turn and hand him a glass.
He doesn’t just take it, he snatches it, downs it in one swallow, and slams it onto the counter hard enough to rattle.
“She’s my daughter, Drago,” he snaps, voice raised.
“I know,” I say quietly.
