Sylvester nods sharply and heads for the door.
I stand there, pulse hammering.
Because Dimitri didn’t just create a plan. He declared war.
When Sylvester leaves the room, the door clicks shut with a finality that tightens the air around us. I turn to him, heat rising in my chest.
“You’re playing with fire.”
He looks up from the screen, eyes cold and unwavering. “I am the fire,krasavitsa.”
The arrogance. The fatal calm. It snaps something in me.
“That’s exactly the problem,” I snap. “You’re so used to burning everything in your path that you forget you can get burned too.”
He steps closer, jaw clenching. “I don’t have a choice. He is using your family name. He’s spoiling mine. He wants a war? I’ll give him one.”
“No.” My voice cracks on the word. “Not like this. Not by throwing yourself out there like bait.”
“What would you rather I do?” His voice rises—just a shade, but enough to cut. “Sit here and wait for the next attack? For him to come after you again?”
My throat tightens. “This isn’t just about me. Don’t be selfish.”
“Then tell me how I’m being selfish,” he challenges, eyes burning into mine.
“You’re risking yourself,” I spit back. “You think that’s selfless? You think dying for this is noble? It’s not. It’s stupid. And it’s selfish because you don’t get to leave me alone in this.”
He stiffens at that, the words hitting deeper than I meant. But I don’t stop.
“You keep acting like the world will keep spinning if something happens to you.” My voice breaks, anger folding into fear. “It won’t. Not for me.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. He takes a step back like he needs space to breathe.
“I’m not dying,” he says quietly. Too quietly. “I’m ending this.”
“And what if Charles doesn’t play into your plan?” I demand. “What if he’s smarter than you think? What if he has another move waiting?”
His eyes flash. “Then I’ll make sure he never gets the chance to use it.”
“You can’t control everything, Dimitri!”
“I can control what’s mine. Your safety!”
“I’m not yours,” I whisper, but it sounds like a lie even to me.
His expression twists in anger, something like hurt, something darker.
“You are,” he says. “At least until this is over. Because if anything happens to you, Vivian—”
He cuts himself off, breathing hard.
“That’s exactly how I feel,” I whisper. “Put yourself in my shoes, please.”
He drags a hand down his face, pacing once, twice, like he’s wrestling his own instincts. Then he stops directly in front of me, eyes locked on mine.
“Okay. Fine.”
A beat.
