I trace the edge of her face with my thumb. She leans into it, eyes closed.
There’s no promise in it. No words. Just the quiet truth between us—the kind that doesn’t need saying.
I’d burn the world down before I lose her again.
41
Mary
4 weeks later
Iwake up to warmth.
Not the blanket kind. The human furnace kind.
Anton’s body is pressed against my back, one arm draped over my waist, hand splayed possessively across my stomach. His breath is steady against my neck. Slow. Even.
He’s still asleep.
I don’t move. Just lie here, eyes open, counting the slivers of morning light filtering through the blackout curtains he insisted on installing last week.
One month.
It’s been one month since I woke up in that clinic.
One month since I killed Timofey.
One month since I found out I was pregnant.
And one month since I stopped working at the bank.
Well, technically, I didn’t quit.
Brightside National’s entire Southwest division is under federal investigation now. Caleb’s arrest blew open everything—offshore accounts, shell companies, falsified transfers. Every branch that touched those ledgers got flagged, including mine.
Agents came in suits, carrying boxes. Sealed hard drives. Confiscated servers.
The bank froze every employee login “pending review.” My badge doesn’t even scan anymore. HR said it’s not termination; it’s “administrative leave.” But everyone knows that’s code for “we’re cleaning house and you’re next if we find anything.”
So here I am. Unemployed. Pregnant. Living in a penthouse guarded by men who don’t flinch at gunfire.
And somehow, I’m okay with it.
Better than okay.
I shift slightly, testing if I can move without waking him.
His arm tightens immediately. A low rumble vibrates through his chest—not quite a growl, more like a warning.
“Don’t even think about it,” he mutters, voice rough with sleep.
I smile into the pillow. “Think about what?”
“Getting up.”
“I’m hungry.”
“No, you’re not.”
