He closes his eyes briefly, absorbing the word like a blow. Then he thrusts harder, his rhythm accelerating, punishing and absolute, pushing me against the wall as if to prove the strength of the claim he just made. His hands tighten on my hips, holding me in place for the brutal, beautiful pace, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he loosens his grip. I hold onto him just as tightly, locking my legs around his waist, matching his intensity.
When everything builds too fast, too strong, he kisses me again, swallowing the sound I make as I fall apart under him—a ragged cry of surrender and relief that he silences with his mouth. My body seizes, shaking violently, and he uses the contraction, pushing his own climax out with a deep, guttural sound offinality. He stays exactly where he is, pressing against me, his body trembling, his breath shuddering against my neck, both of us fully exposed to the silent, dark hallway beyond the door.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The silence returns, heavy with the sweat and scent of our bodies. I run my fingers down his back, feeling the warm, strong line of his spine, committing the moment to memory because it feels like something I shouldn’t lose, and something I just sacrificed.
He finally lifts his head and kisses me once more, slow and soft.
“Sleep,” he murmurs. “You have an early shift.”
I nod, pushing hair off my face. “One of the bodyguards can drive me. You don’t have to get up.”
He brushes his thumb across my cheek. “I’ll get up anyway. I have to meet my father.”
But he doesn’t push. He pulls me against his chest, one arm heavy around my waist, and I try to memorize the feeling of him holding me because I know what I’m about to do will break something between us even if he doesn’t know it yet.
I wake before the alarm, before the sun, before anything in the house stirs. The sky outside is still dark blue, the kind of early morning that feels too quiet. Artyom is asleep beside me, onearm draped across my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck. I lie there for a moment, staring into the dark, telling myself I should stay. One more minute. One more breath.
But the clock is ticking.
I slide out from under his arm as slowly as I can. He shifts slightly but doesn’t wake. I pull on jeans, a warm jacket, and lace my shoes with shaking hands. My bag is already packed with the money, and I hold it close to my chest before stepping out of the room.
The house is silent, every shadow sharper than usual. I walk down the stairs trying not to make a sound. The bodyguard assigned to me—Anton—waits near the door, half-asleep but alert enough to straighten when he sees me.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He opens the door and follows me to the car. I climb into the back seat, my fingers already tight around my bag.
He doesn’t ask questions. They never do unless ordered.
The drive to the hospital takes fifteen minutes, and the entire time my stomach twists tighter and tighter. I stare out the window, watching the city wake in slow motion, lights flickeringon, steam rising from vents, people starting their day while I’m about to betray the one person who’s ever really protected me.
When we pull up, I force a smile. “Can you grab coffee across the street? I want to walk a bit before my shift.”
He hesitates. “Mr. Morozov said?—”
“It’s fine,” I interrupt. “I’ll text you if anything happens.”
Anton stares at me for a second too long, then nods. “Five minutes.”
I thank him and walk straight past the hospital entrance, my heartbeat loud in my ears.
The park is only a few blocks away, small and quiet, trees bare from the cold. The lamps glow a soft yellow, lighting the stone path. A few pigeons pick at the ground. The air is freezing, my breath a visible cloud.
Lucas is already there, standing near the far bench, a bag at his feet, his shoulders hunched. When he sees me, he straightens, relief rushing over his face.
“You came,” he says, sounding like he truly doubted I would.
“Of course, I did.” My voice is shaky. “Do you have to leave right now?”
“Yes.” He glances around. “I shouldn’t even be out here this long.”
I reach into my bag and pull out the envelope of money. My fingers tremble when I hand it to him.
“Be careful,” I whisper.
He doesn’t take it at first. He looks at me, eyes hollow and desperate. “Come with me.”
