The sound of helicopters woke me before dawn.
I lay there in the grey light, listening to the rhythmic thump-thump-thump cutting through the sky and trying to remember what silence felt like. The bed beside me was already cold, Alexei’s warmth long gone. I pressed my palm against the sheet where he’d slept—a foolish gesture, like I could hold onto something that might not be mine.
Downstairs, the house had transformed into something alive and dangerous.
I pulled on one of Alexei’s shirts, which fell to mid-thigh, breathed in his cologne, and padded barefoot down the hallway. The marble was cold against my feet. Voices rose and fell like a violent tide: Dimitri’s bark, sharp and commanding; Roman’s lower rumble, arguing about timing, about risk. Guards moved past doorways like shadows, their presence felt more than seen.
My world used to be soft edges and psychology lectures. It used to revolve around quiet cafés where the most dangerous thing was a poorly written thesis. Now it was strategy sessions I wasn’t invited to, blood on expensive suits, and invisible wars fought in boardrooms and back alleys.
I’d crossed some threshold I couldn’t uncross.
The kitchen was empty when I reached it, blessedly quiet. I made coffee with shaking hands, watching the dark liquid pour into bone china cups. The normalcy of the act—measuring grounds, waiting for the machine to hiss and steam—felt absurd. Like playing house while the world burned outside.
“There you are.”
I turned to find Anya in the doorway, her smile bright but worried around the edges. She wore a soft pink sweater and jeans, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun.
“Hey,” I managed, forcing my lips into something approximating a smile. “Coffee?”
“God, yes.” She crossed to me, pulling me into a hug that smelled like vanilla perfume and safety. “You look exhausted.”
“I woke up early.”
That was the understatement of the century.
I handed her a cup, and we settled at the breakfast bar, perched on stools like we used to in my tiny apartment, when my biggest concerns were exams and whether I could afford pizza.
“So,” Anya said, her eyes too knowing. “How are you? And don’t say fine.”
I let out a shaky laugh, it was almost hysterical. “What else is there to say?”
“The truth?” She reached across and squeezed my hand. “Mila, you can talk to me. I know this is… a lot.”
A lot. Such an inadequate phrase for the complete dismantling of everything I thought I knew. I stared into my coffee, watching the surface ripple with my unsteady breathing.
“Can we just… not?” I whispered. “Just for a few minutes, can we pretend?”
Her expression softened. “Of course. Okay. Um… wedding colors. I’m thinking blush and gold, but Vissarion wants navy. Can you believe it? Navy! Like we’re planning a nautical disaster instead of a wedding.”
And just like that, we slipped into the old rhythms. Anya chattered about centerpieces and whether certain decorations were too pretentious, and I made appropriately horrified faces at her future mother-in-law’s suggestion of an ice sculpture. We laughed about nothing and everything, and for those precious moments, the walls weren’t closing in.
But then she sighed, shaking her head. “Sorry. I just… Mila, I worry about you. I know my brother isn’t evil at heart,especially to those he cares about, but… I also know he’s not the easiest person to deal with or even understand.”
“I’ve noticed,” I remarked in a light tone.
“He cares about you. The attraction part was clear pretty early, but I told you, you matter to him. A lot,” she uttered. “He’s obsessed with protecting you.”
My smile faltered.
Because she was right. I knew she was right.
I’d seen that look in Alexei’s eyes when he pulled me close. It wasn’t just desire or protectiveness. It was something darker, more consuming. Like he wanted to crawl inside my skin and make a home there, burn away everything that wasn’t his.
And the terrifying part? Sometimes I wanted to let him.
“He won’t let anything happen to me,” I said finally.
“Of course,” Anya’s voice was soft. “He’d rather burn a whole city than let you be in danger.”
