My throat tightened.
I reached up. Petya bent immediately and hugged me with careful arms. His hands stayed high on my back, gentle where he used to be all elbows and panic.
“I’m proud of you,” I whispered.
His breath caught once beside my hair. “I’m trying.”
“I know.”
He pulled back before he could lose control of his face in front of Lev, which was probably wise. Lev saw everything and used mercy sparingly.
The elevator opened again.
The penthouse changed before I turned.
Conversations softened. The household attendants straightened. Lev’s attention sharpened and settled. Even Galina’s eyes shifted, not with fear, but acknowledgment.
Vadim walked in wearing a charcoal suit, a white shirt open at the throat, and his wedding ring on the hand he used to own rooms. He was still broad enough to make the doorway look too narrow. Still controlled. Still beautiful in a way that felt less like charm and more like a warning carved into a man.
He was Pakhan now.
Everyone knew it.
I knew it too, but when his eyes found me, I saw my husband first.
He crossed the penthouse without looking at the flowers, the cake, the guests beginning to arrive behind him, or the table Galina had spent two days commanding into perfection.
He came straight to me.
“Wife,” he said.
The word warmed low in my stomach before it reached my face.
“Husband.”
His gaze dropped to my bare feet under the cashmere throw. “Good. You’re sitting.”
“Your mother trapped me.”
“My mother is wise.”
Galina made a soft sound. “Tell her about the shoes.”
Vadim crouched in front of me, careless of the expensive suit, and lifted the edge of the throw to inspect my feet.
I stared at him. “Vadim.”
His thumb brushed over my ankle. “Are they sore?”
“No.”
“Swollen?”
“No.”
“Tired?”
“A little.”
