“Do you think it will last, the peace?”
“Sartore operations are collapsing into succession conflicts that will consume their attention for months. Other syndicates are watching to see how the power vacuum resolves before making territorial moves.” Felix’s tone carries the clinical assessment I’ve learned means he’s calculated probabilitiesextensively. “We have breathing room. How long that lasts depends on variables I can’t fully control.”
The honesty is refreshing. Months ago he would have offered reassurance designed to manage my anxiety rather than admitting uncertainty. Now he treats me like someone capable of processing complex realities without requiring emotional cushioning.
“I’ve been thinking about the future,” I say carefully, aware that the conversation I’m initiating carries weight neither of us can fully predict. “About what comes next now that the immediate threats are contained.”
Felix turns to face me fully, his pale eyes tracking my expression with an intensity that suggests he’s already calculating where this discussion might lead. “What about the future?”
“The marriage.” I force myself to meet his gaze directly despite the vulnerability the topic creates. “We got married because it was the only way to protect me under Bratva code. Lorenzo’s dead now. The council has backed your actions. I’m no longer leverage anyone can use against you effectively.”
His expression doesn’t shift, but I see the moment tension enters his shoulders. “You want to discuss annulment.”
“I want to understand what options exist now that the strategic justification for marriage has dissolved.” I wrap my arms around myself against November cold that suddenly feels sharper. “You married me to keep me alive. That goal has been achieved. I’m not asking what you want—I’m asking what’s actually possible given organizational protocols and council expectations.”
Felix is quiet for a long moment, his gaze never leaving mine. When he speaks, his voice carries careful neutrality thatsuggests he’s choosing words with the same precision he applies to tactical planning.
“The legal marriage clause tied to wartime protection can be dissolved now that active conflict has ended. Council approval would be a formality rather than an obstacle given the circumstances.” He pauses, something flickering in his expression I can’t quite read. “If you want annulment, I can arrange it. You’d receive financial settlement, relocated housing under witness protection protocols, security detail until we’re certain no Sartore remnants pose an ongoing threat.”
The offer is thorough, generous, completely devoid of manipulation or emotional pressure. Felix is offering me genuine freedom—not conditional on behavior or strategic considerations, but absolute release from the marriage that began as captivity.
“You’d let me go.” The statement comes out flatter than intended.
“Yes.” His tone doesn’t waver. “You’re free, Diana. You’ve been free for weeks in every way that matters except the legal structure binding us. If you want that dissolved too, I’ll handle it personally and ensure you’re protected during the transition.”
The sincerity in his voice strips away any remaining doubt that he means exactly what he’s saying. Felix Rudenko—the man who married me to prevent my assassination, who started wars to protect me, who’s made every major decision for months with my safety as primary variable—is offering to let me walk away cleanly.
Standing here in the garden while Felix offers annulment with the same calm precision he brings to everything, all I feel is certainty that leaving would be the wrong choice.
“I don’t want annulment,” I hear myself say.
Felix goes very still, the kind of controlled stillness that means he’s processing information that contradicts his calculations. “You don’t?”
“No.” I take a step closer, needing him to understand this is a deliberate choice rather than residual fear or strategic positioning. “Months ago I would have run the moment you offered freedom. Would have taken witness protection and disappeared before you could change your mind. That was before I understood what staying actually means.”
“What does it mean?” His voice is quieter now, rougher around the edges.
“It means partnership with someone who challenges me intellectually and values my contributions professionally. It means working beside you on strategic initiatives that matter instead of existing in ignorance while you handle threats I can’t see.”
Felix’s hand comes up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing across my cheekbone with the kind of tenderness that contradicts everything about his reputation.
“Why?” The question carries genuine confusion, vulnerability he rarely shows. “You could have the freedom I’m offering. Could rebuild a life that doesn’t include violence and moral compromises and the constant awareness that loving me makes you a target.”
“I don’t want a life that doesn’t include you.” The confession feels monumental despite its simplicity. “I’m not staying because I have to or because leaving feels too dangerous or because I’ve accepted captivity as inevitable. I’m staying because I want you.”
Something shifts in Felix’s expression—control fracturing enough that I see the raw emotion beneath. Relief, maybe, or something deeper that he doesn’t have vocabulary for.
“You want me,” he repeats slowly, testing the words.
“Yes.” I reach up and cover his hand where it rests against my cheek. “Not the protection you offer or the strategic advantages of being your wife. You. The man who came for me personally when tactical protocol dictated coordinating remotely. Who ended a war because someone took what he decided was his. Who offers me genuine freedom because my happiness matters more than his preference that I stay.”
Felix pulls me against him abruptly, arms wrapping tight enough that breathing requires effort. I feel the tension radiating through his shoulders, the careful control that’s barely maintained, the way his hands shake slightly where they press against my back.
“I thought—” His voice is muffled against my hair. “When I offered annulment, I thought you’d take it.”
“I was waiting for it,” I admit honestly. “For months I cataloged every injustice, every boundary you crossed, every reason I should hate you and leave the moment opportunity arose. Somewhere between forced proximity and genuine partnership, the reasons to stay became stronger than the reasons to go.”
He pulls back enough to meet my eyes, his pale gaze searching my face with desperate intensity.
