I took a breath and squeezed his hand, meeting his gray eyes head-on. "But when I type 'V.C. Night,' I'm free. In my words, I'm not some broke girl who can barely pay rent. I'm not a failure. I'm God. I control life, death, love, hate—everything. I want to build a kingdom in this fucked-up world that's completely mine."
Nikolai watched me in silence. No pity. No mockery. Only absolute recognition and respect that shook me to my core.
"Your battlefield is the keyboard, Vivienne." He spoke slowly, deliberately, every word searing into my soul. "And you're a damn good soldier. The people who deny you? Their souls are too barren to carry the power in your words. Remember—'V.C. Night' doesn't need anyone's charity. And she sure as hell doesn't need validation from trash like Derek."
He raised his glass, elegant gesture suspended in midair.
"To the future bestselling queen."
Two crystal glasses kissed with a clear, delicate chime.
I watched his throat work as he drank, watched the flame in his eyes burn only for me. My eyes stung without warning.
He didn't just understand my madness and ambition. He'd built a fortress around my battered pride.
In this moment of soul-baring honesty, I heard the last wall inside me collapse completely.
After dinner, he walked me out to the riverside promenade.
The early summer breeze felt good against my face, carrying the damp scent of the Potomac. We walked side by side in silence, but the air between us was thicker and hotter than ever.
Then—a sharp whistle. A streak of blinding light shot into the black sky.
Boom. A brilliant golden firework exploded directly over the Potomac.
I blinked and turned instinctively toward the man beside me.
Nikolai stood with one hand in his pocket, expression calm, as ifthe fireworks show loud enough to wake all of Washington was just another rainstorm. He glanced down, gray eyes reflecting a sky full of color, and said quietly, "Look up."
Firework after firework burst open, painting the river red. Through the chaos of light and sound, he leaned close, lips brushing my ear, voice soft beneath the explosions.
"Happy birthday, Vivienne."
Birthday.
God. I'd been so buried in outlines and mafia chaos I'd forgotten. Today was my twenty-fourth birthday.
I stood beside him, shoulder pressed to his broad, solid frame, breathing in his scent—cedarwood and faint gunpowder.
Fireworks climbed and exploded.
And my heartbeat—it pounded wildly, relentlessly against my ribs. No—it had been pounding since that bloody fight in the cage. It hadn't stopped since.
I stood still, head tilted back, watching the last blue firework fade into glittering stardust.
I knew it clearly now.
I was done for.
This man, Nikolai Volkov, had seized my soul completely. In twenty-four years, I had never, ever loved anyone this madly, this hopelessly.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Vivienne
"Two more iced Americanos. And could you get your 'Terminator' to back up a couple of feet? He's standing there like my coffee's about to freeze solid."
Mia rolled her eyes dramatically, pointing her stirrer at Sasha, who stood beside our table like a granite statue.
