Page 29 of Crystal Veil

The decision settles in my chest like lead, heavy and immovable. I cannot stay. Not like this. Not while he transforms into something I don't recognize.

I find him on the balcony that overlooks the ocean, the place where we once stood together and talked about the future. Now he stands alone, shirtless, his muscled back rigid with tension. A glass of amber liquid is clutched in one hand like a lifeline. The sea breeze tugs at his dark hair, but he doesn't seem to notice. He doesn't seem to feel anything beyond the fury that consumes him.

My bare feet whisper against the marble as I step outside. The evening air carries the scent of salt from the ocean, mixed with the fragrance of gardenias from the gardens below. Once, this terrace felt like paradise. Now it feels like the edge of the world.

“Renat,” I murmur, keeping my voice soft.

He doesn't turn. He just lifts the glass to his lips with a detached rhythm. The silence stretches between us, filled with everything we're not telling each other.

“I need to leave.”

The words slip out before I can reconsider them. Before I can find a gentler way to deliver the blow. But maybe there is no gentle way to break someone's heart.

Now he turns. His gaze finds mine immediately, sharp and piercing. For a moment, the gold flecks return to his eyes, but it’s not warmth, it’s fire. Dangerous fire.

“What did I say?” His voice is dangerously quiet, the tone he uses before violence erupts.

“I can't stay here. Not like this. I need distance.”

“No.”

The single word carries the power of absolute authority. The voice of a man accustomed to obedience and having his will shape reality. But I'm not one of his soldiers.

“Renat—”

“Absolutely not. You're not safe out there.”

“And I'm not safe in here either. Not emotionally. Not with what you're becoming.”

He sets the glass down carefully, as if the simple action requires enormous concentration. Then he stalks toward me, every line of his body radiating restrained violence. This is the man who built an empire on fear and respect. This is thepakhan,not the lover.

“This isn't about who I'm becoming,” he growls, stopping close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. “This is about survival. Bennato tried to kill us. He won't stop until one of us is in the ground.”

“I know,” I whisper, forcing myself not to step back or show the fear that flutters in my chest. “And I'm not asking you to stop fighting. I'm just telling you I can't be here to watch you drown in it. Not with a child growing inside me who's going to feel every vibration of your rage.”

I watch his face change. Something cracks in his carefully constructed mask. The ruthlesspakhanfalters, revealing glimpses of the man beneath, who is desperate and terrified. He goes completely still.

For a heartbeat, neither of us breathes. The ocean crashes against the rocks below, but the sound feels distant, muffled by the intensity of this moment. Then he moves past me, brushing my shoulder as he enters the bedroom. The contact burnsthrough the thin fabric of my dress. I follow him on instinct, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He stops at the antique dresser. The drawer slides open with a whisper of wood against wood. He reaches inside, his large hands sure and steady despite the tremor I can see in his shoulders. When he turns back to me, I see everything in his eyes. The vulnerability he hides from everyone else, the desperation that drives his every decision, the love that both saves and destroys him. But I also see the man who will sacrifice anything and anyone to protect what he considers his.

He walks toward me with purposeful steps, holding a small black velvet box. A silent jolt tears through me. Not from surprise but from dread. The box looks ancient and precious. The type of thing passed down through generations of Rostov men.

He stops directly in front of me and opens the box with careful reverence. Inside, nestled in cream silk, sits a ring that takes my breath away. Platinum, elegant but not ostentatious. The diamond isn't massive, but it doesn't need to be. This is a ring that whispers rather than shouts, and holds promises rather than flaunts wealth.

“Marry me.”

The words are simple, direct, and delivered without flourish or romance. But the way he speaks them, the raw honesty in his voice, makes them more beautiful than any elaborate proposal.

I suck in a stuttering breath. “Renat...”

“I'm not asking because I'm scared you'll leave,” he continues, his accent thickening with emotion. “I'm asking because I want to give you everything. Because you and the baby are the only things in this world that matter. I want to build somethingdifferent with you. Something better. I want a family. Our family.”

The sincerity in his voice almost breaks my resolve. I can see our future laid out before me, beautiful, passionate, yet dangerous. A life of luxury and fear, of love and violence, of moments like this interrupted by phone calls about bodies and blood.

I take a step back. The movement is small and instinctive, but it might as well be a chasm opening between us. I watch confusion flicker through his expression, followed quickly by panic.

I shake my head slowly, not because I don't love him. God knows I do. I love him so completely that it terrifies me. It'sbecauseI love him that I have to do this.