Alexey’s arm tightens around me. He doesn’t rush to reassure me with empty promises. Instead, he rests his chin on top of my head and speaks with that same quiet honesty.
“You won’t repeat the cycle,” he says. “Because you’re not your parents. You’re not running anymore. You’re choosing to stay and build something better. And you won’t do it alone. I won’t be the distant father I fear becoming. I’ll be here…every night, every appointment, every moment you need me. The Sokolovs protect their own. That includes you. That includes our child. The code isn’t about power or fear. It’s about loyalty. About making sure the people we love never have to hide in closets or wonder if they’re disposable.”
His words settle over me like a warm blanket, easing some of the tightness in my chest. I turn slightly in his arms so I can look up at him. The firelight catches the sharp line of his jaw, the faint scar I once traced with trembling fingers. His brown eyes have become my safest harbor.
“I’m scared I’ll disappear in this world,” I whisper.
“You won’t,” he replies, without hesitation. “Because I see you, Anja. The woman who survived back home. The womanwho helped destroy the man who tried to break her. The woman who will be an incredible mother. You’re not temporary. You’re not forgettable. You’re the center of everything now.”
Tears slip down my cheeks. I don’t try to stop them. Instead, I let myself cry in his arms—not from fear this time, but from the overwhelming relief of being truly seen. The walls I built around my heart have been cracking for months. Tonight, they crumble a little more.
The war with Fadir is truly over.
But the real work—learning to trust this life, learning to believe I deserve the love and safety Alexey keeps offering without conditions—is only beginning.
I nestle closer, my rounded belly pressed between us, our child kicking softly as if agreeing with the changes happening in the room. Alexey’s hand stays protectively over mine, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles.
“I don’t know if I’m ready,” I admit quietly.
“You don’t have to be ready all at once,” he murmurs, his lips brushing across mine. “We’ll figure it out together. One day at a time.”
For the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel like a battlefield I have to survive alone. It feels like something I might actually want to build—if I can let myself believe it’s possible.
The doubt still lingers in my chest, quiet but present.
But so does hope.
As I sit here on the sofa with Alexey, his steady heartbeat under my cheek and his hand warm over our child, I realize I’m closer to trusting this life, and this man, than I’ve ever been. Allthe old darkness I ran from, all that illegal mess is fading into the past.
Maybe it's time to step into the light. Maybe I'm finally ready.
Chapter 24 - Alexey
The nursery smells of fresh paint and new beginnings.
I stand in the center of the room that has been under quiet renovation for the past several weeks, sunlight filtering through the tall windows and warming the soft gray walls we chose together.
The half-assembled crib waits in the corner, pale oak pieces neatly arranged beside a stack of instructions I have mostly ignored in favor of doing it my own way. A comfortable rocking chair sits near the window, and a soft rug covers part of the hardwood floor. It isn’t finished yet, as there are still boxes of books to unpack and a mobile waiting to be hung, but it already feels like ours.
Like the beginning of something permanent.
Anja stands a few feet away, one hand resting on her rounded belly, seven months pregnant and more beautiful than I have ever seen her. Her long black hair with its auburn highlights falls loose around her shoulders, catching the afternoon light in threads of copper and gold.
Her stare widens with surprise and fills with emotion as I lower myself to one knee on the soft rug, the velvet box open in my palm.
The Sokolov family heirloom ring resting inside is a classic solitaire diamond flanked by two smaller stones, passed down through generations and reset for her. It has never felt more right than it did in this moment.
Anja’s breath catches. Her free hand flies to her mouth, fingers trembling slightly.
“Anja,” I say, voice low but steady, the way I have practiced in my head more times than I care to admit. “This has nothing to do with optics. Nothing to do with revenge. Nothing to do with the original deal we made all those months ago.”
I look up at her, letting her see everything I have held back for so long. My patience has slowly turned into devotion, the protectiveness that has become something deeper, the quiet certainty that has replaced every calculated boundary.
“This is because I cannot imagine my life without you and our child,” I continue. “The pretend relationship died months ago. What we have now is real. It is built on quiet nights reviewing ledgers, shared secrets in the shadows of, late nights spent together where your mind sharpened mine, and the steady choice I make every single day to be the man you deserve.”
Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t look away. The emotion on her face mixed with surprise, joy, and a lingering trace of the fear she still carries from her past. Seeing it makes my chest tighten.
“I want you as my wife,” I say, the words carrying the full weight of everything I have come to feel. “Not for show. Not for the world. For me. For our family. For the future, we’re already building together. Marry me, Anja. Let me spend the rest of my life proving that you are not temporary, not forgettable, and never less than.’ You are my everything.”
