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Kira waited, listening for the sound of Lyon’s even breath.
Then she waited some more.
When she was sure he was sound asleep, she slipped out from under his arm and crept from the bed. She put on her nightgown and gave herself one minute — one precious minute — to look down at him, to memorize his face.
After tonight, he would despise her, would think of her only with hatred. But right now, his face was at peace, his body tired from their long night of lovemaking.
It was the first time since her father’s death that she’d shared Lyon’s bed, and it was everything she’d remembered, like burning from the inside out. She shouldn’t have given in, it only made saying goodbye harder, but she’d needed to be back in his arms one last time, needed to remember what it felt like to love and be loved with such ferocity.
She closed the door quietly behind her and went to her suite. She dressed in jeans and a sweater and opened the birdcage to whisper a goodbye to Odette and Dimitri. They hopped onto her hand and pressed their beaks to her cheek as tears tracked down her face.
She would miss them, but she knew Zoya would take good care of them for her.
When she could delay no more, she went to the closet to retrieve the suitcase she’d packed earlier that day, then stopped at her nightstand to grab the letter she’d written for Lyon. She carried both down the stairs, grateful for the apartment’s excellent construction. There were no creaky steps to give her away.
She set her suitcase by the long hall leading to the door and went into the kitchen. She looked down at the envelope in her hand, Lyon’s name written across the front, and hesitated.
He’d tried so hard — as hard as she’d tried — to keep distance between them, but it had been no use. It hadn’t been said, but she’d felt his feelings for her in the way he looked at her, the way he held her like she was precious and rare. Looking at the letter, she almost couldn’t breathe for knowing what was inside.
It would ruin him.
It’s not too late… you could ask for time…
The voice was dangerous. It was the same voice that had seduced her into agreeing to the marriage with Lyon, into loving him. It had made her lose sight of her responsibility to her father, had made her think the bratvawasher father, that the organization meant as much as the man.
It was a voice that had lied to her, that had convinced her she could hold back, that she could stay in control, when really, it had been futile to try and hold anything back from Lyon.
She’d been afraid he would take everything from her, but in the end he hadn’t had to take anything at all. She’d been all too willing to lay it at his feet.
Her loyalty, her heart, her body. Her soul.
Everything. She’d given him everything.
Now her father was gone, the fault squarely on her shoulders. If only she’d refused the marriage, begged her father to resign his position and retire in peace, told him she didn’t care about their name or control, that she cared only about him.
But she hadn’t done any of that. She’d reached for power, and later had reached for love, and it had cost her father his life. She had to do penance for such a sin. She had to suffer. And the only thing left to lose was Lyon.
She couldn’t stay here, fighting for control of the bratva when that very fight was what had killed her father, and softening the letter, changing it, would only make Lyon look for her. If he thought she’d left out of guilt, he would hunt to the ends of the earth for her. She knew it as sure as her love for him beat in her heart.
That wouldn’t do. He needed to go on. Needed to take what was his.
Needed to live.
She left the letter on the counter and looked around, taking in the kitchen where she’d first felt the power of Lyon’s body against hers, the dining table where they’d shared plov and Russian bread, the terrace where he’d almost brought her to her knees with desire.
She still didn’t love the penthouse — she would miss her father’s house far more, although she’d arranged for Lina to manage the funds to care for it for the foreseeable future — but it had been the beginning of her love for Lyon.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and took a deep breath. Then she went to the hall, picked up her suitcase, and stepped into the elevator. The apartment — and her life with Lyon — disappeared as the doors slowly closed.
