Chapter 23 - Anka #2
Then Viktor’s arms were around her, pulling her against his chest before her knees could give out entirely. She fought him for a moment—a brief, instinctive struggle against vulnerability—before her body seemed to recognize his touch and went limp against him.
“I’ve got you,” Viktor murmured against her hair, his hands moving in soothing circles across her back. “You’re safe. They’re safe. It’s over.”
Anka pressed her face against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with gunpowder and adrenaline. His heartbeat was steady beneath her ear, a rhythm that had once lulled her to sleep every night, and gradually she felt the tremors begin to subside.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about last time,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt. “When it was me in that warehouse, when I thought they were going to—when I wasn’t sure I’d make it out.”
Viktor’s arms tightened around her, and she could feel the way his breath caught at her admission. He knew about her kidnapping, of course—it was part of the history they shared, part of the reason he’d been so protective of her even when they were fighting about everything else.
“But you did make it out,” Viktor said firmly, his voice carrying conviction that seemed to anchor her to the present. “Both times. You survived, you saved your sisters, you came through it stronger than before.”
“Did I?” Anka pulled back slightly, looking up at him with eyes that she knew were probably red and swollen from unshed tears. “Because I don’t feel stronger, Viktor. I feel like I’m breaking apart piece by piece, and I don’t know how to put myself back together.”
The raw honesty in her own voice surprised her.
She’d spent so long being the strong one, the capable one, the sister who could handle anything, that admitting weakness felt like stepping off a cliff.
But Viktor’s expression didn’t carry judgment or disappointment—just understanding and something that looked almost like relief.
“You don’t have to put yourself back together alone,” he said quietly, his hands framing her face with gentle certainty. “That’s what marriage is supposed to be about—sharing the weight when it becomes too much to carry alone.”
Something twisted in Anka’s chest at his words—hope and pain and desperate longing all tangled together in a knot she couldn’t untie. “Is it? Because for the past few weeks, it’s felt more like we’ve been competing to see who could inflict more damage.”
Viktor’s expression shifted, guilt and regret flickering across his features in a way that made her want to take the words back.
But they were true, and she was tired of pretending that their marriage hadn’t become a battlefield where love and pain had gotten so tangled together that it was impossible to tell where one ended, and the other began.
“I fucked up,” Viktor said simply, the words carrying weight that went beyond simple admission of error. “I let my anger about the past poison everything good we were trying to build. I chose revenge over you, and I’ll regret that choice for the rest of my life.”
The admission should have felt vindicating—she’d been waiting for him to acknowledge what his pursuit of Adrian had cost them. Instead, it just made her tired, bone-deep exhausted by the effort of trying to salvage something that felt increasingly impossible to save.
“The shaking’s stopped,” she said, realizing it was true. The tremors that had wracked her body were gone, replaced by the kind of stillness that suggested genuine calm rather than forced composure.
“You always did have that effect on me,” she continued, her voice carrying rueful recognition. “Even when I was furious with you, even when I wanted to never see you again, you were still the person who could make me feel safe.”
Something flickered in Viktor’s expression—pain, maybe, or regret. He started to say something, then stopped, seeming to wrestle with words that wouldn’t come.
“Don’t,” Anka said, stepping back and putting physical distance between them. “Don’t say whatever you’re thinking about saying. I can’t handle false hope right now.”
She turned toward her car, every instinct screaming at her to leave before this conversation could inflict any more damage on her already battered heart.
But her feet wouldn’t move, wouldn’t carry her away from the man who’d just held her while she fell apart, who’d saved her sisters’ lives without being asked, who still looked at her like she was something precious despite everything that had gone wrong between them.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and missed opportunities.
Anka could feel Viktor watching her, could sense his internal struggle as clearly as if he were speaking aloud.
And suddenly she was exhausted by all of it—the careful distance, the emotional walls, the way they kept circling each other like wary animals afraid to get too close.
“I can’t do this anymore, Viktor.” The words tore from her throat like broken glass, carrying finality that made her own chest ache.
“I can’t keep pretending that we’re going to figure this out while you hold yourself at arm’s length and treat me like I’m going to disappear the moment you let yourself care. ”
“What are you talking about?” Viktor took a step forward, confusion and something that might have been panic flickering across his features.
“This.” Anka gestured between them, encompassing the careful distance and emotional walls that had defined their interactions since she’d returned to him.
“The way you comfort me when I’m falling apart, but then immediately retreat like touching me was a mistake.
The way you helped save my sisters, but won’t even ask me to come home with you. ”
She watched understanding dawn in Viktor’s expression, saw the moment when he realized what she was talking about. But instead of moving closer, instead of trying to bridge the gap between them, he seemed to withdraw even further.
“I thought—you left me, Anka.” His voice carried uncertainty that made her heart ache. “You made it clear that you didn’t want to be married to someone who couldn’t let go of revenge.”
“I left because I couldn’t watch you destroy yourself with hatred.
” The words came out fiercer than she’d intended, carrying months of accumulated frustration and pain.
“I left because loving you was killing me piece by piece, and I thought if I gave you space, maybe you’d realize what we were throwing away. ”
“But you said—”
“I said a lot of things when I was angry and hurt and trying to protect what was left of my heart.” Anka moved closer, ignoring the voice in her head that warned against vulnerability.
“But walking away from you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and every day since has been an exercise in trying to convince myself it was the right choice. ”
She watched Viktor’s face cycle through emotions—surprise, hope, something that might have been relief. But he still didn’t reach for her, still maintained that careful distance that felt like a chasm between them.
“I thought you were done with me,” Viktor admitted, his voice rough with emotions he’d clearly been suppressing. “After what I put you through, after choosing Adrian’s punishment over your happiness, I thought you’d finally realized you deserved better.”
The honesty in his voice hit her like a physical blow, greatly amending her understanding of his behavior with painful clarity. He hadn’t been pulling away because he didn’t want her—he’d been pulling away because he thought she didn’t want him.
“Maybe I do deserve better,” Anka replied, the words carrying honesty that made Viktor’s expression crumble slightly.
“Maybe I deserve a husband who trusts me enough to talk to me before making decisions that affect our marriage. Maybe I deserve someone who can love me without making it feel like a battle against his own demons.”
Viktor’s face went carefully blank, the expression of someone preparing for inevitable rejection. Anka felt her heart crack at the sight, recognizing the defense mechanism for what it was.
“But deserving better doesn’t stop me from loving you,” she continued, her voice breaking slightly on the admission.
“It doesn’t stop me from lying awake at night missing the weight of your body next to mine, or seeing something funny and wanting to share it with you, or reaching for my phone to call you when something goes wrong. ”
The confession hit Viktor like an avalanche; she could see it in his face—the way his careful composure shattered, replaced by something raw, desperate, and achingly hopeful.
“I miss you too,” Viktor said quietly, his voice carrying more weight than entire conversations they’d shared.
“Every day. Every moment. The house feels empty without your laugh echoing through the rooms, without your books scattered across every surface, without you humming in the kitchen while you cook breakfast.”
Tears filled Anka’s eyes at the admission, at the picture he painted of domestic intimacy she’d thought was lost forever. “Then why won’t you fight for us? Why are you standing there looking at me like you’re already grieving something that doesn’t have to be lost?”
The question hung between them like a challenge, and Anka watched Viktor wrestle with whatever internal battle was keeping him frozen in place. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“Because I’m terrified,” Viktor admitted, the words seeming to be torn from somewhere deep in his chest. “I’m terrified that I’ll hurt you again, that my need for control and revenge will poison everything good between us.
I’m terrified that loving you the way I do—completely, desperately, without reservation—will make me weak when I need to be strong. ”
“And I’m terrified that walking away from you will be the biggest mistake of my life,” Anka replied, tears finally spilling down her cheeks.
“I’m terrified that I’ll spend the next forty years wondering what might have happened if I’d been brave enough to fight for something imperfect instead of running away when it got difficult. ”
Viktor stared at her, and she could see her own fears and desires reflected in his face with startling clarity.
They were both afraid—of being hurt, of hurting each other, of the intensity of emotions that made rational decision-making impossible.
But they were also both still here, still fighting for something that felt too precious to abandon without trying everything.
“I don’t want revenge anymore,” Viktor said suddenly, the words carrying surprise even to her ears. “I don’t give a damn about making Adrian pay or ensuring justice is served or any of the bullshit I convinced myself was more important than our marriage.”
Anka went very still, afraid to believe what she was hearing but unable to stop hope from blooming in her chest like a dangerous flower.
“I want you,” Viktor continued, stepping closer with each word.
“I want to come home to you every night and wake up next to you every morning. I want to argue with you about decorating choices and watch you steal covers in your sleep and listen to you read aloud from whatever book has captured your attention.”
“Viktor—” Anka’s voice was barely a whisper.
“I want to build something real with you, something that can survive our flaws and mistakes and the inevitable challenges that life is going to throw at us.” Viktor was close enough to touch now, close enough that she could see the sincerity in his eyes.
“I want to be worthy of the trust you placed in me tonight when you called me for help. I want to be the husband you deserve, not the one you settled for.”
Anka felt something break open in her chest, some wall she’d been building around her heart finally crumbling under the weight of his words.
This was what she’d been waiting for—not just an apology or an acknowledgment of mistakes, but a genuine commitment to being different, to choosing her over everything else.
“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice trembling with hope and fear in equal measure. “Because I can’t go through this again, Viktor. I can’t keep hoping for change that never comes.”
Instead of answering with words, Viktor reached for her, his hands cupping her face with the kind of reverent gentleness that made her breath catch. When he kissed her, it was with the desperate intensity of someone who’d been drowning and had finally found air.
Anka melted into him, her body recognizing home in the circle of his arms. This was what she’d been missing, what she’d been grieving for—not just the physical connection, but the emotional intimacy that made everything else possible.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Viktor rested his forehead against hers, his expression filled with something that looked like wonder.
“You’re enough,” he said simply, his voice carrying conviction that reached something deep in her soul. “You’ve always been enough, Anka. More than enough. You’re everything.”