Epilogue
Grace
The Orlov estate has never looked more alive.
Sunlight glints off the stone steps where guests spill out in couture and champagne, laughter mingling with the low hum of power. I stand at the top of the staircase, fingers wrapped around a bouquet of white roses and baby’s breath, the weight of the diamond band on my finger warm against my skin.
Liam’s family fills the front rows. Saoirse, elegant and unflappable; Iris, radiant in emerald; Killian and the others watching with quiet, loyal amusement.
And just beyond them, familiar faces from extended family, Elena and Artem Orlov.
He nods once when our eyes meet, that sharp, assessing Bratva gaze softening only slightly when he looks at Elena, who is every bit as pregnant as I am.
My heart beats slow and sure. I thought I’d feel nervous, but I don’t.
The ceremony is short. Powerful people don’t like to linger in one place, even for love. But when Liam slides the ring onto my finger and murmurs “Moya milost, moya zhena,” against my ear, the world narrows to a single point of light.
The applause fades to a blur of sound. I catch a glimpse of Artem raising a glass, Elena smiling at me with quiet understanding. They know what this means. What it costs to bind yourself to a man who rules empires in shadows.
I rest a hand on my stomach, over the gentle swell that wasn’t there a few months ago. Liam’s hand covers mine immediately, his thumb tracing the curve possessively. There’s no hiding it now. The Bratva already know. So does the world.
He didn’t save me. He found the woman I was beneath the ashes of my old life and helped her burn brighter. Then we built an empire of our own.
When the reception quiets, I step away from the noise, out onto the terrace overlooking the gardens.
The news broke yesterday, an early wedding gift, it seems.
EDWARD HARTLEY FOUND GUILTY IN FEDERAL CORRUPTION TRIAL.
Disgraced Senator Sentenced to Twenty Years.
I smile, slow and satisfied. His downfall was a masterpiece of precision. Carefully orchestrated leaks, evidence packages, and financial trails that led him straight to ruin. Every headline, every asset seizure, every burned contact… it was surgical.
And it was me.
Liam may have the power, but I had the evidence and at times, the strategy. Together, we are unstoppable.
Now, world leaders and criminal dynasties alike request me by name when they need deals negotiated, territories restructured, sanctions skirted. I don’t hide behind anyone’s title anymore. Grace Orlova is feared, respected, untouchable.
Some call me the Ice Queen. Others call me the voice of the Bratva. I don’t correct them. Both are true.
Behind me, I hear the faint sound of footsteps. Liam’s reflection appears in the glass before I feel his hands settle on my hips. His wedding band catches the light.
“Thinking about work on our wedding day?” he murmurs against my neck.
“Only a little,” I say, leaning back into him. “Hartley’s conviction. It’s… satisfying.”
He chuckles low. “You’re starting to sound like me.”
“Maybe you’re starting to sound like me.”
He turns me around, his hand sliding down to where our child grows beneath soft layers of ivory silk. His touch is reverent, claiming. “You did all this,” he says quietly. “You rebuilt what they destroyed.”
I rest my palm over his. “We did. You gave me the power to do it.”
He tilts my chin, his dark grey eyes fierce and unguarded. “I gave you the throne. You built the kingdom.”
The music drifts from the house behind us, soft and slow. I can see our guests through the glass, Elena laughing at something Artem whispered, Iris twirling with one of her cousins, Saoirse watching them all with quiet pride.
And then it’s just us.
He leans in, his mouth brushing mine in a kiss that’s both promise and possession. “No more running,” he murmurs.
“Never again.”
The wind catches the edge of my veil, lifting it like a ghost of the girl I used to be. Grace Casey, consultant, scapegoat, survivor. She’s gone.
In her place stands a woman who doesn’t ask for safety anymore. She commands it.
I turn in his arms and look out over the estate. “You were right, you know,” I whisper. “Normal was overrated.”
He smiles against my temple. “And what’s this?”
“Power,” I say. “Love. Family. Everything I never thought I’d have.”
His fingers tighten on my waist. “Everything you’ll never lose.”
He pulls me to the side of the door, where we are hidden by shadows.
“Can you be quiet, milost?” he asks as he lifts the skirt of my gown and slips his fingers beneath the scrap of lace that covers me.
He groans when he finds me warm and wet and wanting.
“So perfect,” he says bringing his mouth back to mine as his fingers slip inside me.
“Let me work that tight pussy of yours,” he whispers against my ear as my head tips back.
His lips find my neck as he presses his thumb against my clit, steady and slow and sure.
My hips buck against him, my walls squeeze his thick fingers.
“That’s it, milost,” he says, his words hushed as my breath hitches, “quietly now.” His grin is wicked and wolf like. “Come on my fingers like you’re going to come on my cock later.”
I whimper, so close to release, but needing something more to push me over the edge. My thighs begin to tremble, my breasts feel heavy against the bodice of my dress. His mouth sucks the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder.
Then he lifts his mouth to my ear and whispers, “You make me so hard, milost. I can’t wait to fuck you until you beg me to come. I can’t wait to stretch you and fill you again.”
My whole body begins to shudder and he clamps his mouth over mine as I come on his hand. Wave after wave pulses through me until I’m limp and satisfied. He slowly removes his fingers, and I whimper at the loss.
When he lifts his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, another jolt of pleasure pulses through me.
Fuck.
“You taste amazing,” he says, linking his fingers with mine and creating enough space between us for my skirt to fall back into place. “I’m going to have to have more.”
We walk back into the house, and I pray my skin is not still flushed from the orgasm. Once we’re inside he pulls me close against him in a dance that’s slow and steady, my legs barely keeping me upright.
“Sometimes I still can’t believe we’re here,” I mutter, my eyes closed as I rest my head against his chest.
“It’s strange,” he says, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. “I think I knew the moment you stood beside me at the masquerade.”
We stay like that until the last of the guests leave and his family all retire to bed. Me and my husband, my protector, my king.