Diomid
Elizabeth stiffens beside me. I shift forward, blocking her from view as Lukan barrels across the open hallway, fury carving deep lines into his face.
“What is this?” he demands, voice shaking with outrage. His gaze drops to Elizabeth’s neck, still marked by me, then to the suitcase I’m carrying. Realization hits like a blow. “You—you’re leaving with him?”
“We’re leaving,” I correct, my voice cold and controlled. “There’s nothing more for her here.”
He rounds on me, too blinded by anger to recognize the danger he’s provoking. “You think you can just walk into my home, bed my daughter—”
“I didn’t take anything she wasn’t ready to give,” I say, cutting him off. “She’s not your possession. She made a choice.”
He sputters, grabbing at an argument that slips through his fingers. “She deserves better than this, better than you. A good husband. An honorable—”
“She deserves a life she chooses for herself,” Elizabeth says.
Lukan’s head snaps toward her. And there she is. No longer the girl who was betrayed by her own father, but the woman who found her power when she stood over Piotr’s coffin. Her chin lifts. Her shoulders square. She speaks with a steadiness he never nurtured in her.
“Mom would have wanted me to marry for love,” she tells him. “Wanted obsession and devotion and pleasure that didn’t hurt. She would have wanted me with someone who saw me. Who would protect me. Who would never use me as currency. The way she wanted and loved you. ”
A muscle jumps in Lukan’s jaw. “Your mother was—”
“She was killed,” Elizabeth says, voice low and lethal. “And you refused to see the truth, even when I told you exactly what happened.”
He recoils, like the memory is a slap. “Piotr loved her like a sister—”
“Piotr loved control,” she fires back. “He loved having power over people who trusted him. He loved watching your life shrink to fit inside his fist all while claiming my mother promised me to him. It’s all lies.
Piotr took what she wouldn’t freely give him, then he killed her.
You let yourself believe his lies because it was easier. ”
Lukan staggers. For a moment, he looks like a man drowning in guilt.
I set the suitcase down with deliberate calm.
“Listen carefully,” I tell him. “I am not Piotr. I don’t need to force anything. Elizabeth and I are a good match.” I don’t tell him about the pull I felt towards her since the minute she walked into the funeral. I don’t tell him his daughter is responsible for his so-called-friend’s death.
He meets my gaze, and something sharp flickers there. The recognition of a new hierarchy. A new power. A man who isn’t asking for permission.
“I’m Diomid Agapov,” I remind him. “Piotr is gone, and that means I run the business now. So choose your next words wisely.”
His mouth opens, then shuts. The fury in him is real, but it’s warring with the respect he is bound to give me.
Elizabeth steps closer to me, her presence a gravity against my side.
“I survived what you chose to ignore,” she says. “I won’t stay around for another mistake of yours to ruin my life again.”
The draft from the open door catches her hair, lifting it like a banner. She looks like vengeance in cashmere and jeans.
Lukan stares at her as if seeing his daughter for the first time.
“I wanted to protect you,” he whispers, breaking.
“You protected the monster instead,” she replies. “And I won’t spend my life paying for your cowardice.”
The final word slices clean.
There is no coming back from this.
I reach for her suitcase. “We’re done here,” I say quietly.
Lukan doesn’t move to stop us. Not when I guide her out of the house and toward the car. Not when she slips into the passenger seat without looking back. Not when I close the door between her and the life she’s finally finished surviving.
He just stands there, swallowed by the wreckage of the choices he made.
Elizabeth reaches for my hand as I slide behind the wheel. Her fingers thread through mine in a silent vow.
She’s no longer owned by grief and vengeance. She’s choosing something darker. Something stronger.
Us.