Epilogue- 1 Year Later
EPILOGUE- 1 YEAR LATER
Anastasia
T he estate is quiet. Too quiet.
Which usually means Viktor’s up to something.
Not the bad kind—not anymore—but the kind where he watches me from the shadows like a man who still hasn’t decided whether to worship me or devour me whole. Even after a year of marriage, he still doesn’t quite know how to do both.
Or maybe he does.
The baby monitor on the nightstand hums softly with static. Sofia is asleep. Finally. After two hours of lullabies, rocking, and one desperate plea to the heavens. I’m fairly certain Viktor bribed Anna, the baby nurse, to slip a drop of chamomile tea into her bottle.
He denies it. Of course.
Outside our bedroom, the estate pulses with quiet opulence. Guards in black patrol the grounds. The scent of snow and fir hangs in the air from the cracked window. In the distance, soft Russian jazz plays—one of Viktor’s rare indulgences.
And yet, I feel him before I hear him.
The door doesn’t creak. His footsteps are silent. But the moment shifts. Like the air has been claimed.
Like I have.
“Still awake, kiska? ”
His voice is silk and shadow.
I turn slowly from the window, where I’ve been watching the snow fall onto the dark pines. Viktor leans against the doorframe, sleeves rolled to his forearms, shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at the tattoos beneath. His hair is slightly tousled. Silver at the temples. Sharper than it was a year ago. More dangerous.
God, I’m still so stupidly in love with this man.
“Barely.” I give him a look. “Your daughter is a menace.”
“She takes after her mother.”
“She takes after your stubbornness.”
He’s across the room in three steps. One hand on my hip, the other sliding around the back of my neck, drawing me in. His mouth brushes my jaw.
“You’re tired,” he murmurs, but his hand is already dragging the silk of my nightgown up my thigh.
“I’m exhausted.”
“You’ll survive.”
His mouth finds mine.
It’s not sweet. It never is. Not with him.
It’s a claiming. All over again.
We never did the soft honeymoon thing. Not even after I said I do with shaking hands and a four-month-old in my arms. He was possessive the night we married, and more so the night he held Sofia for the first time.
He’s never let me forget it.
And I never want him to.
His mouth moves lower.
My hands slide up his chest, fisting in his shirt.
“I could make you beg,” he says against my skin. “But you’re mine already.”
“Then show me,” I whisper.
He does.
Slow at first. Like he wants to memorize every breath I take, every place his hands leaves burning. But it doesn’t stay that way.
He flips me onto my back and drags me to the edge of the bed, eyes locked on mine as he spreads my thighs wide and slides his mouth between them. He licks me like he owns me—slow and deliberate at first, then with the kind of ruthless intensity that leaves me gasping, writhing, begging.
My fingers twist in his hair, hips grinding against his mouth until I break apart with a cry that’s more animal than human.
But he’s not done. Not even close.
He climbs over me, kisses me like he’s sealing a promise in blood, then drives into me in one hard, claiming thrust.
It’s filthy. Obsessive. Carnal.
He doesn’t talk—he growls. He groans. He fucks me like the world could end and he needs me imprinted on his soul.
And I give him everything. Every sound. Every shake. Every shattered breath.
He takes it all.
When it’s over—when we’re nothing but sweat and shaking limbs and tangled sheets—he presses his forehead to mine.
“You still undo me,” he says hoarsely.
“You never stood a chance.”
We’re tangled in the sheets, the world quiet around us, when the knock comes.
Viktor tenses. Immediately.
So do I.
He doesn’t let me move. Just kisses my temple and murmurs something I can’t hear, then pulls on his pants and disappears out the door.
I sit up slowly, dragging the blanket around me.
Voices in the hallway. Sharp. Low.
Then silence.
Then footsteps.
The door opens.
Not Viktor.
It’s Lena.
She steps into the doorway like she doesn’t want to come in.
Like she isn’t sure she belongs.
She’s dressed in a sleek midnight blue coat, snow still clinging to the collar, and her expression is strained. Too composed. Too careful.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she says.
“You didn’t,” I lie.
She doesn’t smile. Just walks to the window and peers out like she’s hiding something in the snowfall.
“I saw Anton tonight.”
I glance up sharply.
She doesn’t turn around. “He’s different.”
“He’s dangerous,” I say gently.
“I know.”
Something in her voice tightens. My stomach coils.
“Lena—”
“I’m fine,” she says too fast.
Before I can answer, she turns, smile sharp and brittle.
“Tell Viktor thank you for tonight. The security. The cover story.”
“Of course.”
She leaves before I can say anything else.
And I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until the door clicks shut.
Because I know that look. I wore it once.
And I know what happens when a girl looks at a Bratva soldier like he’s the only person who’s ever seen her.
It doesn’t end quietly.
It ends in blood and vows.
And if I’m not mistaken…
It’s already begun…
The End
Dear lovely reader who craves danger, devotion, and a little bit of destruction—thank you for reading Obsessive Vows.
Want more shadows, secrets, and Bratva obsession?
Step back into Viktor and Anastasia’s world with Bonus Epilogue 2 , and witness the moment everything changes for Lena and Anton.
P.S. If you enjoyed Obsessive Vows, then I think you’ll enjoy Baby for the Bodyguards too! Swipe to the next page for a sneak peek…