Chapter Three
Anya
By the time I step out of the rideshare, the night feels soft and warm. It's hard to believe it rained like crazy just hours ago. My heels click against the sidewalk, the faint echo swallowed by the hum of streetlights and the distant thrum of music from someone’s open window.
The party was fine. Loud. Glittering. Full of people pretending not to care that it’s over, that the last four years are already slipping through their fingers.
I laughed, danced, and let Bryant drag me to the center of the crowd when one of our favorite songs came on.
I even pretended that seeing Alexei at graduation had been some trick of the light.
Because if I admit it was real—if I admit he was really there—I’ll have to face the thousand questions I’m not ready to find answers to.
Bryant walks beside me, hands in his pockets, head tilted up toward the moon like he’s thinking too much again. He’s tall, wiry, with a permanent air of quiet observation; someone who notices everything but only comments when it matters.
“You were somewhere else all night,” he says finally, glancing at me.
I shrug. “It’s the end of an era. Guess I’m sentimental.”
“Sure,” he says dryly, but he doesn’t push. That’s what makes Bryant such a good friend. He knows when to leave me alone with my thoughts.
At my building, he insists on walking me to the door. The hallway smells faintly of jasmine and the neighbor’s curry. My cat’s probably waiting by the window, tail flicking in irritation because I’m late feeding him again.
“I still have your sheet music,” I remember suddenly. “Come in for a sec? I’ll grab it.”
Bryant nods and follows me up. I fumble for my keys, talking just to fill the silence. “I can’t believe we’re done. No more exams, no more caffeine binges at 2 a.m.—”
The lock turns. The door swings open.
And the world just…stops.
Alexei is standing in my living room.
For a second, I think I’ve opened the wrong door. My brain refuses to connect the dots. The coat draped over his shoulders, the quiet intensity of his gaze, the stillness that rolls off him in waves—it’s definitely him. Older. Harder. The sharp edges of him have been honed, not softened.
“Alexei?” My voice cracks on his name.
He looks at me like he’s been waiting years to hear it. Then his eyes shift past me to Bryant, and his expression darkens instantly.
Bryant stiffens behind me. “Uh…maybe I’ll just get that sheet music another time.”
“Bryant—”
He leans in, his voice a quick whisper against my ear. “That’s him, isn’t it? The ghost.”
My throat tightens.
“Good luck, sweetheart,” he whispers, then presses a light kiss to my cheek.
Alexei growls low in his throat, a dangerous, almost bestial sound. Bryant’s eyes widen a fraction before he backs away, muttering, “Right. Leaving now.”
The door shuts behind him, sealing me inside with the storm that is Alexei Balshov.
For a long heartbeat, we just stare at each other. The air feels charged, too heavy to breathe. Alyosha appears from behind the couch, tail swishing lazily, and meows once like he’s introducing himself.
Alexei’s gaze flicks to the cat, then back to me. “So, his name is Alyosha?” he asks. His voice is quiet but threaded with something raw.
I shrug, striving for nonchalance despite the violent thudding of my heart. “It suits him,” I say tartly. “He’s quiet, aloof, and secretive. Seemed fitting.”
His mouth curves slightly, but there’s no humor in it. “You shouldn’t lie, zayka. You were never good at it.”
Hearing him call me that name hits somewhere deep and dangerous. My anger surges up to smother the ache. “You broke into my apartment,” I snap. “You don’t get to show up here and act like you know me.”
He doesn’t flinch. “Your security is pathetic. One basic lock, and I was in. If I could get in, anyone could.”
My hands shake as I cross my arms. “Oh, I’m so sorry my locks aren’t up to your criminal standards.”
His eyes flash, but his tone remains calm. Too calm. “I’m here because it’s time for you to come home.”
I blink. “Home?”
He steps closer, the scent of cold air and leather rolling off him. “You’ve graduated. You’re done here.”
I laugh, the sound brittle and bitter. “You’ve barely spoken to me in four years, and now you decide where I live? What I do?”
His expression doesn’t change. “You belong in New York.”
“No,” I say, louder now. “You made it pretty clear back then that I don’t belong anywhere near you.”
Something flickers across his face. Guilt? Maybe regret, but it’s gone before I can name it.
“I have job offers,” I go on, lifting my chin. “Good ones. I haven’t decided which one to take yet. And for the record,” I lie smoothly, “Bryant is my boyfriend. So maybe think twice before growling at him next time.”
The silence that follows is thick, dangerous. Alexei’s jaw flexes once, twice.
“Your boyfriend,” he repeats softly, and the way he says it makes goosebumps rise along my arms.
“Yes.”
He takes another step forward. I step back until my back hits the wall. The cat meows again, almost like he’s warning me, and scampers off toward the kitchen.
Alexei’s gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “Then why are you shaking, zayka?”
My breath catches. “Because you’re in my house,” I whisper.
His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “And because you still want me here.”
His steps are slow but deliberate. Each one shortens the space between us until mere inches separate us and my lungs forget how to work.
Alexei lifts a hand—unhurried, deliberate—and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, just like he did that night at my birthday.
The memory slices through me, sharp and sweet.
I should step away. I should tell him to leave.
But the warmth of his fingers near my skin, the way his body radiates heat, keeps me rooted in place.
“Bozhe,” he murmurs, his breath brushing my cheek. “You’re all grown up.”
My pulse trips. I can’t tell whether it’s fear or something darker twisting low in my belly.
He looks down at me with those ice-blue eyes–eyes that used to feel like safety, now edged with something dangerous. “I wish things could’ve been different, zayka,” he says quietly. “Four years ago…I didn’t reject you because I didn’t want you.”
The words slice through the haze, making my throat tighten. “Then why?”
“I did it to keep you safe.” His jaw flexes. “My father was a monster. You know this. If he’d seen how I looked at you, what I felt for you…” His eyes flash with cold fury. “He would’ve used you against me. He would’ve destroyed you to punish me.”
I can hear the truth in his voice, the restraint and self-loathing. It’s like the air between us hums with all the words he never said, all the touches he never let himself give.
“But Yuri’s gone now,” he continues, his tone darkening, soft but final. “And there’s no one left to stop me.”
A tremor runs through me. His meaning is clear. He isn’t here to talk. He’s here to claim what he’s wanted all along.
My mind scrambles for something, anything to hold onto. “B-but Bryant…” I stammer. “My boyfriend—”
Alexei’s gaze narrows, the faintest curve of a smile tugging at his mouth. “He’s not your boyfriend.”
“How would you know?” I demand, more breathless than angry.
“Because I know everything about you.” His voice drops, low and dangerous. “Where you live. Who you see. The routes you walk home. The men who’ve tried to get too close.”
The room tilts slightly. “You…what?”
“I couldn’t be near you,” he says, taking another step closer, his chest almost brushing mine. “It wasn’t safe. Not for you. But I needed to know you were protected.”
I stare at him, scrambling to form a sensible line of thought. “Protected? You mean…watched?”
He nods once. “I hired private security. Men I trust. You never saw them, but they were there. If anyone had threatened you, I’d have known.”
Flashes of memory hit me—the times I’d felt eyes on me walking home at night, the unmarked cars parked across the street, the strange comfort I’d felt even when I should’ve been afraid.
I whisper, “That was you?”
His jaw tightens. “It was always me.”
Something inside me twists, half outrage, half aching relief. “So, if you already knew about Bryant,” I say, voice trembling, “then why were you so angry when you saw him? Why did you growl when he kissed my cheek?”
His hand hits the wall beside my head, the quiet thud echoing in my chest. His eyes are molten now, the calm stripped away.
“Because,” he says, every word low and deliberate, “I don’t like other men in your space.” He leans closer, his breath feathering against my lips. “I don’t like the thought of anyone else touching you. No one but me touches your skin.”
The words ripple through me, heat surging under my skin. My breath comes shallow, uneven.
“Alexei—” I whisper, but the rest of my words are swallowed as he closes the distance and kisses me.
This is nothing like the kiss from years ago.
This one is deep, consuming, every suppressed moment of longing breaking free at once.
His hand slides to my jaw, fingers firm, tilting my face up to his.
His mouth claims mine with a hunger that feels both familiar and terrifying.
I should pull away. I should tell him to stop.
But the feel of him, solid and unyielding…
the faint scrape of stubble against my skin—undoes every protest before it can form.
He kisses me like a man who’s been waiting forever. Like he’s afraid he’ll never get the chance again.
And I kiss him back. Hard. Desperate. Like the four years apart have been a slow burn that’s finally catching flame.
Alexei growls low in his chest, a dark, rough sound that vibrates through me.
His hands move fast, sliding down my back, gripping my hips like he’s claiming lost ground.
The world tilts. My spine hits the wall and his body follows, pressing me into the cool plaster, every inch of him pulsing with heat and need.