Chapter 24 - Alexey
The nursery smells of fresh paint and new beginnings.
I stand in the center of the room that has been under quiet renovation for the past several weeks, sunlight filtering through the tall windows and warming the soft gray walls we chose together.
The half-assembled crib waits in the corner, pale oak pieces neatly arranged beside a stack of instructions I have mostly ignored in favor of doing it my own way.
A comfortable rocking chair sits near the window, and a soft rug covers part of the hardwood floor.
It isn’t finished yet, as there are still boxes of books to unpack and a mobile waiting to be hung, but it already feels like ours.
Like the beginning of something permanent.
Anja stands a few feet away, one hand resting on her rounded belly, seven months pregnant and more beautiful than I have ever seen her. Her long black hair with its auburn highlights falls loose around her shoulders, catching the afternoon light in threads of copper and gold.
Her stare widens with surprise and fills with emotion as I lower myself to one knee on the soft rug, the velvet box open in my palm.
The Sokolov family heirloom ring resting inside is a classic solitaire diamond flanked by two smaller stones, passed down through generations and reset for her. It has never felt more right than it did in this moment.
Anja’s breath catches. Her free hand flies to her mouth, fingers trembling slightly.
“Anja,” I say, voice low but steady, the way I have practiced in my head more times than I care to admit. “This has nothing to do with optics. Nothing to do with revenge. Nothing to do with the original deal we made all those months ago.”
I look up at her, letting her see everything I have held back for so long. My patience has slowly turned into devotion, the protectiveness that has become something deeper, the quiet certainty that has replaced every calculated boundary.
“This is because I cannot imagine my life without you and our child,” I continue.
“The pretend relationship died months ago. What we have now is real. It is built on quiet nights reviewing ledgers, shared secrets in the shadows of, late nights spent together where your mind sharpened mine, and the steady choice I make every single day to be the man you deserve.”
Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t look away. The emotion on her face mixed with surprise, joy, and a lingering trace of the fear she still carries from her past. Seeing it makes my chest tighten.
“I want you as my wife,” I say, the words carrying the full weight of everything I have come to feel.
“Not for show. Not for the world. For me. For our family. For the future, we’re already building together.
Marry me, Anja. Let me spend the rest of my life proving that you are not temporary, not forgettable, and never less than. ’ You are my everything.”
She stands there for a heartbeat, seven months pregnant and glowing in the soft sunlight, her hand still protectively over our child. Then she nods, happy tears slipping down her cheeks as her voice breaks on the single word.
“Yes.”
The relief and joy that flood through me are immense. I rise to my feet, slipping the heirloom ring onto her finger. It's a perfect fit, and I pull her gently into my arms. She comes willingly, her rounded belly pressing between us as she wraps her arms around my neck and laughs through her tears.
For the first time, I say the words out loud.
“I love you.”
The admission is perfect after holding it back through every layer of walls we have both built.
Through the deal struck in fury. Through the late nights and public performances.
Through the pregnancy that has rewritten every rule.
In every moment, I reminded myself that her trust is pure and nothing more.
It is everything.
Anja pulls back just enough to look up at me, her eyes shining. “I love you too,” she whispers, voice thick with emotion. “God, Alexey… I love you too.”
I kiss her then. A slow, deep, full of every unspoken promise I have carried for months.
Her hands cup my face, fingers tracing the scar along my jaw with the same gentle curiosity she showed the first time she touched it.
When we finally part, I rest my forehead against hers, one hand splayed protectively over her belly where our child kicks softly, as if approving.
The weight that is lifted in that moment is immense.
The nursery around us feels like the beginning of the life I have stopped allowing myself to fully imagine until her.
The pretend relationship is gone, replaced with this.
What we have now is real. Built on quiet nights and shared secrets. On the steady choice I make every day to be better for her. On the way, she has cracked open my carefully managed world and made me want more than just survival and strategy.
“You’ve changed everything,” I tell her quietly.
“From the moment I pulled you out of that warehouse, you’ve been changing me.
I don’t want to go back to the man I was before you.
I want this…you, our child, this family, more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
” I brush a tear from her cheek with my thumb.
She smiles through fresh tears, her hand covering mine where it rests on her belly.
“I've been so scared for so long. Scared that I would always be temporary. Scared that love would always come with conditions. But you… You keep choosing me. Even when it’s hard. Even when my past tries to pull me under. You make me believe I can do this—be a wife, be a mother, be part of this world without losing myself.”
We stand there together in the nursery, sunlight warming our skin, the faint sound of birds outside the windows.
The proposal is simple. No grand spectacle.
No audience. Just us, in the space we are building for our child, with the ring that symbolizes generations of Sokolov loyalty now resting on her finger.
I kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the way she melts into me. The pregnancy has made her even more beautiful, if possible. From the gentle curve of her body to the way her hands instinctively protect our child, and the quiet strength that has only grown stronger through every challenge.
When we finally draw apart, I rest my forehead against hers once more.
“There are still loose ends with Fadir,” I admit quietly. “But they don’t touch us anymore. Not really. He’s gone. And you… You are my future.”
“Our future,” she nods, eyes shining.
The weight that has pressed on my chest for months, including the careful distance I have maintained, the reminder that this is business, and the fear that I might become another man who takes advantage, finally lifts completely.
I proposed because I could no longer imagine my life without her.
Because I have fallen in love with the fiery, resilient woman who once called him a monster in the front seat of my SUV.
Anja leans into me, her head on my shoulder, one hand still resting over the baby. I hold her close, breathing in the moment, the nursery around us feeling more like home than any penthouse or compound wing ever had.
The war with Fadir is ending.
But our life together as husband and wife, and as parents, is only beginning.
Now I will spend every day proving to her that choosing me is not another.
It is the safest place she will ever know.
***
Later that evening, we sit together in the nursery, her head resting on my shoulder as our child kicks softly between us.
Soft gray walls surround us, the color Anja chose because it felt calm and hopeful. A half-finished mobile of tiny wooden stars hangs above where the crib will soon stand.
Anja leans into me on the wide window seat, her body relaxed against mine despite the weight of her seven-month pregnancy. My arm is wrapped around her shoulders, my other hand resting gently over her protruding belly.
Every few moments, I feel the strong, insistent kick of our child as a reminder that the future is no longer theoretical.
I feel the full shift in my chest.
The future is no longer about dismantling an enemy.
It is about building something lasting. Something real.
The revenge that once consumed my every calculated move now feels like background noise to the life unfolding right here.
The woman in my arms, the child growing inside her, and the family we are creating together.
Yet I sense her lingering hesitation.
Even as she rests against me, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my forearm, the ghosts of her past still whisper doubts. I can feel it in the occasional tension that creeps into her shoulders, in the way her breath sometimes catches when she thinks about the future.
She still wonders, deep down, whether she truly belongs in this world. Whether choosing me or choosing a life tied to the Sokolovs means she will lose pieces of herself along the way.
I make a silent vow in that moment, as the sun dips lower and paints the nursery in golden light.
I will prove to her, every single day, that choosing me is not another cage. It is the safest place she will ever know.
The proposal has sealed what we’ve become, but I know her heart still needs time to fully believe it.
Trust like hers, that’s earned through betrayal and rebuilt through patience, does not heal overnight.
I am willing to wait. I am willing to show her, again and again, that my love is not conditional.
Anja shifts slightly, turning her face toward me. Her emerald gaze is soft with emotion, the auburn highlights in her hair catching the last of the sunlight.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For doing this here. In the nursery. It feels… right.”
“It's always going to be here. This room is ours. The life we’re building is ours,” I brush a strand of hair from her cheek, letting my fingers linger.