Epilogue
Riley
"Mommy! Mommy! Wake up! Daddy made so much food, but he won't let us eat!"
That earth-shattering accusation jolted me awake.
I forced my eyes open. Sunlight already filtered through the curtain gaps, spilling gold across the floor. Weekends without work—pure bliss.
Then a mouthwatering smell hit me. My stomach growled in response.
I shuffled out of the bedroom in my robe and slippers, following that irresistible scent in a daze.
"Mommy!"
Two little missiles charged straight at me from the living room.
Niko latched onto my left leg, Lillian wrapped around my right, both pairs of gray-green eyes—carbon copies of Matvey's—pleading as they tattled in their sweet voices.
"Mommy, Daddy won't let us in the kitchen!"
"He said we have to wait for you!"
I stifled a laugh, ruffling both heads, and looked toward the kitchen.
I'd probably remember that sight for the rest of my life.
My husband—the man whose name made every Eastern European gang tremble—stood there shirtless, his muscular frame looking like a sculpture. But around his waist? A pink apron printed with cartoon bears.
He flipped the pan with one hand, the motion so smooth it looked effortless. The golden egg mixture did a perfect somersault mid-air.
Behind him, the dining table displayed a spread worthy of a five-star hotel—perfectly cooked eggs Benedict, fresh fruit salad, and artfully arranged croissants straight from the oven.
His expression was focused and calm, as if commanding this tiny kitchen was no different from commanding his empire.
That apron—Lillian had insisted he wear it. The goofy cartoon bear on his chest nearly made me burst out laughing.
"Don't laugh." He didn't even look up, as if he had eyes in the back of his head. "Laugh again, and you're not getting any."
"I didn't say a word." I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe, though I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. "Mr. Bykov, I had no idea you had this in you."
"It's nothing." He flicked his wrist, sliding the golden egg onto a plate with a flourish, then sprinkled herbs on top. "You've taken care of me and the kids for so long."
Morning light softened his features—made him look almost gentle. My heart melted.
This man could crush a family at the negotiating table without breaking a sweat, could walk away from gunfire without a scratch, and could whip up a breakfast that looked magazine-perfect.
Then again, that was just him—whatever he decided to do, he did flawlessly.
I walked over and wrapped my arms around him from behind.
"Thank you." I pressed my cheek against his warm back.
His plating paused for a second.
Then he turned, pulled me close, and stole a quick kiss.
"Breakfast for a kiss." He chuckled low, his breath grazing my ear. "That's a fair trade."
"Daddy's kissing Mommy!"
Lillian had snuck back in, covering her eyes but peeking through her fingers, giggling hysterically.
"Niko! Come look!"
My face burned. I lunged for the two little troublemakers, but they shrieked and bolted.
Matvey watched the scene, his eyes brimming with tenderness.
This was our home. Chaotic, crazy, but warm enough to bring tears.
We gathered around the table. Matvey had already ditched the pink bear apron, slipping back into his commanding presence. But right now, he was refereeing an all-out war over seating.
"I want to sit next to Mommy!" Niko scrambled onto the chair to my right.
"No, it's my turn today!" Lillian practically climbed onto my left arm.
Matvey said nothing. Just gave them one look.
One look. The two tornadoes froze mid-fight, sat up straight, and folded their hands in their laps.
I nearly choked on my coffee. Those gray-green eyes that could terrorize an entire crime syndicate—now their greatest purpose was settling seating disputes between three-year-olds.
"One on each side." He laid down the law like closing a negotiation. "Any objections?"
The two exchanged glances, then answered in unison. "No!"
I couldn't hold it in anymore and burst out laughing.
Finally, we ate. Lillian wolfed down her portion in seconds, flaky crumbs smeared around her mouth, then held up sticky hands toward Matvey like she was showing off treasure.
Matvey pulled out a napkin and carefully wiped her mouth and fingers clean.
The breakfast was exquisite—everything tasted incredible. I bit into a croissant, crispy outside and tender inside, and couldn't help sneaking glances at him—this man was actually domestic.
After breakfast, Matvey handed the kids off to the nanny, then took my hand and said he wanted to take me to a jewelry exhibition.
When we arrived at the gallery, I discovered my entire jewelry line was displayed front and center, the glass cases surrounded by crowds.
"This design has so much soul—it's pure talent."
"No wonder Bykov Group's jewelry line makes millions off the rich."
Compliments flooded in from all directions. Camera flashes never stopped. I wore the gown Matvey had picked out, smiling gracefully as I fielded questions.
People whose names I'd only seen in magazines now stood before me, shaking my hand, praising how stunning my designs were.
If someone had told me years ago I'd be standing here, celebrated by New York's most discerning crowd, I would've thought they were insane.
Now, my designs were wildly popular among the wealthy. Socialites regularly asked about new pieces so they could buy them first.
It felt like a dream.
Just then, a TV reporter shoved a microphone in my face.
"Mrs. Bykov, could you talk about your creative inspiration?"
"My inspiration mostly comes from overlooked details." I met the camera confidently. "Like morning light hitting the windowsill, or a child's tiny fist curled up in sleep—I always feel that the most moving things hide in the most ordinary places."
The reporter nodded, but something like gossip flickered in her eyes. "One more thing—there's been a rumor that Mr. Bykov married you because of... a transaction. Would you care to comment?"
The microphone suddenly felt heavy.
Before I could answer, a strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close. His cold, familiar scent enveloped me instantly.
Every eye in the gallery turned our way.
"Transaction?" Matvey looked at the reporter. "She was always meant to be my wife. The mother of my children."
Then he kissed me right there.
The room went silent for a beat, then shutters clicked like machine guns, flashbulbs blinding.
I closed my eyes and let myself drown in the kiss.
I didn't care what the headlines would say tomorrow.