Chapter 21 Nadya
NADYA
He’s still inside me, his chest rising and falling against mine as the last tremors fade. My legs feel like jelly, my skin slick with sweat, my heart pounding out of sync with his—but still tethered somehow. Still echoing his rhythm.
He brushes a kiss to my shoulder, then my collarbone, soft now. Worshipful. As if what we just did wasn’t frantic and raw and messy, but sacred. Like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he doesn’t press his mouth to every inch of me before I slip away.
And God help me, I don’t want to slip away. I want to freeze time right here.
Then I feel him shift.
A slow drag, his cock slipping out of me with a slick pull that leaves me clenching instinctively, empty in a way that makes my face flush.
He’s still thick, still hard enough to make me ache.
I glance down and catch the glisten of us on him—his cock flushed, veined, wide at the crown and glistening at the tip, like he could take me again if I just said yes. Like he wants to.
He reaches for a tissue, wipes himself without ceremony, but not before I see the way his hand wraps easily around himself, like he’s barely half-hard now and still thick enough to make me breathless.
He doesn’t ask for more. Not out loud.
Instead, he leans in again, hand gentle on my cheek. “Come to bed with me.”
Just four words.
Soft. Quiet.
But heavy with everything he isn’t saying.
He isn’t talking about sleep. Not really. He’s inviting me into something deeper. Something that doesn’t vanish when the orgasm does.
And that’s exactly why I can’t go.
I smile—polite, apologetic, the kind of smile you offer someone when you’re turning down kindness you desperately want.
“I can’t,” I say, brushing my hand over his. “The twins are just down the hall. They’ve been waking up some nights. I need to be there if they call.”
His jaw tightens. Not by much, but I notice it.
He nods once. Too fast. “Of course.”
And just like that, the door shuts.
Not literally. But I feel it all the same.
He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t press. Just pulls back slightly, his warmth dimming like someone turned off a light behind his eyes.
He reaches for his shirt, moving with that familiar stiffness he wears like armor, like habit.
The Konstantin I met tonight—the one who touched me like I was the only thing in the world worth saving—he’s gone in a blink.
I sit up on the desk, heart cracking as I watch him retreat into himself.
I hate this. Hate myself for doing it. But I also know I’m not ready to crawl into his bed like none of the past exists. Like trusting him again wouldn’t make me stupid.
I can give him my body. I already have. But my heart? That’s harder.
Not because I don’t want to.
Because I do.
Too much.
And that scares me more than anything.
He doesn’t say another word as he buttons his shirt. Just turns away slightly, shoulders squared like he’s preparing for war instead of bed. The air between us shifts—cooler now, despite the heat we shared just moments ago.
I hop down from the desk slowly, legs a little wobbly. I reach for my top, slipping it on with shaky fingers. I don’t look at him again. I can’t.
Because if I do, I’ll cave.
I’ll whisper okay, and follow him to bed, and sink into the comfort of his arms like it means nothing to me. Like it won’t cost me everything.
But it will.
So I pull my hair back into a messy knot, tug on my skirt, and smooth down the front of my shirt even though I’m still flushed and raw and glowing from what we did.
“I’ll check on the twins,” I say gently.
He hums. Low. Barely there.
I step toward the door. My hand rests on the handle a second longer than it needs to. Waiting. Hoping, maybe.
But he says nothing. So I go.
The hallway outside is dim, and the carpet is soft beneath my feet as I pad down the hall. My body still feels the ghost of him. The ache between my legs, the heat in my chest, the tension in my heart. All of it still throbs with him.
I slip into the kids’ room. Mila is curled into a ball, one chubby hand fisted near her cheek, dark lashes resting on her soft skin.
Nikolai’s sprawled like he’s fought off a dozen invisible enemies in his sleep, his blanket kicked to the floor, one leg hanging off the edge of the mattress.
I bend to tuck him back in, my fingers lingering on his tiny shoulder.
They look so peaceful.
So untouched by the chaos that churns outside this room, outside these walls. It’s what I wanted for them. What I bled for. Lied for.
What I ran for.
I ease down into the armchair in the corner, pulling the throw blanket over my legs. Just for a few minutes, I tell myself. Just long enough to watch their chests rise and fall. Just long enough to settle the storm inside me.
Because being with Konstantin tonight?
It felt like standing too close to a fire.
Too tempting. Too dangerous. Too easy to get burned.
I’m not ready to let him all the way in again.
I want to be ready. God, I want it. But I still remember the nights I held both these babies to my chest and cried because I didn’t know if we’d make it through another day. I remember the promises I made to them—that I’d keep them safe, that I’d never let them be pawns in someone else’s game.
And Konstantin…he’s the king of that game.
He’s trying. I see it. I feel it. In every kiss. In every look. In the way his hands tremble when he touches me like I’m something sacred.
But history doesn’t just vanish because the sex is good.
And my heart doesn’t stop being breakable just because his feels like home.
I lean back into the chair and close my eyes, listening to the soft breathing of my children. Safe. Loved. Asleep.
And I try not to wonder what it would’ve felt like to fall asleep in Konstantin’s bed.
In Konstantin’s arms.
I wake up curled between them. Mila is draped across my arm like a little starfish, warm and breathing softly. Nikolai’s head is pressed to my ribs, his mouth slightly open, one hand thrown above his head in that reckless, careless way he sleeps.
For a moment, I pretend this is all we have to worry about. Morning light. Fuzzy socks. Waffles with too much syrup.
I let myself believe we’re just a normal family, caught in the soft pause of morning. That the shadows haven’t followed us here. That my body doesn’t still ache from Konstantin’s touch, and my heart isn’t twisting from the way he wouldn’t meet my eyes after.
“Mommy,” Mila mumbles, rubbing her nose against my shirt, “is it Saturday?”
“Not yet,” I whisper, kissing the top of her head. “But we can pretend for a little while.”
Nikolai stirs next to me, his brows furrowing in sleep before his eyes flutter open. “Is there school today?”
“No, baby. Not today.” I brush his hair off his forehead.
“Good,” he says, voice groggy. “Can we go outside later?”
“We’ll see,” I say gently, already hearing the faint ring of my phone on the nightstand. I reach for it carefully, trying not to jostle them too much.
Unknown number.
My stomach tightens.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Makarova?”
The voice is calm. Professional. Too calm. “This is Dr. Rhode’s assistant from the pediatric clinic. Could you and Mr. Buryakov return to the hospital today? It’s about Nikolai’s results. We need to see you both immediately.”
I sit up, heart knocking against my ribs. “Is he—did something come back?”
“There’s something we didn’t expect,” the doctor says. “Please come as soon as you can.”
Konstantin hasn’t said much. After breakfast, he told Lev to cancel the morning meetings and asked me if I wanted him to come along. His voice was calm. Neutral. But the tension in his jaw hasn’t relaxed since.
When the nurse steps into the room and calls our name, my stomach drops.
The walk back to the doctor’s office feels slow. Heavy. My hand tightens around Nikolai’s, and he gives me a look that says, Mom, you’re squishing me.
Dr. Halberd is a kind man. But it’s the way he doesn’t smile today that sets every nerve in my body on edge.
He greets us softly, asks Nikolai to go sit on the cushioned bench by the window with Mila. There’s a box of toys. They run to it like it’s a treasure chest. I try to mirror their ease. But my heart is already clenching in anticipation.
“Thank you for coming back,” he says, folding his hands. “We’ve gone over Nikolai’s test results again, and Dr. Rhodes was very helpful with his notes. We went over our clinical notes together and…I’m afraid we’ve confirmed something serious.”
My fingers curl into my lap.
Konstantin shifts beside me. He’s leaning forward already, body braced.
“What is it?” I ask, quietly.
Dr. Halberd’s gaze meets mine, and I know—I know—he’s about to change our lives.
“He has a condition called X-linked Severe Combined Immunodeficiency with Cardiomyopathy. It’s extremely rare.
It affects the development of the immune system and causes significant heart dysfunction.
The genetic mutation is passed down through the X chromosome, typically from a carrier mother to a son. ”
My mouth goes dry.
But then the doctor glances at Konstantin.
“What’s unusual here,” he continues, “is the presence of a very specific gene marker in Nikolai’s bloodwork. It’s part of a mutation cluster we don’t usually see in maternal inheritance. It’s dominant, and it appears to have come from the paternal side.”
Konstantin’s face goes completely still. “You’re saying…he got this from me?”
The doctor’s pause is brief. Calculated. “It’s highly probable that it runs in your family. We’ve seen similar patterns in Eastern European lineages—rare, but documented. If your family has a history of early male mortality or unexplained heart failure, it’s possible it was never caught.”
“I did this to my son,” Konstantin says, his voice barely above a whisper.
My head snaps toward him.
He’s pale. The kind of pale that doesn’t come from shock, but guilt. His knuckles are white on the arms of the chair, and his jaw flexes once, hard.