38. Epilogue
EPILOGUE
KATARINA
Six months later…
M y hands shake as I reach for the vintage champagne flute Sofia offers me. The bubbles catch the light streaming through the hotel suite's massive windows, creating tiny prisms that dance across my reflection.
“Breathe, darling.” Natasha's voice carries that familiar authority as she adjusts the delicate lace at my shoulders. “You look absolutely gorgeous, but hyperventilation won't complement the dress.”
I take a sip of champagne, letting the cool liquid steady my nerves. The Ritz-Carlton's bridal suite feels surreal—too elegant, too perfect for someone who, three months ago, was dodging bullets in a warehouse.
“I can't believe I’m marrying an Ivanov.”
Sofia appears beside me, her dark hair swept into an elegant chignon. “Cold feet?”
“Hot feet. Burning feet.” I laugh shakily. “I've never been this nervous in my life. Not even when I pitched my first major client.”
“That's because you knew you'd built something worth selling.” Natasha smooths an invisible wrinkle from her emerald bridesmaid dress. “This is different. You're about to promise someone your entire future.”
The weight of her words settles in my chest. Six months ago, the idea of having girlfriends would have seemed foreign to me. I'd always been too focused, too driven, too wary of other women's motives. But circumstances have a way of forging unexpected bonds.
“Do you think I'm crazy?” I ask them both.
“Absolutely.” Sofia grins. “But the good kind of crazy. The kind that changes everything.”
Natasha moves to my other side, her reflection joining our small circle. “When I first met you at that charity gala, I thought you were ice cold. Untouchable princess in her ivory tower.”
“Thanks?”
“I'm not finished.” She meets my gaze. “But watching you with Erik? You melt. You become this fierce, passionate woman who fights for what she wants. That's not crazy—that's brave.”
Sofia nods. “Plus, the way he looks at you makes me think Nikolai might have competition for the most obsessed husband.”
Heat rises in my cheeks. “He doesn't look at me like that.”
“Oh, honey.” Natasha laughs, the sound rich with amusement. “He looks at you like you hung the moon and personally arranged every star in the sky. It's nauseating, really.”
“Beautifully nauseating,” Sofia corrects with a smile.
“Says the woman whose fiancé fell to his knees and begged to get her back,” I quip, raising an eyebrow at Sofia.
Natasha's cheeks flush pink, but she shrugs with characteristic confidence. “What can I say? I know what I've got.”
“And what you've got is a man who bought out an entire restaurant so you could have dinner without being disturbed by other patrons,” Sofia adds with a knowing smirk.
“He did not—” Natasha starts to protest, then stops. “Okay, fine. He did. But that was romantic!”
“It was possessive,” I counter, though my tone holds no judgment. “Beautifully, overwhelmingly possessive.”
Sofia laughs, adjusting her own dress. “It seems Ivanov men come with a very specific set of... characteristics.”
“You mean they're all completely unhinged when it comes to their women?” Natasha asks dryly.
“I was trying to be diplomatic.”
“Don't bother,” I say, taking another sip of champagne. “Erik started a war with my father because he couldn't stand the thought of me marrying someone else. Subtle isn't exactly in their vocabulary.”
“Nikolai stalked me for weeks,” Sofia admits. “I thought I was going crazy, feeling someone watching me constantly.”
Natasha nods knowingly. “Dmitri had my apartment building's security upgraded without telling me. Apparently, my locks weren't 'sufficient for his peace of mind.'“
“At least they care,” I murmur, though part of me wonders if 'care' is really the right word for what these men feel.
"Poor Alexi," Sofia says with a shake of her head. "He's the only one left, and he's so busy chasing that phantom hacker that he barely notices anything else exists."
"The one who breached the compound while I was captive?" I ask. "Using my own security protocols against me?"
Sofia nods. "He's completely obsessed with finding the culprit. Says this hacker is the first person who's ever managed to use your code without leaving a trace. The fact that they knew you were being held there..."
"Maybe that's for the best that he's distracted," Natasha suggests. "Can you imagine what would happen if Alexi actually found someone? The poor woman wouldn't know what hit her."
"She'd probably be locked in a digital fortress within twenty-four hours," I add with a laugh.
Sofia's expression turns thoughtful. "Though knowing Alexi, she'd probably be the one hacker smart enough to give him a real challenge. He'd respect that."
"Before completely losing his mind over her," Natasha finishes. "He's already acting like this phantom hacker is his personal nemesis. I caught him talking to her through his computer screen last week, like she could hear him."
A sharp knock interrupts our laughter. Sofia and Natasha exchange glances before Sofia calls out, "Come in."
The door opens to reveal my father, immaculate in his tailored black tuxedo. "Father." The word comes out softer than I intended.
"Katarina." His voice carries that familiar gruff warmth I remember from childhood. "You look..." He pauses. "Breathtaking. Absolutely stunning."
Tears prickle my eyes. “Thank you.”
Sofia and Natasha gather their bouquets, understanding the unspoken need for privacy. “We'll see you at the altar,” Sofia murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. Natasha squeezes my hand before they both slip out, leaving me alone with my father.
He extends his arm, the gesture formal yet tender. “It's time, little star.”
The old nickname hits me like a punch to the chest. Butterflies explode in my stomach as I loop my arm through his.
“I need to say something before we go down there.” His jaw tightens, the way it always does when he's about to admit fault. “What I tried to do to you—forcing you to marry Petrov—it was wrong.”
I study his profile, seeing the tension in the lines around his eyes.
“I thought I was protecting our family, securing our future. But I was treating you like a business asset instead of my daughter.” His voice drops lower. “I'm sorry, Katarina. You deserved better from me.”
The sincerity in his tone cracks something open in my chest. “I know why you did it. I understand the pressure you were under.”
“That doesn't excuse it.” He turns his face to look at me. “I almost lost you forever. Almost handed you over to a man who would have destroyed everything that makes you who you are.”
“But you didn't.” I squeeze his arm. “And now look—the Lebedev-Ivanov alliance is stronger than either family could have been alone. Even the Petrovs can't touch us now.”
A ghost of his old, proud smile crosses his face. “My brilliant daughter. Always see the bigger picture.”
The butterflies in my stomach intensify as reality crashes over me. In ten minutes, I'll be walking down that aisle toward Erik. Toward my future.
Toward forever.
The massive doors of the Ritz-Carlton ballroom swing open, and the first notes of Pachelbel's Canon fill the air. My breath catches in my throat as I step into the candlelit space, hundreds of white roses creating an ethereal backdrop.
But none of it matters the moment I see him.
Erik stands at the altar in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, his dark hair styled but still carrying that hint of wildness I've come to love. His hands are clasped behind his back, his posture military-straight, but when our eyes meet, his composure cracks.
Those intense eyes that have seen me at my weakest and strongest moments are locked on mine, filled with such raw emotion that my knees nearly buckle.
My father's steady presence beside me keeps me upright as we walk down the aisle, scattered with rose petals. Each step brings me closer to the man who captured me, claimed me, and somehow became my salvation.
Erik's gaze never wavers. I can see him drinking in every detail—the way my grandmother's lace veil frames my face, how the silk dress hugs my curves before flowing into a delicate train. His jaw works as he swallows hard, and I recognize the struggle for control I know so well.
When we reach the altar, my father places my hand in Erik's. The contact sends electricity up my arm. Erik's fingers are warm and tremble enough to remind me that this powerful, dangerous man is as affected as I am.
“Take care of her,” my father murmurs, his voice carrying both blessing and threat.
Erik's gaze never leaves mine. “With my life.”
The officiant begins, but his words fade to background noise. All I can focus on is Erik's thumb stroking across my knuckles, grounding me, claiming me.
When it's time for vows, Erik's voice is steady but thick with emotion.
“Katarina, you challenged everything I thought I knew about myself.
You made me want to be more than just a soldier, more than just a weapon.
You're my anchor and my freedom, and I promise to protect, cherish, and love you for the rest of my life.”
“Erik, you saved me from a life I never wanted and showed me what it means to truly live. You're my strength and my weakness, my captor and my salvation. I choose you, today and always.”
“You may kiss the bride.”
Erik's hands frame my face, thumbs brushing away tears I didn't realize had fallen. His lips meet mine in a kiss that's tender and desperate, claiming and surrendering all at once.
When our lips finally part, the ballroom erupts in applause. Still, the sound feels distant and muffled, like I'm underwater. My heart pounds so hard I wonder if everyone can hear it echoing through the vaulted ceiling.
This is real. This is actually happening.
Six months ago, I was a woman who had everything mapped out—my company, my independence, my carefully constructed walls that kept everyone at arm's length. I thought I knew what strength looked like. I thought I knew what freedom meant.
I was so wrong.
Standing here in my grandmother's lace, Erik's ring heavy on my finger, I realize I've never felt more powerful or more vulnerable in my entire life.
The man beside me—this dangerous, beautiful, broken soldier—he's seen every part of me.
The parts I'm proud of and the parts I hide.
The ambitious businesswoman and the woman who craves surrender.
The ice princess facade and the fire that burns underneath.
And he loves all of it. All of me.
The thought steals my breath. Growing up as Igor Lebedev's daughter taught me that love was conditional. That affection was earned through compliance and perfection. But Erik? He fell for me when I was fighting him, defying him, being my most difficult self.
He didn't want to change me or control me—well, not in the ways that matter. He wanted to possess me, yes, but only because he saw something worth claiming. Something worth fighting a war for.
This man, who can kill without hesitation, who moves through violence like it's breathing, chose tenderness with me. Chose patience when I needed it, strength when I was falling apart, control when I craved surrender.
I used to think love was a weakness. That needing someone made you less than whole.
But this? This feeling consuming my chest, this overwhelming certainty that I would burn the world down to keep him? This isn't a weakness.
This is the most terrifying, exhilarating strength I've ever known.
And I'm never letting it go.