Chapter 24
YURI
The mansion is quiet when I step inside.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the kind that settles in after something bad has happened. I don’t bother turning on the lights, just walk straight through the dim halls, the sound of my footsteps echoing off the marble floor, until I reach my study.
I close the door behind me and lean against it for a second, listening to the rain tick against the windows.
The decanter’s where I left it. I pour a glass, staring at the amber liquid as I swirl it.
“This isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”
Her voice keeps playing in my head. Like she’d already made peace with the idea of doing it without me. Like she never planned to let me in at all.
And I can’t fucking stand that.
I told her I’d protect her. That I’d take care of her and the baby. I meant it. I still do. But that wasn’t what she needed to hear. She didn’t want strategy. She wanted something I’m not sure I know how to give anymore.
She wanted love.
I walk to the window and stare out at the garden, glimmering beneath the rain. My reflection flashes in the glass—I look tired, disheveled, and tense.
For a moment—for one brief, electric moment—I felt happy. Alive. Things I haven’t felt in years.
But she pushed me away.
Not out of spite. Not even out of fear. But out of conviction.
She’s doing what she thinks is right, but I’m not sure I can accept that knowing she’s pregnant with my child. I want to protect her, protect both of them, take care of them.
There’s a knock at the door. Soft. Almost polite.
I don’t respond. I stay in the shadows, glass in hand, rain beating down on the windows. Thinking of her. Thinking of what I’ve already lost and what I might still be able to find a way to keep.
If I don’t fuck it up.
The door opens without waiting for my answer. I glance over my shoulder. Tatiana tentatively steps inside.
“I thought you’d gone,” I say, turning to face her and sitting down at my desk.
“Too much work to be done.”
She glides closer, then leans against my desk—shoulders angled, hips tilted, arms crossed just enough to lift and press her breasts upward. An old strategy of hers. One she doesn’t need, yet she’s deploying it on instinct.
Her fingers go to her blouse. She undoes a button. Then another.
I don’t move. I don’t say a word.
“You’re tense,” she says, her voice pure velvet. “Understandable. Long day. Long month, really.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You think this helps?”
“It could,” she murmurs, tilting her head slightly. The lights from outside catch the swell of her breast, the gleam in her eye. “If you let it.”
Another button slips free, revealing a black lace bra underneath.
She moves to sit on the edge of my desk, one long leg crossing over the other in a slow, practiced motion.
Her skirt rides higher, the silk whispering over her skin like an invitation too well-rehearsed to be accidental.
She watches me—openly, intently—as though she's waiting for the moment I stop pretending I’m immune.
“Yuri. I’m not asking for a ring. Just a moment. A little comfort between colleagues.”
She reaches for my hand, her skin light and warm against mine. There’s familiarity in the way her fingers trace my knuckles. She’s not wrong; there was a time I might’ve responded. Might’ve leaned in, taken what she was offering and written it off as practical, easy, harmless.
But I’m not that man anymore.
Because now, all I see is Astrid.
I don’t want anyone else.
Not even close.
I pull my hand back.
Tatiana doesn’t flinch, but something in her eyes flickers. Disappointment, resentment, maybe the sting of her pride being bruised. She’s a woman used to winning, used to being the answer, not the consolation prize.
“Tatiana,” I say, my voice calm but unyielding, “this isn’t going to happen.”
She straightens slightly. The air shifts between us. Her blouse still hangs open, delicate lace framed by silk, but the allure fades as she exhales.
“Because of her,” she says. There’s no malice in her tone, just quiet knowledge.
“Because of me,” I retort. “Because I don’t want this. And I won’t use you to forget something I’m not finished with.”
That lands. Her posture falters a fraction, just enough to betray the blow. She nods slowly and buttons up with deliberate, almost regal grace. No hurry. No shame. Just a woman reclaiming her armor.
“Fair enough,” she says, standing. “Just thought I’d offer. Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
I say nothing.
She walks to the door, pausing before she opens it. “Good luck with her,” she says without turning. “You’ll need it.” Then she’s gone.
I’m alone again, but not in the way I was before.
Before, I was adrift—caught between uncertainty and responsibility, between guilt and longing. But after Tatiania’s move, I now know what I want to do, what I need to do.
I cross the room and pick up the drink I’d poured earlier. There’s a hum beneath my skin. One I won’t be able to quiet until I see her again.
I glance at the clock. It’s late but not too late to plan.
Tomorrow, I’ll go to the office. Deal with the digital wreckage. Speak with Elena. Tighten the walls around us. We’re being hunted, and I’m not about to let someone like Spalding take another single inch.
But Astrid—that’s the real fracture. Not the files. Not the Feds. Just her.
She thinks she has to do this alone. Thinks I’ll fold her into my world like a piece of collateral. But she’s not a liability. She’s the only thing that’s ever made this life feel like something more than survival.
And if I have to prove that to her, day by day, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.