Chapter Twenty-Five - Zoe
It’s been two weeks since the evening Lukin killed the man who came for me.
Two weeks since I watched blood spill onto garden soil. Since I felt my heart nearly claw its way out of my chest. The fear has dulled, sure—but it hasn’t vanished. It clings to me in quiet moments, like a shadow stitched into my skin.
I’ve kept my distance since then. Moved into the guest room.
Spoke only when necessary. I can feel him watching me sometimes—at breakfast, in passing, late at night when I slip into the hall for water.
But neither of us says anything. We just orbit each other in silence, pretending we’re not burning.
Tonight, though, I don’t get to pretend.
There’s a family dinner at the estate—something formal, something Bratva. As Lukin’s wife, I’m expected to show up, smile, and look the part.
I stare at myself in the mirror longer than necessary. The black dress I choose is simple, elegant, high-necked. Modest, like armor. I skip the heavy makeup, pull my hair back, and smooth my palms down the fabric as I head downstairs.
The dining room is already filling when I enter.
Arseny’s there, speaking in low Russian with a man I don’t recognize.
Adrian lounges at the far end, tossing something up and down—a knife, probably.
Katia, Lukin’s younger sister, who I hardly speak to, is also in the far corner, staring at me like I’m a lab specimen.
I try to keep my distance from Lukin’s family, but when I do run into them, they’re kind, polite, and respectful.
And then there’s Lukin.
He sits at the head of the table, dressed in black, jaw tight, eyes sharp. He looks up the second I step in.
I can’t read his expression. I don’t try to.
I take the seat beside him, spine straight, hands in my lap. Our arms don’t touch. We don’t greet each other. But his gaze lingers on me longer than it should, and I feel the weight of it like a touch against my skin.
Tonight we’re presenting a picture of a happy couple to his family. Let the performance begin.
Dinner starts, and I do exactly what I came here to do. Pretend. Nothing more, nothing less.
I sit straight, speak only when spoken to. When Arseny asks how I’m feeling, I smile politely and say, “Fine, thank you.” When Katia comments on my dress, I nod and murmur, “It’s just something simple.”
I don’t touch the wine. I barely touch the food.
Lukin sits beside me, composed as always.
He talks with Arseny about shipments, something about the northern border being unstable again.
He switches to Russian often, and I let the unfamiliar words blur into background noise.
Every now and then, his hand drifts near mine on the table.
Not touching. Just… close. I don’t know if he’s testing, but he hasn’t tried to speak to me since that night.
It’s like he’s also angry, which is strange because I’m the one who relived a trauma.
His world is so different from mine, and it scares me sometimes.
“Are you warm enough?” he asks quietly at one point, voice low so only I can hear. “It’s cold, you’re wearing only a slip dress beneath your jacket.”
“I’m fine,” I answer without looking at him.
He doesn’t push.
The tension is subtle, but it’s there. A string pulled too tight under the surface. I feel Katia glance at me now and then, but she doesn’t say anything. Maybe she knows. Maybe they all know what happened.
When dessert is served, some rich berry tart I’d normally love, I push my chair back and stand.
“Excuse me,” I say, barely above a whisper. “I need some air.”
Lukin glances at me, brows slightly raised, but I don’t wait for a reaction.
I walk out of the dining hall without another word and head straight outside. The air is cool, crisp against my skin, and I inhale deeply, like I’ve been holding my breath for an hour.
Being that close to him messes with my head. The quiet restraint in his voice. The way he watches me like I’m completely his, like he expects I’ll come back to him if he just waits long enough.
But I don’t know what I want anymore.
And being near him… it makes it harder to remember why I ever pulled away. His life is dangerous, and I’m already over seven months pregnant. Is this the life I want for my kid?
I walk slowly through the garden, the cold brushing against my arms, but I don’t turn back for a coat. My thoughts are loud enough to keep me warm—memories I wish I could scrub out of my brain, emotions that won’t settle.
Then I hear heels clicking softly against stone. I turn.
Katia. She smiles genuinely at me, cigarette pinched between two fingers, a trail of smoke curling around her like perfume. She’s sharp-eyed, elegant, and nothing like Lukin—except for that same unnerving calm.
“You looked like you were about to disappear into the hedges,” she says with a tilt of her head. “Figured I’d catch you first.”
I say nothing. I’m not in the mood for company, especially not his family’s.
She takes a drag, watching me through the smoke. “Zoe, this world doesn’t offer neat exits. Once you’re in, you’re in. You might hate Lukin right now—and I wouldn’t blame you—but understand something. That night? He wasn’t mad or monstrous. It was survival. Your survival.”
I swallow. Of course she knew what happened. What was I thinking?
“Katia, it was the second time I was seeing someone murdered in front of me. It was traumatic. The first time wasn’t pretty.”
“I don’t know what happened the first time,” she continues, flicking ash to the side. “But that man was going to kill you. You do know that, don’t you?”
My stomach twists, but I don’t answer. She steps closer, her voice quieter now. “He didn’t kill for pleasure, Zoe. He killed to protect what’s his.”
The words land heavy. Her, calling me his. Like I’m some possession. Like that justifies it.
But then I remember it—Lukin standing between me and death. The way he didn’t hesitate. The way he looked at the man who threatened me, like he would kill him again if he had the chance.
Katia flicks the cigarette to the ground and crushes it under her heel. “He’s not a monster. He’s a protector. There’s a difference.”
And then she leaves me alone in the dark.
I stay rooted for a long time, staring at the spot where she stood. The anger’s still there, burning quietly in my chest. But beneath it now… something else. Something I hate to admit.
He saved my life.
And that truth is harder to ignore than anything else. Before that man shot me, I saw the way he looked at me. With hate. With violence. He would have killed me if Lukin didn’t intervene. The least I owe him is a thank-you.
A few minutes later, I head back into the guest room, shutting the door behind me like it’ll keep the thoughts out. I shower, hoping the heat will wash away the heaviness clinging to me. It doesn’t. I climb into bed, curl into myself, and try to force sleep.
But I can’t.
All I can think about is Katia’s words and Lukin’s protection. No one has ever saved me before. But he did. He protected me like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hands steady. His aim sure. No hesitation. He saved me. And I called him a monster.
I throw the blanket off with a frustrated sigh and slip out of the room, padding barefoot through the quiet hallway until I reach the door I once called mine. Our bedroom.
I knock once.
It opens almost immediately. Lukin stands there shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His expression doesn’t shift. No shock. No smugness. Just a blank stare.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice rough.
I take a breath. “Can I come in?”
He shrugs and steps aside. “It’s your bedroom.”
I walk in slowly, while he goes back to the bed and sits on the edge. I linger at the foot of the bed, fingers twisting nervously. “I wanted to say I’m sorry… for what I said that night.”
He looks at me, one brow raised. “Really?”
“Yes,” I say, a little firmer now. “I feel very sorry. I shouldn’t have called you a monster. And… thank you. For protecting me. And the baby.”
For a moment, silence stretches between us. Then he exhales, long and slow. “I’m pissed at you too,” he says.
My chest tightens.
“But I’ll forgive you,” he adds, eyes dragging slowly over my face, “because you’re cute.”
I blink. “What?”
His lips twitch, the ghost of a smirk. “Come lie down, zayka.”
I hesitate only a second. Then I walk over and slide into the bed beside him.
He’s on me immediately. Starving. He wraps his hand around my neck and holds my head in place as his lips maul mine.
I miss him so much, so there’s no way I’m refusing this passion between us.
I melt into him, biting back moans of desire as his mouth tears away from mine and kisses down my neck.
He whispers into my ear. “I missed you on this bed,” he growls. “I want to fuck you so hard, but you’re pregnant.”
I suck in a breath when he nips the soft skin at my neck and flicks his tongue over it.
“Lie down for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs against my flesh. “Let me taste you like I’ve been dying to.”
I don’t need to be told twice. Lukin gently pushes me back against the pillows, his hand pushing up my nightdress until I feel his hot breath on me.
“Lukin.”
“It’s alright, sweetheart.” He kisses the inside of my thighs. “Relax. Let me make you feel good.” He kisses my pussy once and then flicks his tongue over my clit. A moan slips out of my mouth and my fingers sink in his hair.
“Lukin.”
He hums and buries his face against me, sucking, kissing, licking, until I’m a quivering mess on the bed. I’m trying so hard not to scream out my pleasure because we have family around, but it’s so hard to stay sane when stars are bursting behind my eyes.
Lukin holds my legs apart, swirling his tongue around my pussy and clit until I dissolve in a groundbreaking orgasm that leaves my bones feeling like jelly.
He kisses up my legs, my bump, and my lips, his passion evident in how softly and reverently he touches me. He fingers me softly with one hand, while stroking his dick with the other.
“Are you ready for me, sweetheart?”
“Yes.” I bite my lips shyly and nod, my eyes drifting shut.
He’s so gentle, even when he buries himself inside me and strokes, he stays gentle, his fingers tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and kissing the bridge of my nose.
“You are so beautiful,” he grunts, his eyes black with pleasure. “And you take me so good, sweetheart, you’re taking me so well. Good girl.”
His words are dirty, but damn, they make me feel like a princess.
Soon, he picks up the pace, gathering me into his arms and burying his face in my neck like I weigh nothing.
I give up the fight of holding back my moans because Lukin isn’t giving me any choice.
He fucks me like he’s kissed me, and I swear I’ve missed him too.
By the time I’m shattering into my second orgasm, Lukin falls with me, his big body shuddering above mine as the pleasure overcomes him. We collapse together in a heap and no words need to be said. Lukin simply gathers me into his arms and we drift off to sleep.