24. Unwelcome Tenderness
Unwelcome Tenderness
Vera
Iwake up before the sun.
For a moment, I don’t remember where I am.
There’s warmth at my back. The faint scent of cedar. A steady, quiet presence that doesn’t feel like danger.
And that’s what jolts me awake.
Safety.
I don’t trust it.
My eyes open slowly.
The penthouse ceiling stretches above me, pale light just beginning to bleed through the glass walls. My body aches in a way I’m not used to—not pain, not injury.
Something else.
Something that reminds me of last night.
My stomach twists.
Not from regret.
From the realization that I didn’t feel trapped.
I felt… in control.
And that terrifies me more than anything Roman has done.
I sit up slowly, pulling the sheet tighter around me.
The bed beside me is empty.
Cold.
Of course it is.
Roman doesn’t linger.
The moment something becomes real, he turns it back into strategy.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the soreness, the lingering warmth in my skin that I refuse to analyze too closely.
This was supposed to be control.
Mine.
Not something that lingers after.
I stand, wrapping myself in a robe, and step into the main room.
Roman stands by the window.
Already dressed.
Already composed.
Already distant.
His reflection in the glass is sharp and untouchable again.
Like last night didn’t happen.
Good.
Anger steadies me.
“I didn’t realize you vanish at sunrise,” I say.
He doesn’t turn immediately.
“I don’t linger where I lose focus.”
There it is.
Regret, disguised as discipline.
“I’m not a distraction,” I snap.
Now he turns.
“No,” he says evenly. “You’re a liability.”
The word lands harder than it should.
“Last night didn’t make me weaker,” I say.
“It made you more exposed.”
“I chose it.”
“Yes.”
“And now you’re punishing me for it.”
“I’m correcting course.”
I step closer, anger rising.
“You don’t get to treat me like a mistake.”
His gaze sharpens.
“I’m treating you like a target.”
“I already was one.”
“And now you’re more valuable alive.”
The cold logic slices through the room.
I hate it.
I hate that part of me understands it.
“I won’t regret choosing something that was mine,” I say quietly.
His jaw tightens.
“Then don’t confuse choice with safety.”
Silence stretches.
The space between us feels different now.
More fragile.
More dangerous.
I turn away before I say something I can’t take back.
“I’m going to shower,” I mutter.
He doesn’t stop me.
Of course he doesn’t.
Steam fills the bathroom, but it doesn’t quiet my thoughts.
I replay everything.
The gala.
The threat.
The message.
The way Roman pulled back this morning like softness was something to punish.
And worse—
The way I didn’t feel used.
I felt… seen.
I shut the water off harder than necessary.
This is a war.
Not a relationship.
I need to remember that.
When I step out, the bedroom is empty.
Voices drift faintly from the balcony.
Roman.
And Viktor.
I don’t mean to listen.
But the tone stops me.
Low.
Controlled.
Serious.
“If she gets pregnant,” Roman says, voice quiet but sharp, “it becomes a target.”
My breath catches.
I don’t move.
Viktor responds, equally low.
“You’re assuming that’s already a risk.”
“I don’t assume,” Roman replies. “I prepare.”
A pause.
“Then what’s the plan?” Viktor asks.
Roman exhales slowly.
“We reduce exposure. Limit appearances. Tighten perimeter. No unnecessary risk.”
“And her?”
“She doesn’t know.”
The words hit like a physical blow.
“She doesn’t need that pressure,” Roman continues. “Not yet.”
Not yet.
I step back slightly, heart pounding.
My mind stumbles over the implications.
Pregnant.
The word echoes too loudly.
Too suddenly.
My hand moves before I can stop it.
Pressing lightly against my stomach.
Just for a second.
Just instinct.
Just—
Fear.
I freeze.
Because I don’t know why that was my first reaction.
And that realization is more terrifying than anything Roman said.