Chapter 16 – Timofey
I rarely allow myself quiet.
Not because I don’t want it, but because quiet, in my world, is where things go wrong. It’s where details slip. Where men like Anton Petrov find space to breathe.
The past several weeks have been consumed by security planning, retaliatory strategy, and constant recalibration of risk. Every report changes something. Every silence feels temporary, like it’s only waiting to break.
And it always does.
But when I look at Valeria recently—really look at her—something in me shifts.
She isn’t built for this kind of war. She can withstand it, but she shouldn’t have to. Not like this.
She’s carrying our child while living under a shadow that grows heavier every day. And still, she stands. Still, she speaks clearly. Still, she refuses to break.
I notice. I always notice everything about her. It impresses me. It also worries me.
Because strength like hers comes with a cost. And she is already paying it in ways she doesn’t fully admit out loud. The slight delays before she answers. The way her gaze sometimes drifts when she thinks no one is watching. The exhaustion she tries to bury under composure.
I see all of it.
Now, I sit alone in my office long after the estate quiets down. My fingers rest against the desk as I make a decision without hesitation. I don’t need more time to think about it.
I already know what to do.
I stand.
I’ll take her away from here.
For now.
There is a private house outside the city, by the water. A place with no constant movement, no shifting threats, no pressure pressing in from every direction. A beach house. Secluded. Secure. Mine.
The idea isn’t to escape. It’s a temporary relief. A place where Valeria and I can relax for a few days. I exhale slowly, already seeing her there in my mind.
This isn’t about Anton.
It’s about her.
I leave my office and head straight back to our room.
Valeria is in bed when I come in. Still. I assume she’s asleep. I don’t think much of it. I just climb in beside her and pull her into me. She shifts almost immediately, instinctively relaxing against my chest like she’s been waiting for it.
This is the only time it all goes quiet in my head.
The only time everything else stops pulling at me.
When she’s like this.
Here.
Safe. With me.
“You came to bed early tonight,” she murmurs.
A small chuckle slips out of me.
“Yeah.” My arm tightens slightly around her waist. “We’re going somewhere tomorrow.”
She lifts her head just enough to look at me. “Where?”
“I have a private beach house,” I say. “I want you to come with me. We need a few days to breathe.”
Her expression softens a little.
Then she nods.
“Okay.”
That simple word settles something in my chest I didn’t realize was tense.
I lean down and press a kiss into her hair.
And for a while, we just stay like that.
Wrapped together.
Until we fall asleep.
Early the next morning, Valeria and I are in my car heading out of the city.
No one knows except Lukyan and Misha.
Misha, only because I needed everything ready before we arrived—food, staff cleared, security rotated, and a small surprise for the evening. Not a disturbance in sight. Just space.
Valeria sleeps most of the ride. I woke her early to pack, and she barely protested before drifting off again against the seat.
I let her.
There’s no urgency in me that needs to wake her up.
When we finally arrive, I gently touch her shoulder.
“Valeria.”
Her eyes flutter open.
She blinks a few times, disoriented at first, then looks out the window. And something in her posture shifts immediately. The tension leaves her shoulders slowly.
We’ve pulled up to the beach house.
It’s a private Rusnak property we’ve kept in the family for years.
It sits slightly elevated on a stretch of private coastline, hidden away from anything resembling the city.
Modern but warm in design—clean glass walls framed with natural wood, blending into the pale sand and endless blue beyond it.
The ocean stretches out directly in front of it, uninterrupted, like the world ends here on purpose.
A long walkway leads from the driveway to the main structure, where open terraces wrap around the building on both levels. Everything is minimal but intentional. Nothing feels crowded. Nothing feels watched.
Even the air feels different here.
Valeria steps out of the car slowly, looking around like she’s trying to confirm it’s real.
Then she exhales.
A long, steady breath I don’t think she’s taken properly in days.
Her shoulders relax completely.
And I see it clearly.
This is what she needed.
I feel proud of myself. I’m not one to make spontaneous decisions, but I’m proud of this.
A quiet kind of pride settles in my chest. I’m not someone who makes spontaneous decisions like this. Everything I do is calculated, measured, controlled. But bringing her here—this feels right.
I take our luggage and head toward the front door.
Valeria follows behind me slowly, taking everything in.
“Is this your property?” she asks.
“It belongs to the Rusnak family,” I reply. “Anyone can use it.”
She hums softly, like she’s storing that information away without much resistance.
I enter the security code, and the door unlocks with a quiet click.
We step inside.
Valeria gasps.
The interior opens into a vast, sunlit space designed to make it feel as if the ocean never really ends.
The entire back wall is glass—floor-to-ceiling windows that erase the boundary between inside and outside.
The sea is right there, impossibly close, stretching endlessly in deep blues and shifting silver where the sunlight hits the water.
The living area is open-plan but warm, unlike most modern homes.
Cream-toned furniture sits low and inviting, layered with soft textures—linen, cotton, woven fabrics that look untouched but lived-in.
A massive sectional faces the ocean instead of a television, as if the house was designed to remind anyone inside that nothing here matters more than what’s beyond the glass.
Above us, a high ceiling with exposed wooden beams adds warmth, breaking the clean lines just enough to make it feel human.
Subtle recessed lighting is built into the architecture, but right now it’s unnecessary—the natural light floods everything, reflecting off pale stone floors that stay cool and quiet underfoot.
To the side, a minimalist kitchen blends seamlessly into the space—dark marble counters, hidden appliances, everything sharp but understated.
Further in, a staircase of floating wood steps leads to an upper level. It’s the sound that stands out most.
The ocean.
Constant. Unbothered. Alive.
The sound of waves replacing gunfire and alarms feels almost unreal. The air is thick with salt and wind, clean in a way the city never is, and the long stretch of private shoreline outside makes it feel like the rest of the world has been deliberately erased. Like nothing beyond this house exists.
For a moment, even I feel it.
The distance.
The pause in everything.
Valeria yawns beside me as I guide her upstairs toward the bedroom.
By the time I set the luggage down, she’s already slowing, her exhaustion catching up with her now that she’s finally somewhere safe enough to feel it.
She looks at me, still half-awake.
“Can we go to the beach?”
I open my mouth to answer—yes, of course—but she yawns mid-sentence again.
A small laugh slips out of me before I can stop it.
“Come on,” I say, taking her hand.
She resists weakly, more out of habit than strength. “I want to see it.”
“And you will,” I reply, guiding her gently toward the bed. “After we rest.”
She mutters something under her breath—still arguing, still trying to hold onto the idea of staying awake—but I’m already pulling back the covers.
“Just a few minutes,” she insists as I lower myself onto the bed and draw her into my arms.
“Mm-hm,” I agree.
She shifts slightly, trying to maintain her stubbornness. “Only a few minutes.”
“Yes, Valeria.”
That finally earns a quiet, satisfied sound from her.
And within minutes, her breathing evens out.
She’s asleep.
Completely.
I look down at her for a moment longer than I intend to.
Then I exhale softly, careful not to move too much. Not to disturb her peace.
For once, there’s nothing outside this room demanding anything from us.
And I let that moment stay.
I don’t know when I fall asleep.
But the next thing I know, something is nudging me.
“Timofey.”
A soft groan follows.
“Come on. We’re only here for one day, and we already slept it away.”
My eyes open slowly.
Evening light spills through the tall windows, painting the room in gold.
Valeria stands beside the bed, smiling.
She’s changed into a flowing gown that moves lightly around her frame, catching the breeze from the slightly open balcony doors.
She looks….
Stunning.
“I fell asleep?” I ask, my voice rough as I sit up.
She laughs softly. “Yes.”
There’s something lighter about her now.
Easier.
“Come on,” she says, reaching for my hand. “Let’s go.”
I push myself out of bed quickly, running a hand through my hair as I grab something simple to wear.
Then I check my phone.
4:30 p.m.
Damn.
I slept longer than I intended.
Not surprising.
I haven’t had more than two hours of proper sleep in weeks.
Still—
I need her out of the house by five.
I have a surprise planned.
I move faster now, throwing on a shirt and stepping into my shoes.
“Ready?” she asks.
I nod, slipping my phone into my pocket. “Let’s go.”
We leave the house together, stepping back into the open air.
The ocean greets us immediately, louder now, fuller, the waves rolling in with a steady rhythm as the sky begins to soften into evening.
We walk toward the beach side by side.
“It’s so beautiful,” Valeria says softly.
I glance at her. “Not as beautiful as you.”
She laughs instantly, shaking her head. “You’re so corny.”
A small smirk tugs at my lips, but I don’t argue.
The water reaches us, cool as it laps gently against our feet. The sun dips lower, casting gold and amber across the surface of the ocean, turning every wave into something almost unreal.