Chapter 17 – Valeria
I wake early.
Earlier than I have in a long time.
For a moment, I just lie there—still wrapped in the quiet of the room, listening to the distant sound of waves rolling against the shore. It’s soft. Steady.
Peaceful.
Timofey is still asleep beside me.
One arm draped loosely across the bed, his breathing slow and even.
I watch him for a second.
Then I slip out carefully, not wanting to wake him.
The house is quiet as I make my way downstairs.
Too quiet for the kind of life I’ve been living.
But I find that I don’t mind it.
I step into the kitchen and pause.
For a second, I just stand there, taking it in.
Then I move.
I don’t think too much about it—I just start.
Eggs.
Bread.
Something simple.
Cooking isn’t something I’ve done often. Not in years.
In Russia, there was always someone to do it. Always something more important demanding my time.
But now, as I crack the eggs into a pan and watch them sizzle softly, something shifts inside me.
It feels…familiar.
Like reaching back into a version of myself I haven’t seen in a long time.
A quieter version.
A softer one.
Before everything changed.
Before my father died.
Before war and survival became the only things that mattered.
I lean lightly against the counter, watching the food cook.
And my mind drifts.
To last night.
A small smile touches my lips.
It was…perfect.
Just us.
No guards. No tension. No constant awareness of danger lurking behind every corner.
Just Timofey.
And me.
I didn’t realize how much I needed that until I had it.
We have to go back today.
Back to the estate.
Back to the war waiting for us.
But for once, I don’t feel weighed down by it.
Because now I know something I didn’t before.
Even in the middle of all this, there are still moments like that waiting for us.
And I’ll take them.
Every single one.
No matter how brief they are.
No matter what comes after.
I flip the eggs carefully, exhaling softly.
Footsteps sound behind me.
I don’t turn immediately. I already know it’s him.
A second later, warmth presses into my back—
And then his lips brush against my cheek.
“Good morning, zolotse,” he murmurs.
I smile despite myself.
“Go sit,” I tell him, nudging him lightly with my elbow. “I’ll bring you breakfast.”
He lets out a low, exaggerated groan.
“I don’t want you stressing yourself,” he says.
I turn slightly, giving him a look.
“I’m not stressed,” I reply. “I want to do this.”
Something flickers in his expression at that.
Then he nods once. “Fine.”
He moves to the table while I finish up.
A few minutes later, I carry everything over and set it down in front of him.
He watches me the entire time.
I ignore it, or else I’ll blush all the way from the tip of my hair to the sole of my feet. We sit across from each other and start eating.
And for a moment, it doesn’t feel like our life.
No guards.
No tension.
No war pressing in from every direction.
Just…this.
Breakfast. Together.
Timofey leans back slightly, studying me.
“Let’s stay one more day,” he says.
I pause.
The offer is tempting.
Too tempting.
I let the silence stretch for a moment as I think about it.
Because I know the truth.
This, this peace, it won’t last.
I set my fork down slowly. “I want to,” I admit.
His gaze sharpens slightly. “But?”
“But we can’t,” I add.
The softness doesn’t disappear, but something heavier steals between us.
“Staying here….” I exhale softly, shaking my head. “It feels good, yes. But it’s just hiding.”
He doesn’t interrupt.
“Running from Anton doesn’t solve anything,” I continue. “It gives him time. Time to grow stronger. Time to take more.”
My hand moves instinctively—
Resting lightly over my stomach.
The weight of it feels different now.
“Now….” I swallow slightly. “It’s not just about me anymore.”
His gaze drops to my hand.
“This child…” I continue quietly, “is ours. It’s my father’s legacy. Everything he built…everything he fought for.” My voice steadies. “I’m not going to raise my child in fear.”
I lift my gaze to meet his. “I won’t spend my life running while Anton sits on what belongs to my family.”
Silence settles between us again.
I see it in his eyes the moment it clicks.
He understands.
Completely.
There’s no argument. No hesitation.
Just a quiet, mutual decision passing between us.
We’re done hiding.
“Can we take another walk before we leave?” I ask after a moment.
His expression softens slightly.
“Yes,” he says.
We finish breakfast slowly after that, the conversation drifting back into something lighter. Small things. Easy things.
Like we’re holding onto the last pieces of this moment before letting it go.
Timofey clears the table and washes the dishes while I head upstairs.
I take a quick bath, letting the warm water run over me as I try to memorize how this place feels. I’ll be back here. I know it.
By the time I step out and get dressed, Timofey is already in the room. We pack in quiet efficiency.
When we’re done, we head back downstairs and walk to the beach together. The sunlight greets us immediately.
It’s even more beautiful in the daylight.
The ocean stretches endlessly, shimmering under the sun.
Waves rolling in gently, like nothing in the world could ever disturb their rhythm.
I inhale deeply, letting the salt air fill my lungs.
For a moment, I don’t move.
I just stand there—taking it all in.
“Can we come back here?” I ask quietly.
He nods without hesitation. “Anytime you want.”
Something in my chest settles at that.
An hour later, we’re back in the car.
Driving toward the city.
Toward reality.
The closer we get, the heavier the air feels.
Like the peace we just left behind is already slipping through our fingers.
And then, it happens.
A black SUV swerves sharply across the road ahead of us.
Tires screech.
Timofey reacts instantly, slamming the brakes.
Before the car even fully stops, another vehicle pulls in behind us.
Blocking any escape.
My heart drops.
Doors burst open.
Men step out.
Armed.
Moving toward us.
Fast.
“Fuck,” Timofey mutters, already moving.
He throws himself over me, shielding me with his body as the first gunshots crack through the air.
I gasp, instinctively pushing against him.
“Timofey—”
“Stay down.”
“No!” I snap, adrenaline surging through me. “I can protect myself. We have to fight, or they’ll take us!”
He’s already reaching for his gun.
Outside, the men advance.
Weapons raised.
No hesitation.
No warning.
I turn to him, my voice sharp. “Give me a gun.”
His jaw tightens.
“You stay in the car,” he says, cold and final. “You’re protected here. I’ll handle it.”
My chest tightens violently. “No.”
His gaze snaps to mine.
“I’m not losing you,” I say, my voice shaking but firm. “If we both fight, our chances increase.”
“Valeria—”
“I will step out there,” I cut him off, my eyes locking onto his. “With or without a weapon.”
The words hang between us.
Dangerous.
Real.
His glare hardens.
For a second, I think he’ll refuse.
Then—
He exhales sharply and reaches into his jacket.
He presses a gun into my hand.
“Stay close to me,” he says, voice low and lethal.
I nod once.
We both step out.
The moment my feet hit the ground, everything narrows.
The car. The road. The men.
Timofey moves first—like he’s already calculated every outcome.
And I follow.
Gunfire explodes through the air.
The sound is deafening. Sharp enough to cut through thought.
I don’t hesitate.
Neither does he.
We move together—strange coordination born from too many shared battles, too much violence lived too closely.
A man rushes from the left.
I fire once. He drops.
Another raises his weapon—
Timofey gets him before he can aim properly.
Everything becomes motion.
Instinct.
Survival.
Nothing else exists.
When the last body hits the ground, silence returns like a shockwave.
Too sudden.
Too heavy.
My chest rises and falls quickly as I scan the road.
Clear.
For now.
Then I turn to him.
That’s when I see it.
Blood.
His arm.
“Timofey….”
He glances down as if it’s only now registering. A muscle in his jaw tightens. “It’s nothing,” he says immediately.
“It is not nothing,” I snap.
Before he can argue, I grab his hand and pull him toward the car.
“Get in the passenger seat,” I say sharply. “I’ll drive.”
His eyes flick to mine.
There’s a moment where I expect resistance. Control. Pride.
But then he nods once.
And gets in.
The drive back is fast.
Tense.
His breathing is heavier than I like.
“Hold on,” I tell him, gripping the wheel tighter. “We’re almost there.”
“I’m fine,” he mutters, but it’s strained now.
“Don’t argue with me,” I say. “Just stay awake.”
He laughs. “Valeria, I wasn’t shot in the heart. I think it’s just a graze.”
“Shut up.” I’m scared. He doesn’t know it.
We reach the estate quickly.
The gates open before we even fully stop. Guards rushing forward the moment they see us.
“Sir—” one of them starts.
“Move,” I cut in immediately.
They hesitate.
“I said move.”
Something in my voice makes them obey.
I don’t stop walking until I get him inside our room. Then straight into the bathroom.
“Sit,” I order, pushing him gently but firmly onto the closed toilet lid.
He obeys. Quietly.
I grab the first-aid kit without wasting a second.
By the time I kneel in front of him, he’s already watching me.
“Valeria…” he starts.
“Don’t,” I say. “Just let me.”
I carefully tear open the sleeve, exposing the wound.
A graze. Deep enough to bleed. Not deep enough to be fatal.
Still—
My hands tremble as I clean it.
His breath hitches once, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t complain. Doesn’t flinch away from me.
I feel my chest loosen slightly.
“You’re going to be fine,” I murmur.
“I know,” he says.
But his eyes never leave my face.
I continue cleaning the wound carefully, my hands steady now in a way they weren’t a few minutes ago. The adrenaline is fading, leaving something heavier behind. Something quieter.
The silence between us stretches.
Not uncomfortable.
Just full.
And suddenly—I can’t hold it in anymore.
My hands pause for a moment against his arm.
“Timofey…” I say softly.
His gaze sharpens slightly at the tone of my voice.
I swallow.
Because this is the part where there’s no strategy left. No survival instinct. No war to distract me from what I already know.
Somewhere along the way…I stopped noticing when it changed.
“What we started as….” I exhale slowly, shaking my head faintly. “It isn’t that anymore.”
He doesn’t interrupt.
That alone steadies me.
“I thought it was just safety,” I admit. “Just survival. Just circumstances pulling us together.”
A small, almost bitter smile touches my lips.
“But it isn’t.” My voice softens. “I’ve started to love you.”
The words hang there.
Raw. Unfiltered. Undeniable.
For a second, I expect something to break. Expect him to pull away. To question it. To calculate it like everything else in his world.
But he doesn’t.
Not even for a moment.
Instead, he exhales like something inside him has been waiting to hear exactly that.
And then he stands—carefully, still mindful of his injured arm—and pulls me into him.
I freeze for half a heartbeat.
Then I melt.
My hands grip the fabric of his shirt as he wraps his arms around me, holding me close like I might disappear if he lets go too soon.
“I know,” he says against my hair. “I love you, too.”
Simple. Certain.
Like it was never in question.
My breath catches.
And I hold him tighter.