Chapter 13 – Sofia
I wake up feeling more rested than I have in ages. My bones are completely soft, and the heavy tension that usually makes a home in my body is totally gone. I feel like a brand-new person, and a small, happy smile touches my lips before I even open my eyes.
But when I finally blink them open and turn over, the bed beside me is completely empty.
I stare at the dent in the pillow with a deep frown.
I thought Lukyan was here. I was so sure he wiped me down last night and got into bed with me. I can vividly remember the feeling of his strong arms wrapping around me in the dark. I look around the empty bedroom, swallowing down a sudden, sharp wave of disappointment.
Shifting my weight to get out of bed, a dull ache between my thighs makes me wince. I’m definitely still a little sore from last night.
I head straight into the bathroom, take a warm shower to soothe my muscles, and step back outside into the bedroom to pull on a simple dress. The memory of how he looked at me last night keeps flashing in my mind, making my heart race all over again.
Needing answers, I leave my bedroom and head out into the estate in search of Lukyan.
I find him in his study, where he is deep in conversation with a woman.
She looks like she belongs entirely to the Bratva world—poised, incredibly confident, and so striking that she immediately commands the entire room.
They both turn the second I walk in. Lukyan rises to his feet, his dark grey eyes instantly locking onto mine. My body reminds me of yesterday, and I internally shake it off.
“Sofia,” he says. “This is Anka. She’s an old friend.” His tone is completely neutral but familiar enough to suggest they have a real history together. He then turns to her, his voice steady. “Anka, this is Sofia. My wife.”
Anka gives me a cool look. “I know,” she says simply. “Hello, Sofia. It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too.”
She doesn’t move to shake my hand, and I don’t offer either.
My inner reaction is immediate, and honestly, it completely catches me off guard. A sharp, ugly twist of jealousy and discomfort hits me right in the chest, and I really struggle to mask it on my face.
Just hours ago, this man was holding me like I was his entire world, and now he’s acting so professional, standing next to a beautiful woman who knows his dark side way better than I do.
“Sit down, Sofia,” Lukyan says gently, breaking the sudden tension. “We’re almost done here.”
He walks over and helps me onto the couch. I can feel Anka’s sharp eyes tracking my every move, watching how he treats me. Once I’m settled, Lukyan returns to his big mahogany desk and dives right back into his conversation with her, talking in low, serious tones.
Sitting there listening to them, the warm, fuzzy feeling from this morning completely evaporates.
This woman’s presence puts a massive spotlight on a part of Lukyan’s life that I just don’t understand.
It’s a harsh, sudden reminder of the dangerous world he belongs to and just how much distance still exists between us.
I force myself to concentrate on Lukyan’s words. Maybe I can try to understand him the way he organized dinner to understand me.
“The cargo from the docks needs to move by midnight,” Lukyan says, his voice dropping into a low, cold cadence that sends a sudden chill down my spine.
“If the authorities or the Volkov family get wind of the transit, use whatever force is necessary to secure the perimeter. I want no loose ends left behind this time.”
Anka doesn’t even blink at the mention of violence. She simply nods, her gaze fixed entirely on Lukyan with an intense, familiar focus that makes my stomach turn.
She watches the sharp lines of his face, absorbing his orders like a loyal soldier, but there is something deeply personal in the way her eyes linger on his mouth before she finally shifts her weight.
Watching from my spot on the couch, I feel a heavy knot form in my throat. It makes me incredibly uncomfortable how Anka is looking at my husband. She looks at him like she owns a piece of him, like she understands the monster in him far better than the man who held me so gently last night.
“That’s all,” Lukyan says, cutting the air with finality.
Anka nods once more, acknowledging the end of the business. But instead of turning toward the exit, she pauses. Her sharp eyes slide across the room, locking directly onto me. She smooths down her jacket and walks over, stopping just a few feet from the couch.
“So,” Anka says, her lips curving into a polished, pleasant smile. “How has marriage to a Rusnak been so far?”
The question sounds friendly enough, but I can’t seem to return the energy. I force myself to sit up straighter, keeping my expression polite but completely distant, utterly unable to engage naturally with her.
“It’s been an adjustment,” I answer shortly, my voice tighter than I want it to be.
Anka tilts her head, her perceptive eyes tracking the way my fingers grip the fabric of my dress, noting the rigid tension in my shoulders that I just cannot fully control.
She clearly notices the shift in the room, reading my discomfort like an open book, but she chooses not to comment on it directly.
She asks a few more casual questions about how I’m liking the estate, to which I give brief, one-word answers, before she finally takes the hint.
“Well, I should let you two get back to your day,” Anka says, offering a final, unreadable look. “Goodbye, Sofia.”
“Goodbye,” I murmur.
Lukyan steps out from behind his desk, walking her across the study to the double doors. He opens them, exchanges a final, silent nod with her, and shuts the door firmly after her, leaving the two of us completely alone in the quiet room.
The click of the door latch feels incredibly loud in the sudden silence of the study.
Lukyan stands by the doorway for a beat before turning around. His dark eyes instantly fix on me, scanning my face, my rigid posture, and the way my hands are still clenched tightly in my lap. He recognizes immediately that something is wrong.
He walks back over to the couch, his heavy footsteps quiet against the rug, and stops right in front of me. “Sofia,” he says, his voice dropping the cold, businesslike edge he used with Anka. “What’s wrong?”
I hesitate, looking down at my hands. I wrap my fingers together, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.
I don’t want to admit it. I don’t want to give him that kind of power over me, especially not after watching him order a hit or a smuggling run like it was nothing.
But the weight of the morning, the empty bed, and the way that woman looked at him is too much to keep inside.
“I didn’t like the way she looked at you,” I admit softly, the truth slipping out before I can stop it. I force myself to meet his gaze, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I felt… jealous. I hated it.”
The admission completely unsettles me. Saying it out loud makes it real, confirming that he’s getting under my skin in ways he shouldn’t.
I expect him to be cold, or maybe to tell me to mind my own business, but Lukyan’s reaction isn’t dismissive at all.
Instead, a quiet, genuine amusement softens his sharp features.
A low, barely audible chuckle escapes him, and his lips curve into a small smile.
He finds my honesty completely unexpected—and, in a way, incredibly reassuring.
The heavy tension that Anka left behind completely evaporates, shifting into something much softer.
Lukyan closes the remaining distance between us.
He sinks down onto the cushion right beside me, his warmth immediately enveloping me.
He doesn’t offer a long, defensive explanation about who she is or what their past was.
He doesn’t overexplain. Instead, he reaches out, his large, scarred hand gently cupping the side of my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone.
“Anka is a soldier, Sofia. Nothing more,” he says softly, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that burns right through my doubts. “She belongs to the business. You’re my wife. No one else sits at my table, and no one else wakes up in my bed.”
His response is subtle, but it’s deeply effective.
The knots in my stomach slowly untie, his touch easing the sharp discomfort that has been plaguing me since I walked into the room.
It reinforces the strange, powerful connection that grew between us last night, proving that what happened in the dark wasn’t just a dream or a temporary lapse in judgment.
He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead before resting his hand over mine in my lap.
As I sit there beside him, looking at our joined hands, I’m still processing the wild rush of my own emotions.
The anger and hostility I used to protect myself are completely gone, replaced by something deep, terrifying, and real.
My feelings for my husband have deepened in ways I can no longer ignore, and now, I’m too far in to turn back.