Chapter 25 – Raelyn
I pace the length of the balcony, barefoot against cold stone, fingers digging into the railing like it might steady me.
There’s a time bomb ticking in the bathroom.
I breathe in the night air and try not to count seconds, but my mind refuses to stay still. It drifts—backward and forward all at once.
The world feels different now. Not safe. Not perfect. But mine.
Konstantin and I are rebuilding what my father died for. We’re cleansing networks, burning rot out of places that once swallowed truth whole. Every name uncovered feels like reclaiming a piece of him. Every corrected lie feels like justice whispered instead of screamed.
I’m back in school too. Focused. Ruthless about my grades. I want excellence now—not because I have something to prove, but because I finally understand what truth costs.
Konstantin tutors me at night, leaning over my shoulder, murmuring explanations that turn into teasing when my eyes droop.
He laughs when I fall asleep on my notes, then scoops me up like I weigh nothing and carries me to bed.
Our love is wild and tender and messy—equal parts fire and shelter.
It anchors me in ways I didn’t know I needed.
And then there’s this.
The nausea started quietly. Easy to ignore. I blamed stress. Late nights. Too much coffee. But it kept coming—sharpest in the mornings, relentless, intimate. My body insisting on being heard.
So I bought a pregnancy test.
And now it’s sitting in the bathroom, deciding my life while I pace here.
The timer beeps.
The sound slices clean through my chest.
I freeze.
For a moment, I don’t move at all. I press my palm flat to my stomach, breath shallow, heart hammering like it’s already chosen a side.
Then I turn.
Each step back inside feels heavier than the last. The hallway stretches. The bathroom light glows too bright, too unforgiving.
I kneel in front of the counter.
Pick it up.
My eyes lock onto the window.
Two lines.
Clear. Unmistakable.
The room tilts.
I sink back against the cabinet, one hand flying to my mouth, the other curling over my abdomen as if instinct already knows what to do. My breath breaks—not into panic, not into fear—but into something raw and stunned and holy.
Life.
Here.
Inside me.
After everything that tried to take us apart.
I’m happy—exhilarated, even—but a knot of uncertainty twists in my chest. We’ve never talked about having kids. He’s never said a word. I’ve watched him with his brothers’ children during visits, laughed at how gentle he is, seen how he melts into those moments…but never once has he mentioned us.
Would he want this? Would he…be like this?
The bathroom door suddenly flies open.
“Rae—” he starts, then freezes. His eyes dart down. The test. My hands. My wide, trembling smile.
His mouth parts, and I see the flicker of something I can’t name—shock, awe, disbelief, hope.
“What…what is that?” His voice is low, rough, and laced with tension.
I lift the test a little, trembling with anticipation, my breath hitching.
“It’s…a pregnancy test,” I say softly. “…and it’s positive.”
For a long beat, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. He just stares at me—at us—as if the world has narrowed down to the two of us and a single, impossible thread of life.
Then Konstantin’s expression breaks.
Not violently.
Beautifully.
He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years and drops to his knees in front of me. His hands slide to my hips, reverent, almost afraid to touch, and he presses his forehead to my stomach.
“My family,” he whispers.
The words undo me.
He kisses me then—slow, shaking, his hands trembling as they cradle my face, my back, my waist—like he’s memorizing proof that this is real. I’m laughing and crying all at once, clutching him, burying my fingers in his hair as if I might float away if I don’t hold on.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes bright, unguarded, full.
“This,” he says, voice thick, broken with awe, “is the best day of my life.”
He lifts me off the floor, holding me close against his chest, and I feel the heat of him, the pulse of his life against mine.
His eyes are wide, glittering, tears catching the light—something I’ve never seen before.
The man who’s faced death and chaos now looks at me like I’m the only miracle in the universe.
“What did I do in my past life,” he whispers, voice raw, “to deserve you…to deserve this?”
I sniffle, trying to steady myself, and manage a trembling laugh. “I…I was just a little worried about how you’d react.”
His frown softens, but there’s fire in it, the kind that warms and consumes all at once.
“You clearly have no idea,” he murmurs, voice low, trembling with awe, “of the depth of my love for you. And the fact that our child…our child will come from that love—” His hands tighten on my waist, thumbs brushing over my back.
“I’m ecstatic. I will love this child more than life itself.
More than breath. More than everything I’ve ever known. ”
I press my hands to his chest, feeling his heart pound like it’s syncing with mine. He leans down, forehead resting against mine, eyes glimmering wet and bright. His lips brush against my temple, my hair, every kiss a vow, a promise, a silent declaration that we are ours, that we are unbreakable.
I laugh and cry, words failing, tears streaking my cheeks, and he holds me tighter, whispering, “You’re my life. And this…this makes it infinite.”
I reach up, fingers brushing his jaw, and he smiles through the shimmer of tears, a soft, incredulous grin. “Do you feel it?” he asks, voice thick. “Do you feel how perfect this is? How alive we are?”
I nod, letting the sobs come freely now, letting them be mingled with laughter. “Yes,” I whisper. “I feel it.”
He kisses me again, slow, reverent, lingering, and for a long, breathless moment, the world outside disappears.
Then he pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes bright, restless with joy. “I need to tell everyone,” he says, almost laughing with it. “Is that okay?”
I nod, laughing now too, wiping at my cheeks. “Go. Tell them.”
I watch him with happy tears as he grabs his phone and starts a video call with his brothers.
The moment he says it—We’re having a baby—the screen explodes with noise.
Shouts. Grins. Disbelief. Roman swears. Lev laughs like he’s been waiting for this his whole life.
Dimitri shakes his head, smiling. They tease him mercilessly, calling him father already, promising tiny weapons and terrible influence.
Konstantin just stands there, glowing, unashamedly proud.
I drift toward the mirror while they talk, pressing my fingertips lightly to the glass, really looking at myself.
I look different.
Not just older—but fuller. Grounded. Loved. Alive in a way I never thought I’d be again. This face has cried, fought, survived…and now it’s carrying joy. Carrying life.
Behind me, Konstantin’s laughter fills the room, rich and real.
I smile at my reflection, tears slipping again—not from pain this time, but gratitude.
I couldn’t have planned it better.