Epilogue
ANASTASIA
Three Months Later
The boxes look smaller stacked in the corner than they did when I was packing them in my dorm room, like their weight got left behind somewhere between the past and here.
I stand in the middle of the apartment with my hands on my hips, my hair sticking to my cheek where the summer heat keeps leaking through the window, and I just…
breathe. Three months. It’s been three months since everything cracked open.
Since I bled out in Eryx’s arms, since the world became one long string of hospital monitors and whispered promises, since Thoren put bullets where they needed to go and burned the rest of it down so I could finally, finally stop looking over my shoulder.
Three months, and yet some days I still wake up tasting iron on my tongue.
Some days my body thinks it’s still on that floor in Jalisco, fighting to breathe.
But then I look around at this apartment, our apartment, at the mess of cardboard and Eryx’s black leather jacket draped over a chair, at the sunlight spilling across the kitchen counter, and I remember that it’s real. I’m here. Alive. Whole.
“Thinking too loud again,” Eryx’s voice drifts in from the bedroom.
A low, lazy tease. I turn to see him leaning on the doorframe, his hair damp from a shower, tattoos sharp against the white T-shirt clinging to his chest. There’s still a scar tugging at the fabric near his shoulder where Sergio’s bullet clipped him.
A reminder, a warning, a mark I kissed last night just to remind myself he didn’t win.
“Just making a list,” I say. “Mentally, of all the things we need. Plates. Curtains. A bed that doesn’t squeak every time you—”
“Every time I what?” His grin is sharp, boyish.
I roll my eyes, cheeks warming. “You know what.”
He crosses the room in two strides, slides his arms around my waist, and tugs me against him until my head is tipped back. His mouth hovers over mine, his voice a low rumble. “I like that squeak. It reminds me you’re here.”
My laugh comes out choked because my throat is suddenly too tight.
Stupid, how something so simple can break me open.
I press my forehead to his chest, breathing him in, grounding myself.
He doesn’t flinch when I grip his shirt like I might float away without the anchor.
Three months ago I did bleed out in his arms. Three months ago I thought I’d never get here.
And now? Now I’m unpacking dishes into our cupboards, building a life with the man who once kept secrets I thought I couldn’t forgive, secrets that nearly broke us.
And I have forgiven him. Not because forgiving is easy, but because he stayed.
He stayed through the screaming, the anger, the walls I threw up.
He stayed even when I shoved him away. He let me be angry, let me cry, let me say things that were ugly and real. And then he held me through the quiet.
Forgiveness wasn’t a lightning strike. It was slow, like stitching. But it’s there, holding us together.
I pull back enough to look at him. “You know,” I say softly, “if someone told me last year that I’d be moving into an apartment with Eryx Ivanov after graduating law school, I would’ve laughed in their face.”
“Good thing you didn’t know,” he murmurs. “Would’ve spoiled the surprise.”
I swat his chest lightly, but my heart feels so big it almost hurts.
I did graduate. My JD is framed on the counter, leaning against a toaster still in its box.
I made it through the hospital, the institution, the threats, the wedding-that-never-happened, and somehow still came out with a degree in my hand.
And Thoren. God, Thoren. My brother.
He’s been showing up more and more. Sometimes at the apartment, sometimes dragging me to the S&M offices he’s completely taken over.
The company that was supposed to be a chain around my neck is now in his hands, where it belongs.
He didn’t even argue when I told him I wanted no part of it.
He just nodded and said, “It’s mine now, Stas. You’ve carried enough.”
For the first time since we were kids, I have him back. And he’s not the boy who found me with my wrists slit and eyes fading. He’s not just the man with blood on his hands. He’s… both. And he’s here. I didn’t realize how much I needed that until it was mine.
Eryx brushes a stray hair from my face and presses a kiss to my temple. “You’re smiling.”
“I’m happy,” I whisper, like testing the words on my tongue. They don’t feel foreign anymore.
Eryx sets me on the counter like I belong there, his hands spreading my thighs open with a firm, unspoken claim.
The half-unpacked kitchen is chaos, but it fades to nothing the second his mouth crashes into mine.
His kiss is deep, consuming, and I let myself drown in it, my arms locked tight around his neck.
He tastes like mint and danger, like every secret we’ve survived together. I can feel the hard line of him pressing against me through his jeans, and when I grind into him, he groans into my mouth, low, guttural, and raw.
“You trying to kill me, baby?” he rasps against my lips.
“Maybe,” I whisper, nipping at his jaw.
His laugh is dark, the kind that vibrates in my stomach. One hand fists in my hair, tugging my head back so he can trail his mouth down my throat. His teeth scrape against my pulse, sharp enough to make me shiver, then he sucks just hard enough to leave a mark.
I gasp when his other hand slides beneath my shirt, rough palm closing over my breast, teasing until my nipple hardens against his calloused fingers. My piercings finally healed. I arch into him, shameless, and he takes advantage of it, pushing my shirt up until it bunches under my arms.
“Fuck, look at you,” he mutters, dragging his mouth down to take me into his mouth, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. The sight of him there, kneeling slightly to worship me with his mouth, makes heat pool low in my stomach.
“Eryx…” My voice breaks. I’m already trembling, already aching.
His hand slides down, slipping under the waistband of my shorts, teasing me through the thin cotton of my panties. He doesn’t rush. He strokes lazily, deliberately, until I’m squirming against the counter.
“Always so wet for me,” he growls, pressing harder until I whimper. “You’d let me ruin you right here, wouldn’t you? On our brand-new counter, with the windows wide open.”
The words make me clench around nothing, and he feels it when he finally pushes my panties aside.
His fingers slide through my slick folds, spreading me open, teasing my clit until I’m shaking.
Then—finally—he slides two fingers inside me, slow and deep.
I moan, my nails digging into his shoulders as my hips buck against his hand.
He curls his fingers just right, finding that spot that makes me see stars.
His thumb works in tight circles over my clit, and I can’t stop the needy sounds spilling from my throat.
“You like that, baby?” he murmurs, his forehead pressed to mine, sweat dampening his hairline. “You gonna come for me?”
“Yes,” I gasp, rocking against him, the edge rushing up fast. My legs tremble around his hips, my stomach tightening, heat curling through me so strong it’s almost unbearable.
And then—
The doorbell rings.
The sharp sound slices through the haze like a blade. My whole body seizes, teetering on the brink, denied. Eryx freezes, his jaw tight, his fingers still buried inside me. A growl rumbles from his chest, feral and furious. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Eryx—” My voice is wrecked, breathless, my body begging him not to stop even as reality comes crashing back in.
He doesn’t pull out right away, and his dark eyes hold mine, daring me to tell him to ignore it.
Then, with a groan that’s more a curse, he slides his fingers free.
He brings them to his mouth, licking them clean with slow, deliberate hunger.
“We’re not done,” he promises, voice low and dangerous.
I can barely stand when I slide off the counter, adjusting my clothes with shaking hands. He’s right behind me, his body radiating heat and frustration, as I pad barefoot toward the door. My heart is still pounding when I pull it open—
And Ro is standing there, her eyes red, her whole body trembling. She looks like she’s been running, or maybe like the world has been running her over for days. My stomach twists.
“Ro?” I reach for her arm. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head, lips wobbling, and then the words burst out of her in a sob. “Stas—I’m pregnant.”
The floor drops out beneath me. The world tilts. My hand tightens on her arm as she breaks down completely, tears streaking her face. And I know—whatever peace I thought we had, whatever calm we’ve carved out these past three months—everything is about to change again.
THE END