Chapter 17
703 Words
Alexander POV
The cabin does something to me.
I didn’t expect that.
I thought the quiet would drive me mad—that without the noise of the city, the constant pull of responsibility, my mind would turn against itself. Instead, the silence settles into my bones like it belongs there.
Like it’s been waiting.
Angelica sleeps beside me, her back pressed to my chest, her breathing slow and even. Outside, the wind moves through the trees, heavy with snow. Inside, the fire crackles low, casting shadows across the walls.
This—this is peace.
And it terrifies me.
Because peace is something I’ve never trusted. Peace ends. Peace breaks. Peace leaves you exposed.
I tighten my arm around her slightly, not to restrain her—never that—but to reassure myself she’s real. Still here. Still choosing me.
She shifts but doesn’t wake. Just sighs softly and settles closer, like her body knows mine instinctively now.
That thought does something dangerous to my chest.
I’ve ruled men who feared me. I’ve crushed enemies who begged. I’ve built an empire on control and consequence.
None of that prepared me for the weight of loving someone who could destroy me without ever meaning to.
In the mornings, she dances.
Not for me—never for me—but because she needs to. I watch from the doorway, coffee cooling in my hand, as she moves through the space like the world can’t touch her. Snowlight pours in through the windows, catching in her hair, her skin.
She looks free.
And I realize something that would have been unthinkable to me a year ago.
I don’t want to own her freedom.
I want to protect it.
That’s the difference between what I was… and what I’m becoming.
Later, as we walk outside wrapped in coats, snow crunching beneath our boots, she slips her hand into mine without looking. No hesitation. No fear.
Just trust.
“Ivan texted,” I tell her. “Everything’s quiet.”
She hums softly. “Good.”
“You don’t miss the city?” I ask.
She smiles up at me. “I miss parts of it. But not like this.”
I squeeze her hand gently. “We can come back. Whenever you want.”
She studies my face carefully, like she’s searching for something. “You really mean that.”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
She nods once, satisfied.
That night, as we sit in front of the fire, her head resting against my chest, she asks the question I’ve been avoiding.
“Are you afraid of going back?” she murmurs.
I don’t pretend otherwise. “Yes.”
“Of losing control?”
I shake my head slowly. “Of becoming the man I was when I thought control was all I had.”
She turns slightly, looking at me. “You’re not him anymore.”
I cup her cheek, thumb brushing her skin. “That’s because of you.”
She leans into my touch, eyes soft. “Then promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“When we go back,” she says quietly, “don’t forget this version of you.”
I press my forehead to hers. “I won’t.”
And for the first time, I know that promise isn’t a lie.
Because obsession without fear becomes something else.
Devotion.
Choice.
I don’t know what waits for us back in Moscow. I don’t know what threats will rise, what ghosts will try to claw their way back into our lives.
But I know this:
I will not cage her again.
I will not test her loyalty like a weapon.
And I will never let another man convince her she is replaceable.
Because Angelica didn’t heal me by staying.
She healed me by leaving—and coming back on her own terms.
And that makes her the one thing I will never gamble with again.
When the fire burns low and the snow keeps falling, I pull her closer and close my eyes.
For once, I don’t feel like a king.
I feel like a man who finally understands what he’s willing to fight for.
And what he’s willing to change to keep it.
- Writer
