Alex wasn't in the room when I stepped out of the shower, but the scent of pancakes and coffee lingered in the air, warm and unmistakable. I dried my hair quickly, pulled on a casual white T-shirt and jeans, added a little touch of makeup out of habit more than necessity before nervously followed the smell into the kitchen.
He was standing by the counter, still dressed in his workout clothes, pouring himself a cup of black coffee from the kettle.
"Made you some breakfast," he said, his voice low, his Russian accent heavier than it had been.
It caught me off guard. The last time he had sounded like that was before he proposed. When he was truly nervous, and everything still felt possible.
"Thank you," I answered, my stomach tightening and then betraying me with a quiet growl at the sight of my favorite breakfast laid out on the counter.
I had left him there, lying on the bed nearly an hour ago. His sheets still tangled around his waist when I climbed off of him awkwardly, murmuring something about getting ready for the day. As if I had anywhere else to go.
"You went for a run?" I asked in an attempt at a normal conversation as I picked up the fork and knife he had laid out for me.
The sight of the pancakes dragged me back to his estate. To that long, polished table, when hunger was gnawing at my intestines. My wrists had been restrained and I was too hungry to care, so I defiantly leaned forward to eat it off the plate. The syrup, warm and sticky, sliding along my lips and jaw.
I remembered the way those green eyes darkened at the sight, sharp and possessive. As if every swallow belonged to him. It certainly hadn't been mercy that had kept him seated across from me. No, it had been control.
I swallowed hard and buried the memory before it could unravel me.
"Yes," he said, clearing his throat before lifting his coffee to his mouth. "I had to." A beat. "After the...distraction you left me with."
I brought my own cup to my lips, grateful for the heat as it masked the warmth creeping up my cheeks, and pretended my pulse hadn't just betrayed me again.
"But I meant what I said this morning, Isla," Alex said quietly. His voice carrying just enough weight to make me look up. "I'll give you everything you want. Even the empire your grandfather promised you."
He paused, eyes locking onto mine.
"But you would belong to me. Forever."
The word settled heavy in my chest.
I bit down on my bottom lip, tasting blood. "It's not as simple as you think, Alex."
His gaze sharpened with intent. "Then explain it to me."
I slid off the stool, needing some distance, space, air. "If I agree to this, it won't just be my decision. Not everyone will accept it. Not after what you've done to them. You've dismantled men in my family who held power of decades. Men who remember every slight." I turned my back to him, my hands curling at my sides. "I can't risk shattering years of fragile peace for something this...personal. This selfish."
Silence stretched behind me.
I couldn't bring myself to look at him. Not when I could feel his attention like a hand at my throat. Not when he looked at me the way he did, soft and gentle. Too gentle. It reminded me too much of the man I thought I married.
"What if I tell you that you needn't worry about that?" Alex asked quietly.
I froze.
"I've had a plan for every possible outcome since the day I realized who you were," he continued, stepping closer. I could feel him behind me now, not touching, but close enough that his warmth bled through the thin cotton of my shirt. "All the necessary alliances. The grudges. The men who could never forgive me for what I had taken."
My fingers curled at my sides. "You can't just fix decades of blood and loyalty," I said, my voice tighter than I intended. "You don't just—"
"I do," he cut in softly. Not arrogant, but certain. "Because I would never stop protecting you. Preparing for you."
I turned then, sharp and sudden. "Preparing for what?"
His jaw flexed. There it was, that familiar fracture between restraint and obsession. "For the moment you'd stand in front of me again and deny me what's already mine," he said quietly. "For the moment you'd choose duty over me. Over your husband."
The word landed like a blade. Husband.
Except it wasn't real. Not anymore. It wasn't even legal.
He closed the distance between us in one swift movement, his hand gripping my waist, pulling me flush against him. My palms pressed to his chest on instinct, feeling the steady, unyielding beat beneath my fingers. Too calm for a man standing on the edge of obsession.
"All we have to do is make it real, Princess," he murmured, forehead brushing mine. "Sign the papers. Or have another wedding. Grander, this time. I don't give a shit. I'll give you whatever shape of forever you need."
"It wasn't even real," I said, the protest barely holding together.
But even as the words left my mouth, I felt how fiercely he wanted me to deny them. How close he was to bend reality itself just to make them untrue.
"To say it wasn't real," he murmured against my ear, his voice low, reverent, almost broken, "is to pretend that what we had never existed." His hand settled over my abdomen, possessive and devastating. "That our love wasn't real. That the child we almost had, never existed."
The words struck deeper than any blow.
The test in my trembling hands. Him on his knees, lips pressed to my stomach as if he was praying. Then the cold tiles. The gun. The pain. Blood. The darkness that followed.
My breath hitched.
He lifted my chin, forcing me back into the present, back to him. His eyes searched my face like a man clinging to wreckage. "I can give you that life again," he said softly. "And this time, no one will take it from us."
My lips pressed into a thin line, every instinct screaming for me to retreat. To fight.
But he didn't even give me the chance.
His mouth came down on mine, unyielding and desperate, like he was sealing a vow into my skin. I can't do anything but yield to him, slowly, deliberately, not because I believed him, but because some part of me still remembered how to breathe only when he was this close.
His arm tightened around my waist, anchoring me there, and for one terrible moment, I hated how much it felt like coming home.
God help me, he made it so hard to leave.
I should have said no. I should have pushed him away, named every reason this would destroy us both. But all I could feel was the weight of him, of us, pressing into me. The future he dangled glowing too close, too tempting, until every defense I've built began to crack.
"Yes," I whispered.
The word felt like a surrender and a vow all at once.
He froze. Just for a heartbeat. As if he was afraid to move, afraid the sound might disappear if he breathed too hard.
Then his mouth curved, slow and disbelieving. His forehead dropping to mine, a broken laugh leaving his chest. He kissed me again, deeper this time, triumphant. Like he had finally dragged me back from the edge of some terrible cliff.
"I knew you'd come back to me," he murmured against my lips, like a prayer he had been repeating for years. "I always knew you would."
His hand slid to the back of my neck, steady and possessive. Grounding.
"Now that you're mine again," he said softly, dangerously, "we'll do it properly this time."
I felt his grin against my mouth before I saw it.
"We'll make it official," he whispered. "As soon as possible, Princess."
The kiss that followed was harder, more certain. Like he was sealing something I wasn't sure could ever be undone. His arm tightened around my waist, anchoring me there.
God help me, I had just said yes to a man who would never let me go.