Larissa sat on the edge of the bathtub, her hands trembling slightly as she removed her earrings. The silence in the ensuite bathroom wrapped around her like a suffocating cloak, and yet her mind was anything but quiet.
I haven't even started yet.
Lukyan's words echoed louder than they should have. Not because of how he said them, but because of what they meant.
He was going to fight her.
Not with screaming or threats—but with slow, deliberate moves that cracked the foundation she had so carefully built.
And the worst part?
Part of her wanted to let it all fall.
She pressed her palms to her face and inhaled deeply.
She needed space. Distance. A reminder of who she was before this man started unraveling her.
The next morning, she left early for work. Earlier than usual.
She didn't say goodbye.
And she definitely didn't expect to find Lukyan waiting in the lobby of her firm at noon, dressed in a crisp charcoal suit, calm and composed like he belonged there.
Heads turned. Her colleagues stared.
"Mr. Volkov," her assistant stammered, "do you have an appointment—?"
"I'm here for my wife," he said smoothly, eyes locked on Larissa.
Larissa's stomach dropped.
He walked toward her, handing her a paper bag. "You left without breakfast. You do that when you're anxious."
She blinked.
What was this? Concern? A performance?
Or worse—genuine care?
"I'm fine," she said coolly, but her voice sounded thinner than she liked.
"Eat," he said simply, then added in a lower tone, "You don't take care of yourself when you're thinking of running."
She flushed, sharp and sudden.
Her co-workers were practically holding their breath.
"I'm working, Lukyan," she whispered harshly.
He leaned in. Too close. "Then I'll wait."
Wait?
He stepped back, taking a seat in the lounge area like this was just another surgery to sit through.
Larissa turned sharply and stormed into her office, slamming the door behind her.
She hated that her hands were shaking.
Two hours later, he was still there.
Still waiting.
When she finally emerged, Lukyan rose from his seat like a shadow coming to life. He didn't speak—just walked beside her to the elevator like it was natural. Like they weren't strangers in their own marriage.
The ride down was tense.
"I don't need you following me," she muttered.
"I'm not following," he replied. "I'm claiming what's mine."
Her head snapped toward him. "You don't own me, Lukyan."
"Don't I?" he said softly.
And God help her, there was no arrogance in his voice. Just quiet certainty.
Like he had already made the decision for both of them.
They stepped out of the building—and there he was.
Dmitri.
Her colleague.
Her ex.
Tall, charming, and smiling in that flirtatious way he always did.
"Larissa," Dmitri said warmly. "Didn't expect to see you leaving with…" He trailed off, eyes flicking to Lukyan. "The husband."
Lukyan didn't even look at Dmitri. His hand slid to the small of her back, possessive and protective in the same breath.
"Something you need?" Lukyan asked, his tone like steel wrapped in silk.
Dmitri laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just checking in on an old friend."
Lukyan's jaw tightened.
Larissa spoke quickly. "Thanks, Dmitri. I'll call you later."
Lukyan's eyes narrowed as they walked away.
Once they were alone in the car, the silence turned dangerous.
"You're still talking to him?" he asked, voice deceptively calm.
"Why wouldn't I?" she said, arms crossed. "He's harmless."
"You're not stupid, Larissa. He doesn't look at you like a friend."
She turned to face him. "What's it to you?"
Lukyan looked at her then, really looked at her—and there was something fierce in his expression. Something territorial.
"Because I know exactly how it feels to want you and not have you," he said quietly.
Her breath hitched.
She didn't respond.
Because for the first time in years, she saw it.
The man she married. The man she agreed never to love. The man who just might destroy everything she'd built—by making her want something she swore she never would.
Him.