Chapter Six: Lines We Shouldn't Cross
Larissa hadn't meant to fall asleep in Lukyan's arms.
But somewhere between the whispered conversations and the soft sound of Alina's breathing, the past melted away. Just for a little while.
When she woke, sunlight was spilling through the curtains, and Lukyan was still beside her—fully clothed, eyes closed, his arm draped protectively around her waist.
It felt wrong.
And it felt right.
She slipped out of bed quietly, but the moment her foot hit the floor, his eyes opened.
"I thought you'd left," he said hoarsely.
She hesitated. "I was going to."
He sat up slowly, rubbing his hand over his face. "You never stay."
"You never ask me to."
Silence.
Lukyan looked at her like she was made of glass and fire—something fragile, something dangerous.
"I'm asking now," he said.
Larissa left anyway.
Not because she wanted to.
But because staying meant surrender. And surrender meant rewriting everything she'd fought for these past eight years.
By the time she reached her office, her phone was buzzing with work emails and legal briefs. She needed the structure. The clarity. Something to remind her that she was still in control of her life.
Except... even there, Lukyan found her.
He sent lunch to her desk.
It was exactly what she liked—rosemary chicken, roasted vegetables, chamomile tea. Not a word attached. No note. Just thoughtfulness disguised as routine.
He was getting under her skin.
And she hated how much she let him.
That evening, she returned home to find Lukyan in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, chopping vegetables like it was something he did every day.
"You cook now?" she asked, startled.
He glanced up. "Only when I'm trying to impress someone."
She folded her arms. "Don't start acting like a husband now, Lukyan. You had eight years."
He put down the knife. "You never gave me a reason to try."
That stung more than she expected.
"I gave you everything," she said quietly. "I gave you children. A home. I gave you me."
"And I didn't know how to receive it," he admitted. "Until I almost lost it."
Her breath hitched. "You still might."
He walked toward her slowly. "But now I'm willing to fight."
After dinner, she went to check on the children. Nikolai had fallen asleep with his toy car in one hand. Roman's book was half-open across his chest. Alina mumbled something in her sleep and reached out with tiny fingers—Larissa held them until the baby settled.
She stayed longer than usual.
Because it was the one place she felt safe from herself.
From the feelings she didn't want to face.
She found Lukyan standing outside on the balcony, staring into the snow-covered woods behind their estate. The moonlight bathed him in silver, making him look like something carved from winter itself.
He didn't turn when she joined him.
"You were quiet tonight," he said.
"I'm always quiet."
"No," he murmured. "You've been distant. And I don't blame you."
She glanced at him. "Then why keep trying?"
He looked at her then. Not just looked—saw her.
"Because you were the only thing in this marriage that ever made sense. And I didn't realize it until I had everything else and still felt empty."
Her chest ached.
"Then why did you stay so cold?"
"Because that's the only way I knew how to survive."
A gust of wind passed between them. Snowflakes kissed her cheeks.
"Larissa," he said, stepping closer, "if I told you I want more… not just for the kids. For us… would you believe me?"
She swallowed. "I don't know."
"I'll prove it."
She shook her head. "Don't make promises. We're too close to the end."
He took her hand. Held it like it mattered.
"Maybe the end is where we begin."