Page 40 of The Debt

“Jarek, my boy!” Gregor's voice boomed as he embraced him. Jarek grinned within himself at the affection that was unmistakable in his eyes. Revenge tasted sweet on his tongue. “Perfect timing. I just opened a thirty-year-old Macallan.”

Elizabeth cupped his face and kissed his cheeks. “As always, welcome to our home, darling.”

Tatiana turned to face him with her usual grace and confidence. She smiled beautifully but the faint flush coloring her cheeks drew his attention to a vulnerability in her expression that made his breath catch. Stepping forward, he gently cupped her chin.

“Whatever this is, love... just breathe.”

She caught his hand in both of hers and pressed it against her heart. “I’ve been trying to find the perfect words, the perfect moment,” her voice wavered. “But I realized there’s no such thing as perfect—except how perfectly you fit into my life.”

Tears gathered in her eyes as she continued. Her voice grew stronger.

“You see all of me, Jarek. Not just the strong, independent woman everyone expects but also the girl who sometimes needs to be held, who wants to be cherished. You don’t try to change me, nor expect me to be anything but who I am.”

Elizabeth’s quiet sniffle broke through the silence, but Tatiana kept her eyes locked on Jarek’s.

“I love you in ways I never thought possible. You’re my first thought in the morning and my last at night. You’re my safety and my adventure, my passion and my peace. You said to tell you when I’m ready. Well, this is me telling you just that.”

Still holding his hand, she sank gracefully to one knee.

“I know this isn’t traditional, but then, neither are we. Jarek Farrel, will you please do me the honor of being my husband and marry me?”

Two worlds collided in Jarek’s mind. The dark satisfaction of his perfectly executed plan surged through him as he caught Gregor’s approving nod.

Fuck, yes! This is exactly what I wanted. To be asked to become part of their inner circle… That it happened in full view of him… well, that’s the perfect maraschino cherry on the cake.

At the same time, his silent victory song was overshadowed by something raw and real—an emotion that threatened to crack the carefully constructed walls around his heart. He ignored it with dexterous indifference. The time he had allowed his life to be ruled by sentiment was long gone.

“Come here, love.” He pulled her to her feet and framed her face with his hands. “Yes,” he whispered. For some reason, his voice sounded rough. “You’ve given me something I never thought I’d have, never thought I deserved—a home in your heart.”

Tatiana’s cry of joy was muffled as she threw herself into his arms. The kiss she gave him was deep, passionate, and filled with promises and possibilities. He tasted the salt of her tears and reveled at the trembling of her body against his. The darkness within him rejoiced at how perfectly she and her grandparents had fallen into his trap, but another part—a part he had thought long dead—ached with the pure honesty within her words.

Elizabeth wept openly now while Gregor swiped at his eyes. But Jarek was lost in Tatiana’s embrace. For a moment, he forgot his ultimate goal as the feel of her in his arms and the thundering of his heart overpowered every thought.

Later, as he drove back to the airport, he contemplated the invisible dice of fate he had thrown. Double sixes would mean complete victory—Polov’s total destruction of his empire and pride—through his beloved granddaughter. But odd numbers—odd numbers might mean his carefully laid plans could unravel in the face of something he hadn't counted on—genuine feelings.

“Fucking hell.” The curse reverberated through the car. For the first time in twenty years, the path ahead wasn’t clear. Tatiana’s words had struck a chord deep within him, one that warned him that perhaps revenge wasn’t the only way to heal old wounds.

“Except it’s not wounds that need healing. I am long past becoming whole again. The only thing that matters now is that fucking bastard suffering.”

Tatiana

Tatiana and Jarek’s wedding day, one month later… The luxurious estate of Gregor Polov, Berkeley Lake…

The luxurious Polov estate buzzed with activity under the morning sun. Workers moved with practiced efficiency across the sweeping garden. Their movements created a choreographed dance of preparation for the wedding of the year. The emerald lawn stretched toward the lake, its surface now interrupted by rows of white chairs that gleamed like pearls against the green canvas.

Nature had conspired with Elizabeth’s vision to create the perfect wedding setting for her granddaughter. Soft clouds drifted across the azure sky to cast fleeting shadows over the garden. The gazebo stood proud at the lawn’s focal point. Its classical columns were adorned with flowing white chiffon that rippled in the gentle breeze. Four floral archways graced with white roses, lilies, and delicate blooms weaved an enchanted tunnel of love to their forever after.

Tatiana watched from her bedroom window. Her heart fluttered with each new addition to the fairytale setting below.

“Happiness,” she murmured without realizing she was saying the words out loud, “is like capturing starlight in your hands. Brilliant but elusive, isn’t it?” For years, she had built walls around her heart, convinced love wasn't meant for her. Then Jarek had walked into her life, and those walls had crumbled like autumn leaves.

“Do you think he truly loves me,Babushka?” The question escaped her lips before she could stop it. Her fingers pressed against the cool windowpane as if she was seeking an anchor.

Elizabeth moved behind her and wrapped her in a warm embrace. “My darling girl, that man worships the ground you walk on.”

“But he’s never said the words.” Tatiana’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Not once since I proposed.”

“Come here.” Elizabeth turned her granddaughter around. “Some men guard those words like precious jewels, saving them for moments when they mean the most. But love?” She touched Tatiana’s chest, right above her heart. “Love speaks in a thousand languages beyond words. It’s in the way his eyes follow you across a room, how his hand always finds yours, how he listens when you speak as if your words are poetry.”

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