Page 107 of Imperfect Desires

Viktor walks past me first. His boots thud slowly and heavily against the hardwood, but he doesn’t look back. He doesn’t need to. Zasha follows, maintaining his usual silent rhythm beside him. I linger for one last breath, then turn and walk after them.

Silence fills the air. Only the sound of three sets of footsteps echoes down the hallway, leaving behind a bloodstained corpse and a history we no longer owe anything to. We step out into the cold New York night. The street is quiet, and the air is crisp. Sirens howl faintly in the distance, but none are for us. For the first time since Alina was taken—since I left her broken and alone—my chest feels lighter.

Not because I fixed everything, but because I finally did something right. The past is dead now; Mendes is dead. The next time I look Alina in the eye, I won’t just be the man who came back for her; I’ll be the man who ended the nightmare.

The sun is just beginning to rise over the edge of Viktor’s estate, spilling warm light through the tall windows and casting a soft golden hue across the marble floors. I walk down the hall toward her room, each step measured, as the storm inside me finally stills.

I feel… clean.

Not because there’s no blood on my hands—there was. But because I can finally look her in the eyes and promise her my forever. I’ve trimmed my beard and ran a razor along my jaw, as if I could shave off the weight of the past with every stroke.I’m wearing dark joggers and a plain black tee, no weapons, no armor. I didn’t come to her today as an enforcer.

I came as her man.

When I push open her bedroom door, it’s quiet inside. She’s just finishing tying the drawstring on a loose pair of joggers, her damp hair brushed back over her shoulders. A faint line of moisture clings to her throat, the lingering aftereffect of the quick shower she takes every morning—she says it’s the only thing that makes her feel like her body still belongs to her.

And God… seeing her like this?

Her face is fresh, her skin glowing, and her belly is still flat, but the sight of her like this knocks the wind out of me.

Our eyes lock, and my heart flips in my chest like I’m seventeen and stupid again.

“I thought you’d be resting,” she says gently, like she wasn’t expecting to see me yet.

I step inside. “I couldn’t.”

She studies me for a beat. Her eyes trail over the clean line of my jaw, my casual attire, and the softness in my expression. She instinctively knows it’s over. She doesn’t ask how it went. Doesn’t need to.

“I’m glad it’s over.”

I nod. “It’s over.”

Her throat works around the emotion I know is climbing there, but she holds herself still. “How do you feel?”

A flicker flashes behind my eyes—cold cement under my knees, blood filling my mouth, the steel barrel of Mendes’s gun pressed against my temple.

Twenty thousand dollars. That’s all I was worth to him back then.

But now…

I look at her. At us.

“Like I finally buried the boy Mendes tried to kill.”

Her face softens as she opens her arms to me. And I go to her like I was made to.

She sits on the edge of the bed, and I lower myself beside her, one hand instinctively wrapping around her waist. The other cradles her face.

There are no shadows between us anymore. No secrets. No ghosts. Just her. And me. And the weightless silence of peace.

She reaches for me, her eyes soft but shining with a fierce intensity. She guides my other hand to her belly, as if to say this is our beginning. I sit beside her, cradling her in my arms. The silence thickens—but it’s not heavy; it’s sacred.

And then we kiss. It’s profound, committed- a vow sealed within our souls. Not a fleeting thing, but something profound, as if we’ve both stopped running.

I’ve finally found my way home, and it is not a building but a person. I will never let the world touch her like that again. Not while I breathe. Not while I’m hers.

36

Alina

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