Page 25 of BRATVA'S Poisoner Bride
“You protected the monster instead,” she replies. “And I won’t spend my life paying for your cowardice.”
The final word slices clean.
There is no coming back from this.
I reach for her suitcase. “We’re done here,” I say quietly.
Lukan doesn’t move to stop us. Not when I guide her out of the house and toward the car. Not when she slips into the passenger seat without looking back. Not when I close the door between her and the life she’s finally finished surviving.
He just stands there, swallowed by the wreckage of the choices he made.
Elizabeth reaches for my hand as I slide behind the wheel. Her fingers thread through mine in a silent vow.
She’s no longer owned by grief and vengeance. She’s choosing something darker. Something stronger.
Us.
Epilogue
Elizabeth
A month can turn a life into something unrecognizable.
Diomid’d mansion has become a place that feels like home. The staff know my name. The security respects my space. The housekeeper insists I eat breakfast even when my stomach knots with nerves.
And Diomid…he looks at me like I’m the foundation of everything he’s building.
I’m more settled than I ever expected to be after so much chaos. But sometimes, when I walk the halls alone, I feel a ghost of who I was trailing behind me. The careful, quiet Elizabeth who survived by staying small.
She’s fading.
I’m not sure whether that’s liberation or something far more terrifying.
The kitchen has become my sanctuary again. The chef gives me space, watches with a pleased little smile when I bake. Like it’s some miracle that a woman in a Bratva mansion would choose flour and sugar over jewels and gossip.
Today, I’m stirring melted butter into sugar when I hear the door open behind me.
I turn, expecting one of the staff.
It’s my father.
He looks smaller than I remember. Shoulders rounded. Dark circles beneath his eyes like he’s been haunted from the inside out. When he sees me, his mouth trembles and he quickly glances away, unable to face the full weight of what he lost the day I left.
“Elizabeth,” he rasps.
His voice has always been his armor. Commanding, certain, a wall built of orders and tradition. Now it sounds… brittle.
“Father.” I keep stirring.
He takes a hesitant step closer. “I—I came on business. Diomid and I—there are papers to sign. Arrangements to be made.” He swallows hard. His eyes land on the countertop then flicker back to me, finding the soft contentment I haven’t been able to hide since I moved here.
He looks like he might be sick.
“I tried,” he says suddenly. “To do what I thought was right. I never meant for you to be harmed.”
I set the spoon down.
“You didn’t believe her when she told you he made her uncomfortable,” I say. “You didn’t listen.”
