Page 186 of Betrayal and Vows

Anton is quiet for a long time, staring out at the moonlit gardens. "When I was a child," he finally says, "before everything went wrong, my mother used to read me stories about knights and dragons. Good versus evil, with clear lines and happy endings."

"I remember you telling me that."

"I used to dream about being one of those knights. Protecting people, fighting for something good and pure." His laugh is bitter. "Instead, I became the dragon."

"You're not a dragon, Anton. You are and will always be my knight. I will support you in whatever you do. If you choose the Bratva, I’ll stand beside you. I know you’ll make the changes we talked about. If you choose to walk away, I’ll stand beside you.”

He looks into my eyes for several long seconds.

I see the decision he’s made.

He takes my hand and leads me inside.

We climb the stairs to the master bedroom we will be sleeping in for the first time tonight. We removed every last bit of furniture left behind by my parents. We even replaced the rugs and window coverings. There was nothing left of that unholy union.

The bedroom is bathed in soft candlelight, rose petals scattered across the fresh white linens. Anton closes the door behind us.

Suddenly the magnitude of this moment hits me.

We're married.

We're having a baby.

We survived everything that tried to tear us apart.

"Mrs. Malikov," he says softly, approaching me with that predatory grace that still makes my pulse quicken.

"I like the sound of that," I whisper as his hands frame my face.

His kiss is gentle at first, reverent, like he's afraid I might disappear if he holds too tight. But I need more than gentle tonight. I need to feel alive, to celebrate that we made it through the darkness into this light.

"I need you," I breathe against his lips. "All of you."

Something shifts in his eyes—hunger replacing tenderness. His hands move to the buttons of my dress, working them freeone by one. The silk pools at my feet, leaving me in nothing but white lace and moonlight.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, his gaze traveling over my body with pure love in his eyes. When his eyes linger on the small swell of my belly, something fierce and possessive crosses his features. "My wife. My baby."

The words send heat pooling low in my stomach. I reach for his shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine. My fingers trace the still-pink scars across his chest—reminders of how close I came to losing him.

"Don't think about that tonight," he says, reading my expression. "Tonight is about us. About this."

He lifts me onto the bed with careful strength, his mouth finding the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. I arch beneath him, my hands tangling in his dark hair.

"Anton," I gasp as his lips trail lower, worshipping every inch of exposed skin.

"Tell me if I hurt you," he whispers against my collarbone. "The baby?—"

"Won't hurt the baby," I assure him, pulling his face back to mine. "I need my husband. Please."

The last of his restraint snaps. His mouth claims mine with desperate hunger while his hands map my changed body with wonder. Every touch is electric, sending sparks through my oversensitive skin.

When he finally joins us together, it's with exquisite slowness, his eyes never leaving mine. The connection is overwhelming—not just physical, but something deeper. Soul-deep. Complete.

"I love you," he breathes against my ear as we move together in perfect rhythm. "Forever. Always."

"Forever," I echo, lost in the sensation of being so completely claimed, so utterly his.

We take our time, savoring every kiss, every caress, every whispered endearment. This isn't just passion—it's a promise.