Larissa hadn't meant to linger on the balcony after Lukyan went inside. But something about the night—the way the frost clung to the railing, the haunting quiet of the woods—made it impossible to leave.
She pulled Lukyan's coat tighter around herself. It still smelled like him.
It made her ache.
The way he looked at her now… it wasn't just different. It was dangerous. Like he'd made up his mind to keep her—and was willing to unravel both of them in the process.
She couldn't afford to be vulnerable. Not now. Not when she'd worked so hard to separate emotion from duty.
The silence broke with the low growl of tires crunching snow.
Larissa's brows drew together.
She stepped forward and peered through the iron balcony rails as headlights swung into the driveway below. A sleek black SUV came to a stop just outside the main entrance. It was late—too late for unexpected guests.
Her stomach twisted.
She met Lukyan in the hallway just as he was pulling on a sweater.
"I saw a car," she said. "Did you invite someone?"
"No." His expression darkened. "Stay here."
She didn't.
By the time they reached the front door, it was already opening—and a gust of freezing air swept inside, along with a figure wrapped in a long cream coat and high-heeled boots.
A woman.
Tall, elegant, with a scarlet scarf coiled tightly around her neck.
"Lukyan," she said smoothly, her voice lined with silk and smoke. "You haven't changed at all."
Larissa's eyes narrowed.
Lukyan's jaw clenched. "What are you doing here, Elizaveta?"
The woman smiled—wolf-like. "I told you I'd come if I ever needed a favor."
Elizaveta Vronsky.
The name hit Larissa like a punch.
She knew the name. Anyone in Moscow's legal or financial elite did. Vronsky Pharmaceuticals was one of the most powerful companies in Eastern Europe—and Elizaveta was its heiress. Rumors of an old engagement between her and Lukyan had circled for years, but Larissa had never thought much of it. It had all seemed like a relic from the past.
But Elizaveta standing here, uninvited, her eyes cutting toward Larissa like she was measuring her for removal?
That was present.
Immediate. Dangerous.
"I need to speak with you," Elizaveta said to Lukyan. "Alone."
Lukyan didn't look away from her. "Whatever you need to say, you can say in front of my wife."
Elizaveta's smile sharpened. "Still pretending this arrangement is real?"
Something shifted in the air—tight, volatile.
Larissa stepped forward. "I don't know who you think you are, but you don't get to walk into our home and—"
"Larissa." Lukyan's voice was low, tense. "Don't."
"No," Larissa snapped. "She doesn't get to come in here like she owns the place. Not when she—"
"She saved my life," Lukyan said flatly.
Silence fell like a blade.
"What?" Larissa whispered.
Lukyan's eyes met hers, guilt slicing through the ice.
"It was seven years ago," he said. "After the clinic fire in Yakutsk. I was trapped in the wreckage for hours. Elizaveta… she was part of the team that pulled me out. She didn't just save me physically. She kept a secret I wasn't ready to share."
Elizaveta's voice was low, almost tender. "He begged me not to tell anyone. Not even you."
Larissa's world tilted.
"You were in a fire," she said slowly, "and you never told me?"
"I had burns. Scars. But the worst damage wasn't physical." Lukyan's voice was quiet. "The hospital covered it up. I disappeared for a few months, remember? You thought I was working abroad."
"I thought you were avoiding me," she whispered.
His silence confirmed everything.
Larissa turned away, trying to breathe past the sting in her chest. Lukyan had been hurt—badly. And instead of letting her in, he'd locked her out.
Trusted Elizaveta instead.
The woman who now stood in their foyer like she still had a claim.
"What do you want from him?" Larissa asked tightly.
Elizaveta's expression changed.
"A man I used to work with… Viktor Demyan. He's resurfaced. And he's asking questions about the fire—about what really happened. If he talks, it could damage more than Lukyan's reputation. It could put us both in danger."
Lukyan's voice went cold. "Then we deal with him."
"You mean I deal with him," Elizaveta said, eyeing Larissa again. "Because I know what he's capable of."
"I'm not letting you pull me into whatever mess this is," Larissa said.
"She already did," Elizaveta replied, her gaze never wavering. "The moment Lukyan married you, he gave you a seat at the table. Whether you wanted it or not."
----
Larissa didn't sleep.
Not even after Elizaveta finally left—after dropping her threat like a live grenade in the center of their marriage and sweeping out of the estate with her perfume still clinging to the walls.
She lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, Lukyan silent beside her.
It wasn't just what had been said—it was what hadn't.
The fact that he'd nearly died. That he'd hidden it. That someone from his past could still rattle him so easily.
By dawn, Larissa had made up her mind.
If he wouldn't give her answers, she'd find them herself.
She moved through the quiet corridors of the estate like a shadow. The children were still asleep, the household staff not yet stirring. Lukyan's private office was locked, but she knew the key code—he hadn't changed it since the year they got married.
Inside, it smelled like cedar and ink. The shelves were lined with thick binders, labeled in Russian and English. She didn't care about most of it—patient records, business acquisitions, research grants.
What she was looking for was hidden.
Tucked behind a row of antique law books, she found a fireproof case.
Inside: a single USB drive and a small black notebook.
She took them back to her own office, heart pounding. She plugged in the USB, ignoring the warning that the files were encrypted. It didn't matter—she had ways around that. She hadn't built her career on charm alone.
While the files loaded, she opened the notebook.
The first few pages were medical notes. She recognized Lukyan's handwriting instantly—sharp, controlled, methodical. The notes detailed surgeries, nerve damage, painkillers. Then… psychological evaluations.
Her fingers paused over a line.
"Patient exhibits signs of survivor's guilt. Refuses to discuss source of trauma. Fixates on control, order, and routine. Reluctant to form emotional attachments."
It wasn't about a patient.
It was about him.
The USB beeped. One file unlocked.
A video.
She clicked it open and watched in growing horror as grainy security footage filled the screen.
A hallway engulfed in smoke. People running. Screams in the distance. A man—young, bloodied—dragging someone else out of the flames. The camera shook, static tearing through the feed.
But she recognized him.
Even burned and limping, it was Lukyan.
He wasn't just a victim of the fire. He'd saved lives. Risked his own.
And he'd buried it.
A hand closed over her shoulder.
Larissa gasped, spinning around.
Lukyan stood behind her, hair tousled, jaw tight. He'd seen the screen. The notebook in her lap. Her expression.
"You broke into my office."
"You lied to me," she shot back, rising to her feet. "You almost died, Lukyan. And you never told me."
He didn't speak for a long moment.
Then: "Because I didn't want you to look at me the way you are right now."
Her eyes burned. "You think this is about pity?"
"No. I think it's about trust. And I already betrayed yours."
She shook her head, stepping closer. "What happened in that fire? What aren't you saying?"
He looked away, jaw working. "Elizaveta covered up something for me."
"What?"
He exhaled, voice flat. "I wasn't supposed to be there."
Larissa froze.
"I wasn't on duty," Lukyan said. "I was investigating illegal procedures being run through that wing of the hospital. Transplants. Experiments. I didn't have clearance. When the fire started, I had a chance to leave—and I almost did. But there were people still inside. Staff. Patients. I went back."
"You broke laws."
"I broke everything," he said bitterly. "And she helped erase it. Because if the truth got out, it wouldn't just ruin me—it would've ruined everyone involved."
"And now it's coming back."
He nodded. "Demyan was one of the surgeons. He disappeared after the fire. If he resurfaces, it won't just expose the past—it could end careers. Lives."
Larissa absorbed it all, heart hammering.
"This is why you built the contract," she said softly. "Why you needed order. Children. Legacy. Control."
"Yes."
"And what about me?" she whispered. "Was I just part of the plan to rebuild your life?"
Lukyan stepped closer, his voice barely audible.
"You were the only part I didn't plan for."
Larissa didn't know what to say.
For years, she'd thought she understood him—his coldness, his distance, his rules. But now, all of it made a different kind of sense. The fortress around his heart hadn't been pride. It had been pain.
And fear.
He reached out, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek.
"I've lost too much," he said. "And if you leave in two years, I don't know if I'll survive that too."
The honesty shattered something inside her.
But before she could answer, her phone buzzed sharply.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
One text.
"Tell Lukyan to meet me. Before midnight. Or the truth goes public."
Larissa showed him the screen.
Lukyan's face went dead cold.
"It's Demyan," he said.
And this time, he didn't try to keep her out of it.