Page 134 of Fierce Pursuit

I exhaled slowly. “Veronika did not act as my wife.” My voice was steady, final. “She stepped out of our marriage. She was careless. Discreet or not, she was never mine. Not the way you are mine.”

Marina’s shoulders shook with silent sobs, but I held her firm, my grip possessive, inescapable.

“She still had your name,” she said. “Why will it protect me when it didn’t protect her?”

“It will.” My voice hardened. “That is all you need to know.”

She didn’t argue. Not this time.

Because it wasn’t a discussion.

I pressed my lips to the crown of her head, inhaling the scent of her, committing it to memory. I ran my handdown her back, over the curve of her waist, savoring the feel of her skin beneath my palm.

She would understand soon.

Tomorrow, everything would be final.

“The wives of my cousins will come to prepare you for the wedding,” I told her. “You’ll like them.”

I traced slow circles on her skin, my fingers skimming the delicate dip of her spine, grounding myself in the sensation of her body wrapped in mine.

“Everything else is being handled. You don’t have to do anything.” My voice dropped lower, soft but firm, the final stroke of control. “Tomorrow, you will become Marina Ivanova. Once we take care of a few loose ends here, we will return to Moscow. And I will make sure the world knows exactly who you are. My wife. And that no one, no one, will ever touch what belongs to me.”

She said nothing.

I assumed she had finally given up fighting the inevitable.

Maybe she had realized what I had known from the start. I was going to take care of her. I was going to provide for her, protect her, strip away every burden. Soon, all of this would feel like nothing more than a distant dream.

"When we get to Russia, we’ll set up your new bank accounts with your allowance, and we will build a life together," I murmured, my voice laced with the promise of certainty. "You’ll love the house. You can decorate it however you want, make it your home."

She didn’t respond.

Her silence wrapped around me like a blanket, heavy but not unwelcome.

My eyelids grew heavy. It had been too long since I’d had a restful sleep, and now, with Marina in my arms, Oleg dead, and Solovyov being dealt with, I could finally rest.

There were still loose ends to tie up.

The danger wasn’t entirely over.

If Artem had his way, the family could be headed into a civil war.

But that was a problem for tomorrow.

For now, the Ivanov clan was whole. United.

This compound and everyone inside it was safe. Marina had been thoroughly fucked, punished, and then fucked again.

She would be my wife in less than twenty-four hours.

For the first time since my disastrous marriage to Veronika, there was no hollow pit in my gut. No creeping disappointment clawing up my throat. No burning shame of being a cuckolded joke.

All of it had been eradicated.

In its place was something warmer, heavier, something foreign. It took me several moments to name the feeling. Contentment. A rare luxury for men like me.

Was this what Gregor and the others felt when they held their wives? Was this why his focus had shifted, why his edge had softened, no, been refined?

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