Page 105 of Under His Control
“I won’t ever hold anything like that over you again. That’s not love. That’s control.”
My throat goes tight.
“You were never the man in that clause,” I whisper.
He turns to me, brows drawn.
“I mean it,” I say, shifting so I’m facing him fully. “That clause? That was your father’s doing, not your dream. The man in that paper would’ve let me walk away the moment I said I couldn’t give him an heir. But you? You held me when I was shaking. You stayed when things got messy. You weren’t going to leave me when you still thought I was infertile.”
His eyes are glossy. And if I weren’t already in love with him, that would’ve done it.
“I was scared,” I admit, “that if you knew I was pregnant, you’d only see me as useful. Not lovable.”
He flinches.
“And I was scared,” he says, voice low, “that if you ever saw how cold and ruthless this life had made me, you’d leave. That once the contract ended, you’d run.”
I smile a little. “Joke’s on both of us, huh?”
He lets out a soft laugh and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper.
“I wrote this last night,” he says. “I didn’t want lawyers or loopholes this time. Just this.”
He opens it and starts to read:
I, Anatoly Ovechkin, take Taylor Jenson, not because of duty, debt, or legacy, but because she is my choice. My fire. My softness. My shelter from the storm. I vow to be hers freely, without conditions. And I ask her to be mine in the same way.
Then, he gets on one knee.
No diamond.
No grand gesture.
Just him.
“This time, I’m asking you to marry me for real,” he says, his voice cracking. “No deals. No deadlines. Just love.”
I cross my arms and tilt my head like I’m thinking really hard. “Hmm... tempting.”
His lips twitch. “Don’t push it.”
I grin and lean forward. “Fine. But I’m naming the baby if it’s a girl.”
He groans. “Not Peach.”
“Peach is adorable.”
“She’ll get bullied.”
“She’ll be feared,” I say, smug. “You ever met a Peach who didn’t run a cult or a billion-dollar brand?”
He grins. “Okay, point taken. Peach it is.”
Later that night, I’m tucked into our bed, Anatoly’s arm draped over me, his hand spread across my belly like he’s guarding a treasure.
The city outside is still trying too hard, but I don’t mind it tonight.
I press my palm over his and say, “We’re really doing this, huh?”
