Page 57 of Pregnant with Bratva Twins
I believe him so deeply that something inside me crumbles and blooms all at once. For years, I taught myself not to hope for this, not to want it, not to need it—especially from him. I wrapped myself in anger, in resentment, in cold, careful survival.
Hearing him say it, seeing the way his eyes soften, I feel my hope crack through the surface, fragile and trembling but alive.
He stands and comes toward me, not fast, but with the certainty of a man who knows he’s come home. He doesn’t touch me until I tip my chin up, asking for it. When our lips meet, everything about us is different from before.
There’s no anger, no punishment, no roughness for the sake of control. It’s slow, gentle, reverent.
He kisses me as if I’m something precious. His hands cup my face, thumbs brushing tears I didn’t know were falling. I let my own hands roam over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt, the strength and steadiness of him beneath my palms.
He lifts me easily, settling me onto the dresser by the window. My knees part for him, and he stands between them, hands on my thighs, lips never leaving mine. We move together in slow, unhurried rhythm, our breaths mingling, our mouths speaking every word we can’t quite say. My heart aches with the memory of every night I wished for this, every time I believed it was gone for good.
He undresses me with careful fingers, peeling back the layers of my clothing as if he’s unwrapping something sacred. I do the same for him, letting my hands linger on his scars, his strong arms, the planes of his chest. I want to remember this, to have it as proof against all the old doubts.
When we’re both bare, he presses his forehead to mine, his breath shaky. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers. “Not ever again.”
“Then don’t,” I whisper back, voice barely there. “Just love me.”
He carries me to the bed, and we sink down together. The world outside is gone. There’s only the hush of rain and the sound of our breathing. He takes his time, worshipping every inch of me, hands and mouth learning my body all over again.
I arch against him, gasping his name, letting him see me—every bruise, every scar, every secret fear. He touches me like I’m precious, like he wants to make up for every moment he wasn’t there.
When he finally enters me, it’s slow, careful, each movement a promise. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him as deep as I can have him. He never breaks our gaze, his eyes telling me everything his words can’t.
We move together in a rhythm that feels both new and ancient, built on everything we’ve survived. I let myself open, let myself hope, let myself feel the pleasure and the love without holding anything back.
The climax, when it comes, is soft and shattering. I cling to him, sobbing his name, feeling myself come apart and being rebuilt in his arms. He follows, groaning, his body shaking as he pours himself into me.
Afterward, we lie tangled in the sheets, my head on his chest, his heart pounding strong and steady beneath my cheek. His fingers drift through my hair, then down to trace my jaw, my lips, my shoulder. I press a kiss to his chest, right above his heart, feeling it jump beneath my lips.
I lift my head and meet his gaze, everything in me exposed. “I never stopped loving you,” I whisper, voice thick with tears. “Not for a second. Not even when I ran… not even when I hated you.”
He breathes out, a sound I can’t describe, arms tightening around me until there’s no space between us. He doesn’t answer with words. he doesn’t need to. It’s all there in the way he holds me, in the way our bodies fit together, in the quiet that settles over us.
We stay like that, limbs entwined, hearts beating in sync, the room washed clean of all the ghosts that haunted it before.
The silence is easy, full of forgiveness and promise. I listen to the rain outside, the sound of his breathing, and for the first time since I left, I feel whole. I feel safe. Not because Markian is strong, or powerful, or unbreakable, but because he’s finally allowed himself to be soft, to be honest, to love me without reservation.
As I drift into sleep, I let myself believe in second chances. In love that survives.
Epilogue - Markian
The estate feels transformed. Candles line the courtyard, lanterns swinging in the dusk, filling the air with a golden hush. For once, the guards keep a respectful distance, barely visible in the garden shadows.
Tonight, there are no Bratva meetings, no threats to weigh, no calculations to make, only this strange new anticipation winding tight in my chest.
I stand at the end of the aisle, tugging at my cuff links. Alexei appears at my shoulder, face blank as ever but eyes just a shade softer.
“Relax,” he murmurs, voice pitched for me alone. “You look like you’re going to an execution, not a wedding.”
I almost laugh, shifting on my feet. “Feels more dangerous,” I admit. “I’ve survived gunfire. I’m not sure I’ll survive this.”
He gives me the smallest smirk. “Just don’t faint, cousin.”
The courtyard doors open, and everyone stands. I catch my first glimpse of Jessa. She steps into the light, veil trailing behind, every inch of her radiating something delicate and fierce. My heart stutters.
Beside her, the twins bounce in their white dresses, flower crowns askew. Liana waves her bouquet at the crowd, nearly hitting Jessa in the knees. Sofia giggles, the petals falling in a trail behind them.
Lui leans over to the girls as they pass. “You two look like wild angels,” he whispers, and Sofia beams, showing her missing tooth.
