The house, usually a sanctuary of quiet, buzzed with an unfamiliar energy. Voices echoed off the high ceilings, laughter and murmured conversations weaving through the air like an undercurrent of something unspoken. It felt strange—crowded, alive in a way it hadn't been in a long time.
My gaze instinctively found Nikolai. He sat with his arm wrapped in fresh bandages, the stark white fabric standing out against his skin. The moment our eyes met, something in his expression softened, just for a second. But then he looked past me, past the space between us, and his gaze landed on Valentino.
And he flinched.
It was brief, barely noticeable, but I caught it.
The tension that followed was almost palpable. A quiet, invisible war.
Nikolai, the man who had been by my side through everything, was struggling with a truth that neither of us had asked for, that my husband was his mate.
The weight of that knowledge sat between them, thick and unyielding, like a wall neither dared to breach.
Then, Valentino's hand pressed against the small of my back, a steadying touch, grounding me as he guided me down the stairs. A quiet reassurance. A claim.
I offered him a small, steady smile, one meant to reassure, to ease the guilt I could already see tightening in his jaw. It wasn't his fault, and I needed him to know that.
The tension in Nikolai's expression loosened, and slowly, a flicker of relief passed over his features. His lips curved into a faint, grateful smile; one that spoke volumes without saying a word.
Nikolai wasn't just an ally. He was a comrade in the truest sense of the word. Blood-forged loyalty bound us tighter than any oath. We had stood shoulder to shoulder through war, betrayal, and death. Together, we had faced the kind of horrors that either makes or breaks a man. It carved something permanent between us, an unshakable respect.
