Not ready to let go

Larissa Petrov had two years left.

Twenty-four months, seventy-three weeks, five hundred and twenty days.

Not that she was counting.

She swirled the wine in her glass, barely listening to the faint sound of classical music playing in the background. Across from her, Lukyan Volkov sat with his usual rigid posture, flipping through something on his tablet. His dark blue eyes flicked up once, briefly, before returning to whatever medical report had his attention.

They had lived in this quiet rhythm for years. Married, but never close. Together, but always apart.

It was exactly as they planned.

And yet, lately, she could feel something shifting. Lukyan was watching her differently. Speaking to her more. Finding reasons to stay home instead of at the hospital.

None of it mattered. The contract was clear—ten years, three children, then she was free to leave.

She reminded herself of that as she set her glass down, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

"You're moving things," Lukyan said, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Larissa didn't flinch. "I like to be prepared."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "You have two years."

Exactly. Two years left to untangle herself from him.

She met his gaze. "And then I go."

Lukyan's expression didn't change, but she saw it—the flicker of something tense, something possessive.

"You say that like it's already decided."

"It is," she said smoothly. "We agreed. Ten years."

Something dark passed through his eyes. He set the tablet down, leaning back in his chair. "Maybe I've changed my mind."

Her breath caught.

She shouldn't feel anything. She couldn't.

Larissa forced herself to smile, tilting her head. "That's not how contracts work, Lukyan."

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly, almost like he was amused. Like this was some game she didn't know she was playing.

"Two years is a long time, Larissa," he murmured. "Let's see if you still want to leave by then."

Her pulse skipped.

Because she was terrified he was right.

---

Larissa knew better than to let Lukyan's words linger.

"Let's see if you still want to leave by then."

A challenge. A warning. A trap.

She had survived eight years by keeping things simple. By sticking to the rules. He wanted heirs, and she wanted financial security. Their arrangement had been clear from the start—no emotions, no expectations.

But now, he was the one breaking the contract.

And worse? She wanted him to.

Larissa inhaled sharply, pushing back her chair. "I have work to finish."

Lukyan didn't stop her as she left the dining room, but she felt his eyes on her the entire way out.

---

She retreated to her office, a quiet space filled with dark bookshelves and neatly stacked case files. As a corporate lawyer, she thrived on order, on logic. Not emotions.

But even as she tried to focus on work, her mind betrayed her.

Lukyan had never acted this way before. He had always been distant, disciplined. This was his contract, his rules. So why did it feel like he was fighting them now?

She was still staring at the same legal document when a knock sounded at her door.

She stiffened. "Yes?"

The door pushed open slightly, and Lukyan's deep voice filled the space. "The kids want you to read to them."

Her chest tightened. Their three children—Roman, six. Nikolai, four. Alina, two. The only part of this marriage that had ever truly felt real.

She cleared her throat. "I'll be there in a minute."

He didn't leave. She looked up, finding him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"You're avoiding me," he said.

She huffed a quiet laugh, returning to her work. "We live in the same house, Lukyan. If I wanted to avoid you, you'd know it."

He studied her for a long moment. Then, pushing off the doorframe, he walked toward her desk.

Larissa forced herself to remain still.

Lukyan never invaded her space. He never pushed. But now? Now, he was standing at the edge of her desk, close enough that she could smell his cologne—woodsy, clean, familiar.

"Tell me something," he murmured, voice low. "When you leave… will you miss them?"

She stiffened.

He was testing her. And damn him, he knew exactly where to strike.

She looked at him, forcing her voice to stay even. "Of course I will."

His gaze didn't waver. "And me?"

A single, quiet question.

Larissa's throat went dry.

She should say no. She should lie. But Lukyan had always been able to read her too well, and the longer she hesitated, the darker his expression became.

Slowly, he leaned forward, planting his hands on her desk. Caging her in.

"Two years, Larissa," he murmured. "That's a long time to convince you to stay."

Her pulse pounded.

Because for the first time in eight years… she wasn't sure she wanted to leave.

---