don't leave

(Lukyan's POV)

Lukyan knew the moment she started running again.

She was gone by the time he woke up, her side of the bed already cold.

He found her downstairs, sitting at the breakfast table with their children, acting as if last night hadn't happened.

Like she hadn't fallen apart in his arms.

Like she wasn't still his.

Fine.

He could play this game.

For now.

So, he sat down across from her, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Their son, Roman, chattered about school. Their daughter, Alina, reached for Larissa's hair, giggling.

But Larissa wouldn't look at him.

And that? That pissed him off.

So, he waited until the children were distracted.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned in.

"Running again, wife?"

Her fingers tightened around her mug.

But she still didn't look at him.

Not yet.

But she would.

---

Larissa barely made it through breakfast.

The way Lukyan looked at her—the heat, the control, the amusement.

Like he knew exactly what he had done to her last night.

Like he knew she was crumbling all over again.

So, she did what she always did.

She left.

Went to work. Buried herself in legal contracts and meetings and anything that wasn't him.

But Lukyan wasn't going to make this easy.

Because when she got home, he was waiting.

Sitting in the living room, drink in hand, watching the clock like he knew she was avoiding him.

She barely made it three steps inside before his voice stopped her cold.

"You don't get to run from me, Larissa."

Her pulse spiked.

Slowly, she turned. "I'm not running."

His lips curled. "Liar."

---

She was so damn stubborn.

Even now, standing there in her tailored dress and heels, trying to act like she wasn't still feeling him all over her skin.

Lukyan had never been a patient man.

And he was done waiting.

So, he stood.

Walked toward her—slow, deliberate.

Larissa's breath hitched. "What are you doing?"

He didn't answer.

Just stopped inches from her, forcing her to meet his gaze.

Forcing her to feel this.

Then, softly, too softly, he murmured—

"Tell me last night meant nothing."

Silence.

A single second stretched into eternity.

Then—her lips parted.

And she whispered, "It doesn't matter what it meant."

Something snapped inside him.

Lukyan grabbed her wrist, pulling her flush against him, his grip firm but careful.

"The hell it doesn't."

Her breathing shook.

But she still tried to fight. "Lukyan—"

He kissed her.

Hard. Claiming. Demanding.

And she broke.

Just like he knew she would.

---

(Larissa's POV)

Larissa was losing this battle.

Because the second his lips were on hers, she wasn't thinking anymore.

She was just falling.

Her fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, giving into the one thing she had been fighting for so damn long.

And God help her, she didn't want to stop.

She didn't want to pretend anymore.

But then—

A voice.

Small. Sleepy.

"Mama?"

Everything shattered.

She tore herself from Lukyan's grip, heart pounding, guilt slamming into her like a hurricane.

Their son, Nikolai, stood at the top of the stairs, rubbing his eyes, blinking at them.

Lukyan exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. She wouldn't even look at him.

Instead, she turned and walked away.

Again.

But this time, it wasn't just running.

This time?

It felt like the beginning of the end.

---

Larissa barely slept.

She spent the night curled on the edge of her bed—not his, not anymore—staring at the ceiling, her mind racing.

She had done exactly what she swore she wouldn't.

She had given in.

Twice.

And Lukyan? He knew it.

Knew she couldn't resist him. Knew she was hanging by a thread, that she was running out of reasons to fight.

But worse than that?

She didn't want to fight anymore.

And that terrified her.

---

She avoided him the next morning.

Left early. Stayed late at work.

But when she finally came home, stepping into the dimly lit house, she felt him before she saw him.

Lukyan sat in the living room, waiting.

A glass of whiskey in his hand, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his posture calm.

Too calm.

Larissa's heart pounded, but she forced herself to stay neutral. This was fine. She could control this.

"You're late," he murmured.

She set her bag down, careful. "I had a meeting."

His gaze flicked over her. "You're avoiding me."

She exhaled slowly. "Lukyan, we—"

"No."

His voice was firm. Final.

Then, he stood.

And Larissa knew, in that instant—this was the moment.

The moment he finally shattered everything.

The moment she wouldn't be able to run from.

---

Lukyan was done.

Done letting her pretend. Done letting her make excuses.

So, when she turned to leave—because of course she would—he moved.

Stepped forward. Cut off her escape.

His hand caught her wrist. Firm. Unrelenting.

Larissa inhaled sharply, eyes flashing. "Let me go."

He pulled her closer, voice low, dark, dangerous.

"No."

Her pulse skipped.

He watched her throat bob, the way her breath caught, the way she was already losing this fight.

Good.

"Why are you running, Larissa?" he murmured.

Her jaw tightened. "You know why."

"No," he said softly. "I know what you tell yourself. But I want the truth."

She glared at him, trying so hard to keep up the wall between them.

But Lukyan had spent his entire life breaking through enemy defenses.

And he had never lost a war.

Slowly, deliberately, he brought his other hand to her waist.

Not rough. Not forceful. Just there.

She trembled beneath his touch.

And that was all the answer he needed.

"Say it," he whispered.

Larissa shook her head. "Lukyan—"

"Say it."

Her breathing turned ragged.

He tilted his head, his lips just inches from hers.

"You don't want to leave."

Silence.

Then—so quiet he almost didn't hear it—

"No."

Lukyan's chest tightened.

He closed his eyes for a second, swallowing the relief like it would kill him.

Then, he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze.

"Then stop fighting me."

Larissa was shaking.

Because she had said it. Out loud.

She didn't want to leave.

She didn't want to fight anymore.

But that didn't change the facts.

Didn't change that this was never supposed to be real.

Didn't change that she had spent eight years protecting herself from this man.

Lukyan saw the hesitation. Saw her struggle.

And for the first time, he softened.

His grip eased. His eyes darkened with something different this time.

Something she didn't know how to handle.

"Lukyan—"

"I never wanted you to leave," he admitted. Soft. Raw. Real.

Larissa stilled.

She had never heard him like this.

Never heard Lukyan Volkov—the soldier, the surgeon, the man who had spent years holding himself back—speak like this.

And God help her, it broke her.

Because this was real now

And real?

Real meant she had everything to lose.

---