Kairus' POV :
The world was quiet.
Warm.
For the first time in what felt like centuries, there was no screaming in my head. No blood on my hands. No ghosts clawing at my throat.
Only her.
Raven lay beside me, half-buried in the sheets, her breath steady, her lashes fluttering ever so slightly. One hand rested near her cheek, delicate fingers curled inward like she was still clinging to a dream.
And God, I watched her.
Longer than I should've.
Like a man starved—like I'd never seen peace in a body before.
The light from the window spilled over her face, catching in the strands of her hair and painting her in gold. I didn't move. Didn't dare breathe too loudly.
Because some part of me thought that if I did, she'd vanish.
Like everything else I ever loved.
She stirred. Blinked. Her eyes fluttered open—drowsy, confused, beautiful—and landed on me.
"What're you staring at?" she mumbled, voice scratchy from sleep.
I didn't look away.
"My wife," I murmured, like it was fact. Like saying it aloud would make it real.
She rolled her eyes, but I caught the twitch of a smile as she pushed the sheets off her shoulders.
"You're impossible," she muttered.
Before I could reply, my phone buzzed against the nightstand.
The moment shattered.
I reached for it, the weight in my gut already returning like a familiar curse. One glance at the screen, and I knew—duty was knocking. The streets don't sleep, and neither do the monsters crawling through them.
"It's today," my second-in-command said on the other end. "The shipment's cleared. If we wait, we lose the route."
I hung up.
No hesitation.
I got out of bed, ignoring the way the stitches pulled, ignoring the way Raven's eyes widened as she sat up.
"You're not seriously going," she said, slipping off the bed to follow me. "You're still healing, Kairus—"
"I'm fine," I cut in, pulling on my shirt with tight fingers. "It's business. It can't wait."
"You're still bleeding," she argued, softer this time, stepping in front of me. "Can't someone else—just for today?"
I paused.
Just for a second.
Her eyes searched mine, desperate and afraid and trying so damn hard to pull me back.
I reached up, brushing her hair from her face. Let my fingers trail across her jaw—gentle, fleeting.
"Don't worry, babochka," I said with a faint smile. "I'll come back."
And before she could speak again, I turned—
And left.
Because peace was a luxury men like me were never meant to keep.
The second the door hut behind me, I was someone else again.
The warmth of the bed, her voice, her touch—it all peeled off like a skin I couldn't afford to wear in this world.
Mikhail was already waiting by the black SUV, engine running, door open. He gave me a once-over, eyes flicking to the bandage peeking beneath my shirt.
"You look like shit."
I slid into the passenger seat. "And you still talk too much."
He smirked but said nothing else.
We drove.
Not to some sleek office with a penthouse view. No. The real work happened beneath—underground docks, smoky warehouses, rusted-out corners of the city no one dared to clean up.
That's where power moved.
That's where I built an empire with blood and fire.
The dockyard was already crawling with my men. Black-clad shadows loading cargo into the ship—one crate at a time. Stamped on each wooden box was an unassuming label: "Textiles." No one would guess it hid high-grade narcotics meant for buyers across the Atlantic.
A few million in street value. A few billion in control.
I stepped out of the car, and silence fell over the yard.
Every man snapped to attention.
"Is the route clear?" I asked, my voice sharp now—stripped of every softness she had drawn out of me just hours ago.
"Cleared through customs. Paid off the port chief. We've got a two-hour window before the next coast patrol," one of them said, clipboard in hand, avoiding my gaze.
"Good."
I walked between the crates, fingers brushing against the wood. "Make sure the decoys are convincing. If this gets intercepted, I'll bleed the entire chain dry."
"Yes, Boss."
I turned to Mikhail, who trailed close behind me like a shadow.
"Status on the Belov Brothers?" I asked.
"They've gone quiet. Too quiet. Might be trying to undercut the Serbia deal," he said, jaw tense. "Want me to lean on their second-in-command?"
"Not yet. Let them think I'm distracted."
Mikhail nodded once, then hesitated.
I lit a cigarette. Inhaled. Let the burn ground me.
But I wasn't done.
There was one more thing gnawing at me. One more piece of control I needed to claim.
"Raven," I said lowly, watching the smoke curl upward. "I need you to find out who matters to her."
Mikhail arched a brow. "You think someone's watching her?"
"Not yet," I murmured. "But someone will. Sooner or later. That girl is my only fucking vulnerability—and the minute they figure that out, they'll come for her."
Mikhail didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
He knew me. Knew the way I operated. I didn't let anyone close unless I planned to protect them or destroy them.
And Raven?
I wasn't sure which it was anymore.
"I want names," I said. "Friends. Enemies. People from her past. Track her college. Her apartment lease. Every damn number in her call history if you have to. If they ever made her smile, I want to know. If they ever made her cry—I want to know more."
Mikhail gave a slow nod. "Consider it done."
We finished overseeing the shipment. Everything moved like clockwork. I built it that way. Ruthlessly. Precisely.
But the entire time, part of me was still thinking about her.
About the way she looked at me when I left. Like she was scared for me. Like she actually gave a shit.
What the hell are you doing, Kairus?
You can't have both.
You can't hold her and hold a gun at the same time.
But maybe I wanted to try.
Even if it burned us both in the end.
Hours passed.
The shipment left port, swallowed by the sea and night. I sat in the warehouse office—dimly lit, dust swirling in golden shafts of sunlight filtering through rusted blinds. The scent of oil and iron clung to the air. My cigarette had long burned out. I wasn't pacing, wasn't restless. I was waiting.
For him.
The door creaked open.
Mikhail stepped in, a thick black folder clutched in his gloved hand. His expression was unreadable. That meant something was wrong.
I straightened. "You took your time."
"I was thorough."
He placed the file in front of me, flipping it open. Photos. Reports. Printed emails. An obituary. Old school records. Birth certificates. A map of her college commute. Friends, professors, the landlord who'd once complained about her late rent. It was all there—her life, dissected and laid bare.
"She's clean," Mikhail began. "No ties to any known threats. No suspicious calls. No debts. No enemies."
"And her parents?"
He paused.
I looked up.
His jaw flexed. "Her mother died of breast cancer. Slow. Painful. Confirmed through medical reports."
"And the father?"
Mikhail hesitated again before sliding a thin, worn police report from the bottom of the file.
"Officially? Died in a car accident. Seven years ago. Case closed."
I scanned the page. Something didn't sit right.
"Unofficially?" I asked coldly.
Mikhail met my eyes. "There was no brake failure. No signs of skidding. No weather issue. No mechanical fault. The car was tampered with. The explosion was triggered remotely. But it was buried—no further investigation. Covered up clean. Not even Raven knows."
My fingers curled into fists over the file.
"Murder," I said quietly.
Mikhail gave a single nod. "Yes. But whoever did it… didn't leave a trace."
I leaned back in the chair, heart suddenly slower. Heavier. The weight of it coiling around my lungs like a vice.
Raven's entire life had been shaped by grief she never questioned. But someone out there knew the truth—and kept it buried.
Why?
And more importantly—would they come for her next?
My chest ached as I stared at her photograph in the folder.
A girl who didn't belong in my world.
But she was already in it.
"Find out who buried this. " I murmured.
" And then dig them up. "