Page 120 of Dark Confession

He studies me for a beat longer, then stands and crosses the room, kneeling beside me. “Then talk to me,” he says gently. “Whatever it is, just say it.”

I feel ridiculous. I’m a grown woman, a mother already, married to a man who’s faced down FBI agents, oligarchs, and arms traffickers. And here I am, fidgeting like a teenager with a secret.

I exhale slowly, steadying my voice. “I know we haven’t talked about more kids. We’ve got our hands full already, and things are just starting to settle.”

His face doesn’t change. No flash of concern, no shift in posture. Just calm attention, waiting.

“But sometimes,” I say, reaching into my purse, “life decides for you.”

I hand him the test, just a simple strip of plastic with two unmistakable pink lines. He takes it carefully, like it’s a sacred object.

For a moment, he’s silent. Then his eyes lift to mine. And he smiles. Slow, wide, and so full of light it knocks the air right out of me.

“You’re serious?” he asks.

I nod, biting my lip. “Pretty damn sure.”

He laughs—an honest, joyful sound I don’t hear often enough. He sets the test gently on the table and pulls me into his arms, wrapping me so tightly I can barely breathe.

“We’re having another baby,” he murmurs into my hair, almost in awe.

Tears prick at my eyes, and I nod into his shoulder. “Looks that way.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, cupping my cheek in his hand. “Astrid, I’m so happy. I didn’t know I could be any happier than you already make me, but I am.”

I laugh, half-choked by tears. “So you’re not mad?”

“Mad?” he echoes, incredulous. “You’ve just made me the luckiest bastard alive. Again.”

He kisses me, slow, deep, reverent. When he pulls back, there’s that glint in his eyes again. The one I know all too well. “We should celebrate.”

I arch a brow. “Celebrate?”

He stands and locks the office door with a smooth flick of his wrist. “Mmm-hmm.”

“Yuri…” I say, laughing, but he’s already pulling me gently to my feet.

His mouth finds mine again as his hands ease the hem of my blouse up. My fingers fumble with his shirt buttons as we kiss, urgent and sweet. Clothes fall away between murmured kisses and half-laughed gasps, until he lifts me onto the desk and settles between my legs.

It’s not frantic, it’s slow, savoring. His forehead rests against mine as he enters me and I feel all of him—his warmth, his love, his joy, the way we fit together like some divine design.

“I love you,” he whispers as he moves in me, steady and tender.

“I love you too,” I breathe, wrapping my arms around him. “So much.”

We move together, no rush, no need for anything else but each other.

When it ends, we stay tangled together, skin warm, hearts synced. He kisses my shoulder, my neck, the top of my head, like he’s memorizing every inch. We lay on the desk for a while, breathing slowing, reality settling back around us in soft layers.

He touches my belly. “Another one,” he whispers.

I smile, eyes full of tears and wonder. “Yeah. Another one.”

He kisses me again. “I’m going to love this one just as fiercely. Just like you.”

I look into his eyes and brush a hand through his hair. “You have made me the happiest woman alive, Yuri Ivanov.”

He smiles, pulling me close. “And I plan to keep doing it. Every day of my life.”

I believe him. With everything I am.

The End