Elara shut her laptop with a soft click, the screen dimming as she exhaled heavily. The office was beginning to thin out as the late afternoon sun dipped below the skyline, casting long golden streaks across the glass walls. It had been a long day—mentally draining, not because of the interior design projects themselves, but because of the suffocating presence of her nosy coworkers.
For the entire week she'd been gone, rumors had brewed like a pot left boiling on high heat. And now that she was back, everyone wanted a taste of the gossip. Was she on a tropical getaway with her billionaire boyfriend? Was she pregnant? Was he mafia? Questions floated like gnats around her all day.
She had smiled through clenched teeth, mumbled something vague about personal leave, and focused on her work. But now, as she slipped her laptop into her tote and threw on her coat, all she wanted was peace.
Peace, of course, was not what awaited her.
As she exited the building, her heels clicking on the polished stone floor of the lobby, her stomach dropped. Because parked right outside the entrance—like something out of a movie—was a sleek black Maserati. And leaning against it was the man responsible for every flutter in her chest and every wrinkle of stress on her forehead.
Nikolai Volkov.
Tall, infuriatingly handsome, dressed in a charcoal suit with the top button undone, and holding a bouquet of roses so large it could be classified as a weapon. People stared. Phones came out. Gasps were audible. And Elara wanted to melt into the pavement.
She marched toward him with narrowed eyes.
"Do you enjoy seeing me suffer?" she muttered as she approached, glaring at him.
Nikolai arched a brow, amused. "What is that supposed to mean?"
She snatched the flowers from him—only because they were stunning—and he opened the passenger side door like a proper gentleman. She slid in with a huff, placing the bouquet carefully on her lap. He circled the car and got in beside her.
"Now I've given my colleagues gossip fuel for the entire week. Probably the month," she grumbled, adjusting her seatbelt.
He pulled into traffic with a smug smile. "Let them gossip. You deserve more than their whispered nonsense. Next time, I'll pick you up in a helicopter with a bouquet laced in real diamonds."
She shot him a look so sharp he could've lost an eye. "If you want to sleep on the floor—not the couch, the floor—until the baby is born, go ahead. No blankets either. Just you and the cold hardwood."
He laughed, full and rich, the kind that made her want to smile even when she was mad. He leaned over and kissed her cheek gently.
"That's why I love you," he murmured.
The rest of the ride was quiet, her anger slowly melting under the weight of his warmth and the scent of roses filling the car. But when they reached the marina and she saw the yacht waiting for them, her brows furrowed in confusion.
"What is this?"
Nikolai got out, walked around, and opened her door again. He offered his hand.
"A surprise. Come with me."
She took it warily and followed him down the private dock to the yacht—massive, elegant, and softly glowing from within. The sun was just beginning to dip into the ocean, casting ripples of light across the waves. A crew member nodded at them and helped Elara aboard. Soft music began to play.
Her breath caught.
The deck had been transformed into a dream.
Instead of candles, a gentle cascade of colored lights—pinks, violets, blues, and warm golds—bathed the area in soft illumination. Roses in shades of red, blush, and cream were artfully arranged in crystal vases, lining the edges of the yacht. A private dining table stood near the bow, draped in silk, with a feast of her favorite dishes set atop.
"Nikolai," she whispered, stunned. "This is... this is beautiful."
He smiled but said nothing, leading her inside the main cabin where the scent of vanilla and rosewater lingered in the air. When she turned, he handed her a small black velvet box.
She opened it.
Inside was a silver key, delicate but ornate, resting on a satin cushion.
"It's for our vacation home. On my private island," he said. "A place with no noise, no people, no pressure. Just peace. You can go whenever you need a break. Alone, or with me, or with the baby. It's yours too now."
Her mouth parted slightly, touched beyond words. "You did all this for me?"
"Of course I did," he said. "You deserve peace. You deserve to breathe."
They stepped back onto the deck, the yacht now cruising along the coastline. The city lights faded behind them, replaced by the tranquil stretch of ocean and the symphony of waves beneath them.
And then the music changed.
Soft violins swelled from hidden speakers. Elara turned to him in confusion, only to see that Nikolai was no longer standing.
He was kneeling.
Her hands flew to her mouth.
Behind them, fireworks exploded into the sky in perfect synchronization, brilliant bursts of crimson and gold and sapphire painting the night. And then, in the shimmering aftermath, the words lit up in the sky:
**Will you marry me?**
Nikolai held out a ring, the diamond sparkling under the dim lights and the reflection of the stars.
His voice was steady, but his eyes burned with sincerity.
"I know this marriage was rushed—forced by my grandfather and sealed with expectations we never asked for. But I want you to have a proposal. A real one. One you'll never forget. Because you deserve that and more. So, Elara Dawson... will you marry me?"
The waves whispered around them.
The sky held its breath.
And Elara stood frozen, heart hammering in her chest, staring down at the man who could destroy her world or rebuild it in gold.
She didn't speak. She couldn't speak.
Elara had frozen in place. Her body was rooted to the spot, heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear the waves anymore. Her gaze was fixed on the man kneeling before her, ring in hand, fireworks still crackling in the sky behind him. For a moment, the world blurred at the edges. It was like time had folded inward—just her and Nikolai, suspended in a moment she never saw coming.
She had expected formality. A courthouse signature, a cold stamp of approval on paper, maybe even a brief announcement made by his grandfather to the Bratva council. After all, she was pregnant with Nikolai's child, and in their world, that alone demanded a wedding—whether love was involved or not. She thought they would handle it quickly, without fuss or sentiment.
But this… this was something else entirely.
Her hand flew to her mouth as the tears welled in her eyes, hot and heavy, blurring her vision. She hadn't cried in front of anyone in years, but now the tears wouldn't stop. And they weren't tears of frustration or fear.
They were tears of joy.
Her lips trembled as she looked down at him, at the man who had stolen her peace, challenged her fire, and now—somehow—wrapped himself around her heart in a way she couldn't shake even if she tried.
"Nikolai… you bastard," she whispered through a broken laugh, a tear trailing down her cheek. "Why did you have to make me cry like this?"
He grinned, his eyes shimmering with unspoken emotion. "Because you deserve a memory worth crying for."
She let out a soft laugh-sob, her entire chest aching with emotion.
"This is the best thing anyone has ever done for me," she said, voice thick with emotion. "And hell yes, I'll marry you. Even if I wasn't given much of a choice at the start, I still want to. I want to say yes. I want to be yours—not because I have to be, but because I want to be. I want my name next to yours. Always."
His breath left him in a rush, and a rare softness crossed his face. Without a word, he gently slid the ring onto her trembling finger. It fit perfectly, as if it was made for her—and maybe it was.
Nikolai rose slowly, hands still holding hers, never breaking their connection. She barely had time to blink before he pulled her into a fierce, protective embrace. The kind of hug that made her feel like no harm in the world could touch her as long as he was there.
The yacht rocked gently beneath them as the fireworks slowly died out in the night sky. The music played on, a soft orchestral piece swelling around them like a soundtrack to a dream.
"I love you, Elara," he whispered against her hair, voice rough. "More than I ever thought I could love anyone. More than I deserve to."
She pulled back slightly to look at him, her eyes still glistening. "Then show me. Every day. Even on the days I make you sleep on the floor."
He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Deal."
As they stood there under the stars, wrapped in each other's arms, a new chapter had begun. Not forced by duty. Not bound by obligation. But chosen—deliberately, defiantly, beautifully.
Elara Dawson had said yes.
And she meant it with every beat of her heart.
Elara pulled out her phone with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. Her hands were still slightly trembling from the rush of emotion, but there was no way she wasn't capturing this moment.
"Okay, you know what? I'm sending this to Maya," she said, her voice bubbling with excitement.
She leaned in close to Nikolai, angling the camera to catch both of their glowing faces, the ring sparkling on her finger, and the soft lights from the yacht casting a dreamlike glow around them. He slipped an arm around her waist and smiled—a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes. She snapped the photo and immediately sent it to her best friend with the caption: *Guess who's officially engaged to a dangerous idiot I can't stop loving? 💍❤️*.
She chuckled and locked her phone before slipping it back into her clutch.
Then she turned to him.
Without a word, she leaned in and kissed him.
It had been too long since they'd truly kissed—no arguments hanging in the air, no bitterness, no guilt. Just the two of them. Her lips met his softly at first, almost hesitantly, but the moment his hand cupped the side of her face and pulled her closer, the kiss deepened into something far more urgent.
Elara wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer still, kissing him like she meant it—because she did. With every cell in her body. It was slow, tender, and passionate, the kind of kiss that melted away every ache and resentment that had ever built between them. The world blurred again, just as it had during the proposal, but this time it was fire instead of tears that filled her.
When they pulled away, breathless, she rested her forehead against his.
"I love you and hate you at the same time," she whispered, her thumb brushing along the stubble on his jaw. "But I think love won this one."
He laughed, his voice low and husky. "I'm glad it did. And I promise you, Elara, from this moment on—I will take care of you for the rest of our lives. I will cherish you, protect you, and work every single day to become a man worthy of you."
She smiled, tears in her eyes again—but this time, she didn't wipe them away.
"I know," she whispered. And she meant it.
They stayed on the yacht for a while longer, watching the sea roll beneath the moonlight. Eventually, they returned home, the city now quiet as it nestled in the arms of midnight. Nikolai parked the car quietly, and they slipped into the Volkov mansion like whispers on the wind. The halls were dark, the rest of the household deep in sleep.
Their footsteps were soft against the floors as they made their way upstairs, Elara's heels dangling from her fingers as she padded barefoot alongside him. When they reached their bedroom, he opened the door for her, and the moment it shut behind them, something shifted.
Desire bloomed between them like lightning splitting through still clouds.
She barely had time to breathe before Nikolai kissed her again—this time with heat, with hunger. His lips devoured hers as if he'd been starved for her, and maybe he had been. Emotion laced every movement, every touch, every graze of skin.
His hands settled on her waist before he lifted her effortlessly into his arms. She laughed against his mouth as he carried her across the room and laid her gently down on the bed. The softness of the sheets contrasted with the fire in their blood.
He hovered above her, eyes locked with hers, breath ragged. His hands stroked her cheek before they tangled in her hair.
He kissed her again, deeper, more desperate, trailing down to her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. She sighed under his touch, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as if anchoring herself to him, grounding herself in the overwhelming tide of emotion.
The air around them was thick with want, but it wasn't just physical—it was more. It was about the proposal, the promise, the baby growing inside her. It was about starting over, finally letting go of the pain and choosing love.
"You're mine, Elara," he whispered against her skin.
"I always was," she replied.
And under the cover of night, wrapped in each other's arms, they made love like they were rediscovering something long lost.
Something worth fighting for.
Something worth keeping.