The night pressed heavy around you, silence only broken by the faint hum of the city through the windows. Alex stood at the edge of the bed, shoulders tense, his hands buried in his pockets as though holding himself together.

“You don’t get it,” his voice cracked low, raw, the kind of tone he never used with anyone else. His eyes locked onto yours—stormy, unblinking. “I can lose everything, and I’ll rebuild. I always do. But if I lose you… if I have to watch you belong to someone else…”

He shook his head, lips curling into something between a bitter smile and a plea.

“I don’t want to learn another scent. I don’t want another man’s children looking at me with your eyes. I can’t bear it.”

The admission felt torn straight from his chest, jagged and unpolished. His fists clenched, voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you:

“You’re in my blood, angel. There’s no replacing you. Not in this life, not in the next.”

He finally moved, sinking down onto his knees before you—Alex Volkov, untouchable to the world, unraveling at your feet.