Chapter 33
2194words
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate | Kristina’s Bedroom
Late Morning
Kristina closed the door behind her.
Not the room she’d walked out of this morning. The other one—her own room.
The one that still technically belonged to her.
Her own room. Her own bed. Her own suitcases, now resting silently by the wall like it hadn’t just been carried in under the weight of five stunned stares and one father-shaped reckoning.
Listening. No footsteps. No voices. No Lucian.
Just the soft echo of her own heartbeat and the impossible fact that everyone now knew where she’d slept last night.
Correction: where she’d stayed.
Because that was the part she couldn’t stop replaying.
She stayed.
Not because she was afraid. Not because she had to. But because something in her—something bone-deep and unguarded—wanted to. And had.
She moved toward the dresser, unbuttoning Lucian’s shirt with careful hands. Folded it once, then again, placing it reverently atop the drawer like it deserved better than a casual toss. Because somehow, it did.
She changed into fresh clothes—soft cotton, loose-fitting, nondescript—but even fully dressed, she didn’t feel armored.
She just felt… seen.
And that was worse.
Kristina sat on the edge of the bed. Not Lucian’s. Not the bed. This one. Hers.
Only, it didn’t feel like hers anymore.
Not really.
Not after last night.
Not after this morning.
Not after the hallway.
The weight of it came slowly. Not like a strike—but like breath catching in stillness.
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands clasped loosely as her thoughts spiraled inward.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Not the sleeping part. Not the waking part. Not the part where her father, her team, and the man she’d tried for years to protect herself from—emotionally, at least—had all watched her step out of Lucian’s bedroom wearing nothing but his shirt and a trace of something unspoken.
And she hadn’t crumbled.
That was the strangest part.
She hadn’t panicked. Hadn’t stammered. Hadn’t recoiled in shame or fear or instinct.
She had just… stood there.
Looked back at them.
Met her father’s eyes.
And said good morning.
Kristina exhaled slowly, fingers tightening. There was a time—not long ago, but it felt like another life—when exposure like that would’ve shattered her.
When vulnerability was a threat.
When being seen was being hunted.
She remembered it all too well.
Waking in unknown cities. Sleeping with a blade within reach. Eyes open before the sun rose. No softness. No stillness. No warmth unless it served a purpose.
No one who could see her and still choose to stay.
She thought about the girl she used to be—the one who trusted no one, slept light, and moved like every room was a trap.
And then she thought about the one who stayed in a room with no lock.
With Lucian.
Woke up with his scent on the pillow, his warmth still ghosting the sheets.
And didn’t run.
Didn’t even want to.
She pressed her hands to her face.
Growth, maybe.
Or foolishness.
Or something else entirely.
Kristina dropped her hands and looked at the sunlight on the carpet. Pale gold. Still. She let herself breathe it in.
Whatever it was… it was hers now.
And it was already too late to pretend otherwise.
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate | Lucian’s Study
Lucian stood by the window, staring out at the winter sky like it might offer a script for what he was supposed to say.
It didn’t.
The door clicked behind him.
Footsteps—measured, deliberate—entered without ceremony. Lucian didn’t turn.
“I figured we’d end up here,” Maxim said dryly.
Lucian exhaled through his nose. “I didn’t plan it.”
Silence settled between them, not hostile—but heavy. Lucian kept his back to the room, watching bare branches sway in the cold.
“I was the one who asked her to stay. Not her,” he said quietly.
“I know that too.”
Lucian turned then. Slowly. Meeting Maxim’s eyes across the space.
He expected anger. Or judgment. Or the kind of stoic disapproval Maxim wielded better than most men handled guns.
But what he got instead was worse.
Calm. Controlled. Measured.
Because whatever Maxim was holding back? It wasn’t for Lucian’s sake.
It was for hers.
“You’re not going to threaten me?” Lucian asked, voice low.
“I could,” Maxim said. “But you’d take it like a penance. Not a warning.”
Lucian didn’t deny it.
Maxim stepped further in, pausing by one of the chairs but not sitting. “You think I don’t know what this is costing you?”
Lucian blinked. “What?”
“This.” Maxim gestured toward the hallway. “Letting her in. Letting her stay. The part where you finally stopped controlling the narrative long enough to just… feel something.”
Lucian’s throat felt tight. “I didn’t want this to happen like that.”
“I know.” Maxim’s tone was quiet now. “And neither did she.”
That landed harder than it should’ve.
Lucian looked away. His voice roughened. “I never touched her before last night. Not even after the hospital. Not when she stayed. Not when she gave me that watch.”
Maxim’s eyes didn’t move. “I believe you.”
Lucian looked back, startled by the lack of hesitation.
“I know what it looks like,” Maxim continued. “And I also know what it didn’t look like—fear. Shame. Damage.”
Lucian didn’t speak.
Maxim walked to the desk, trailing one hand lightly across its edge. His voice was quieter now. Less for Lucian, more for the weight of the moment.
“She trusts you,” he said. “Not like a soldier. Not like an employee. Not like a girl who wants to be rescued.”
Lucian’s chest ached.
“She trusts you like someone who finally stopped running. That’s not a thing you get to break and still walk away with your soul intact.”
Lucian nodded once. Slowly. Like a man being sentenced without a trial.
Maxim gave him a long look. Not unkind. But not easy, either.
“And I know you,” he said. “You’ll tear yourself apart long before she ever sees a crack.”
Lucian let out a breath. “So this is… permission?”
“No,” Maxim said. “This is clarity.”
He turned then. Walked toward the door without another word.
At the threshold, he paused.
One last thing.
“I taught her how to fight,” Maxim said, glancing back. “But she taught herself how to stay standing. That’s not mine to protect anymore.”
“It might be yours.”
Then he was gone.
And Lucian stood alone in the silence he had built for years.
Feeling, for the first time, like it wasn’t enough.
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate | Dining Room
By the time they all sat down for lunch, the air had shifted—slightly. The shock had faded, replaced by something quieter. Still uncertain. Still fragile. But no longer bracing for impact.
Maxim sat at the head of the table, the same way he always did when invited—but now, Lucian wasn’t sure whose invitation had mattered more.
Kristina took her usual seat. Composed. Silent, but not defensive. Lucian sat across from her. Eli, Ash, Vex, and Sebastian filled the rest, though none of them were particularly subtle about who they were watching.
The table had already been set by the time they gathered—polished silverware, linen napkins, and food that clearly wasn’t reheated. Someone, likely Sebastian or one of the house staff, had prepared a full lunch despite the chaos.
There was herb-roasted chicken, crisp-skinned and steaming from the platter. Garlic green beans drizzled with oil. Truffle mashed potatoes in a porcelain bowl, and a light arugula salad with pomegranate seeds and feta that looked like someone had actually tried to make it festive.
At the center was a basket of fresh bread—still warm—and a bottle of wine no one had opened yet. Kristina had water. Lucian had coffee. Maxim accepted both like he was choosing weapons.
For once, no one touched their weapons.
“Tomorrow’s Christmas,” Maxim said, somewhere between casual and deliberate. “Figured I’d tell you all now—I won’t be in the country for it.”
Lucian looked up.
Kristina stilled. “You’re leaving?”
Maxim nodded. “Flight to New Zealand tomorrow morning. I’ve got a friend there. Quiet place. Remote.” He took a sip of coffee. “Decided it might be time to let you spend Christmas without me breathing down your neck.”
Kristina hesitated. “But if you're leaving... what about The Legion?”
Lucian looked up too, tension sharpening beneath the surface.
Maxim set his cup down. “Already handled. I spoke to Harold. Asked him to step in while I’m gone.”
Lucian went still.
“You talked to my grandfather?”
Maxim nodded once. “I trust him to keep the peace. And to keep an eye on things I can’t.”
Something flickered across Lucian’s expression—surprise, maybe. Or something deeper.
Kristina didn’t speak. But Lucian could see the shift in her. The way her shoulders pulled tighter, like one more layer of the world had just rearranged itself beneath her feet.
Ash blinked. “You mean… voluntarily?”
Maxim gave him a dry look. “Don’t act so surprised.”
“I’m just saying,” Ash said, grinning. “There’s been surveillance drones with more subtle exit strategies.”
Kristina lowered her fork. “You didn’t tell me.”
Maxim’s tone softened, barely. “Didn’t know if you’d still be staying here.” He glanced at Lucian, then back at her. “But since that seems—self-explanatory now, I figured I’d step back.”
There was no bite in his voice. No passive-aggression. Just a kind of resignation that came with long years and letting go.
Lucian didn’t speak. He didn’t know how to.
“You’re really going alone?” Kristina asked.
Maxim nodded. “Won’t be the first Christmas I’ve spent watching waves and avoiding phone calls. Don’t worry. I’m not disappearing.”
Kristina’s gaze flicked downward. “You didn’t have to leave just because of this.”
“No,” Maxim said gently. “But maybe I wanted to. For me.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Just heavy. Thoughtful.
Sebastian: “So who’s in charge of carving the ham tomorrow?”
Eli: “Wait. Are we doing ham?”
Ash: “Oh God, don’t let Vex near the kitchen again.”
Vex: “I only burned it a little.”
The moment cracked, just enough for laughter to thread through it.
But Lucian saw it—Kristina’s glance across the table. Soft. Troubled. A quiet ache behind her eyes.
She hadn’t expected him to leave.
And now, even with Lucian here, she looked like she might lose something else.
Early Afternoon
Kristina closed the door behind her—but this time, she wasn’t alone.
Maxim followed her in, pausing just inside the threshold. She didn’t expect him to follow. But he did. He didn’t look at her right away. His gaze drifted over the room—the familiar edges, the half-unpacked suitcase by the dresser, the bed she hadn’t slept in.
Kristina sat on the edge of it. Her bed. Her room. But it didn’t feel like hers anymore.
“You’re really going?” she asked softly.
Maxim finally looked at her. “Flight’s in the morning.”
“To Switzerland?”
He nodded. “Lake Geneva. Snow’s already started. It’s quiet there. Might even stay a while.”
She didn’t answer. Just sat there, hands folded in her lap.
“You could’ve told me,” she said after a moment.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here,” he said. “Didn’t want to make it harder than it already is.”
Kristina’s brows pulled together. “You think this is easy for me?”
“No,” Maxim said gently. “I think you’re braver than I ever was. You stayed.”
That silenced her.
He stepped closer but didn’t sit. He never had to. Maxim was the kind of presence that filled a room no matter where he stood.
“This wasn’t about permission,” he said. “Not really. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And the way you… stop looking anywhere else when he’s in the room.”
Kristina looked away.
“I’m not asking if you’re sure,” Maxim added. “I know you are. That’s why I’m leaving.”
That made her eyes snap back. “You’re leaving because of me?”
“No,” he said. “I’m leaving because I don’t have to stand in the way anymore.”
The words landed hard. Not cruelly. Just… truthfully.
“You don’t have to protect me anymore,” she said quietly, echoing the thought.
“I’ll always protect you,” Maxim replied. “But not from this. Not from him.”
A silence stretched between them.
“He touched your hand at lunch,” Maxim said, almost offhandedly.
Kristina flushed. “It wasn’t—”
“I’m not blind, Kris. I was a soldier long before I became your father. I know what it looks like when someone is afraid of losing what they finally let themselves want.”
She blinked at that. Swallowed hard. “I’m scared.”
Maxim nodded. “Good.”
That startled her.
“It means you’re not taking it lightly,” he said. “It means it’s real.”
Her voice dropped. “You’re really okay with this?”
“I’m okay with you becoming someone who doesn’t need me to be okay first.”
That undid her more than any blessing could’ve.
He finally stepped forward then. Reached out and rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. Familiar. Solid. Steady.
“You’ve stopped running,” he said. “That’s all I ever wanted for you.”
She closed her eyes.
And when she opened them again, Maxim was already heading for the door.
He didn’t say goodbye.
He didn’t have to.
Some goodbyes don’t sound like endings—just new ways to stay.
—To be continued.
