"You're right," he said, giving me a smug look.
I wanted to slap him and kiss him simultaneously.
"It's not. We'll be married as soon as I can arrange it."
"No!" My scream bouncing off the cabin walls.
The memory of our conversation in front of the fireplace flashed through my mind—his promise, his solemn vow that things would be different. That I would have choices, that he would respect me as a partner rather than a possession.
Weeks ago when we'd talked, we had a real heart-to-heart.
I thought we had come to an understanding. I would listen when he told me we needed to do things, and he would explain why and then give me a choice.
Informing me we were going to get married was not a choice.
"It has to happen like this, Viktoria." His voice softened, but his eyes remained fierce. "I'm sorry if it's not the big lavish wedding you wanted. We can do that when it's safe, but right now, you need to have my last name."
He stepped closer, the heat from his body radiating against mine. "You said you wouldn't fight when it came to your safety."
His proximity clouded my thinking.
My body's instinctive response to him was infuriating; even now, in the midst of my anger, I yearned to lean into his warmth.
I backed away, needing distance to think clearly. "No, I said I wouldn't run from you. I said I'd listen as you explained why certain things needed to happen. You said you would give me a choice."
My body trembled slightly as I recalled the night I'd nearly lost him—the blood soaking through his bandages, the way his eyes had fixed on mine before consciousness slipped away.
I'd promised then that I would stay, that I wouldn't run.
But staying didn't mean surrendering myself completely.
"Are you saying you don't want to marry me?" His jaw clenched, and I caught the flash of vulnerability beneath his anger.
That glimpse of uncertainty tugged at something deep inside me. For a moment, I could see beneath the armor. The man who had been shot protecting me, who had risked everything to keep me safe.
He was afraid.
Not just of external threats, but of losing me. The realization softened something in my chest, but I couldn't let it weaken my resolve.
"I don't want to marry anyone until after I have my degree," I said, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "This is important to me, Artem. I can't just be the obedient wife sitting and waiting for you to come home."
My mother's hollow eyes haunted me.
The way she would sit by the window, waiting for my father's return. How she measured her words, her movements, her very breath according to his moods. How the light had slowly gone out of her until there was nothing left.
His eyes darkened as they tracked the movement of my hand. "No one is asking you to. I'm informing you we will get married so?—"
"No, we won't." I cut him off, my pulse racing. "I want a degree and a career first."
The degree was my shield, my protection against becoming nothing more than an extension of him.
It was the difference between choosing him and being trapped by him.
Why couldn't he understand that?
"Why can't you do that with my last name?" Irritation laced through every syllable as we both paced back and forth in the living room of the small cabin, circling each other like predators.
He reached out to pull me against him, his hand grazing the curve of my waist, but I stepped away and wrapped my arms around my chest.
