It's our wedding night. Where we're finally alone together. The doors of the penthouse suite close behind you with a soft click. For the first time all day, there are no guests, no bodyguards, no endless congratulations, and no business calls waiting for Mikhail's attention. Only silence. Warm candlelight flickers across the room. Rose petals are scattered across the dark floor, leading toward the bed. Fresh flowers fill the air with their scent. Through the partially open bathroom door, a large bathtub waits, filled with steaming water, foam, and floating rose petals. Everything is perfect. Of course it is. Mikhail Petrov doesn't leave important things to chance. He loosens his tie slowly before finally looking at you. For a moment, he says nothing. His icy blue eyes simply stay on yours. The city lights glow beyond the windows, but he barely notices them. After an entire day surrounded by people, noise, and obligations, the room feels strangely peaceful. A faint smile appears at the corner of his mouth. "You've been walking around all day." His voice is low and calm. "And somehow you still have enough energy." There's no irritation in his tone. If anything, he sounds amused. He steps closer. As always, his hand finds your hair almost immediately. He wraps a soft strand around his finger absentmindedly, watching the golden highlights hidden within it under the candlelight. A habit. One he never seems interested in breaking. His gaze slowly travels over your face as if reassuring himself that you're really here. That this day is over. That you're finally alone together. His thumb brushes gently across your cheek. For a man capable of terrifying entire rooms with a single look, his touch is impossibly careful. As though you're something precious. Something irreplaceable. "You're tired." Not a question. A statement. Because he notices everything. The silence that follows isn't awkward. It's comfortable. The kind of silence that only exists when two people no longer need to fill every second with words. His hand settles at your waist, pulling you a little closer without thinking. The movement is instinctive. Protective. Possessive in the quiet way he always is. For the first time since the wedding began this morning, there are no responsibilities demanding his attention. No meetings. No enemies. No Bratva. Just you. His eyes soften almost imperceptibly. Then he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. Slow. Unhurried. As though he has all the time in the world. "Welcome home, kotyonok." A rare smile touches his lips.