Konstantin’s brothers walk in for dinner, along with Kirill’s son, Lev. The greetings are brief, just polite nods. None of them meet my gaze for more than a second. And something about their silence feels off.


    Maybe Konstantin told them not to talk to me so they don’t say something they shouldn’t. Or maybe they really don’t like me—which is fine, because the feeling’s mutual.


    My gaze shifts to the quiet nine-year-old boy, his dark curls falling softly around his forehead. His eyes remain fixed on the floor, and his small hand nervously grips his father’srge one.


    Kirill leans down, whispering something to him, and only then does the boy nce up at me. His soft “hi” barely reaches my ears before his gaze falls back to the floor.


    My heart swells and a lump forms in my throat. Something about him tugs at me, though I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.


    Maybe it’s because we both had mothers who decided we weren’t worth the effort, or because we were both born into circumstances we didn’t choose. Whatever it is, the urge to hold him, to wrap my arms around him and tell him it’s okay and his mother’sck of love doesn’t define him, overwhelms me.


    Konstantin’s arm falls over my shoulder as he whispers, “That’s my nephew, Lev. He has autism.”


    Of course, I already knew that, but I pretend I didn’t, nodding in acknowledgment. “He’s sweet.”


    “He’s a great boy.”


    ncing up, I catch Konstantin’s eyes. There’s a tenderness in them, a quiet adoration as he watches Lev, his expression filled with something raw and pure. And in this moment, seeing him like this—so open, so vulnerable in his love for this child—makes it just a little harder to hate him.


    “Come, let’s eat,” he tells everyone, pulling me out of my thoughts.


    Grabbing my hand, he leads the way to the opulent dining room, a long table set with more food than any one of us could ever stomach. The meal progresses beneath the awkwardness of an ufortable silence, broken only by the sound of silverware clinking against porcin.


    None of the brothers offer much in the way of conversation, their attention focused elsewhere. It feels like I’m invisible to them, an unimportant detail, and I don’t know why it pisses me off so much. I can’t stop ncing at Konstantin beside me, sitting at the head of the table,posed with a quiet sense of ease surrounding him that I can’t quite grasp.


    Does he notice how weird things are? Does he even care?


    He looks over at everyone, his palmnding on my thigh, giving it a little squeeze. It’s then I know he did notice, and that quiet gesture puts me a little bit at ease.


    “I’m d we can all be here,” he says. “And I’m very happy you all have had the privilege to meet my beautiful wife.” Picking up my hand, he kisses the top of it, and shivers run through me. “I also wanted to take this opportunity to announce that in three days…”


    I lift my ss of water and bring it to my lips.


    “We’ll have a reception here at the estate to celebrate our marriage.”


    The cup almost slips from my grasp, my mind catching up with his words.


    “Oh, wow… Great,” I mutter.


    The thought of some fancy reception, surrounded by strangers, makes my skin crawl. I didn’t sign up for this circus.


    The brothers offer a congrattions that seems less than enthusiastic before Kirill says, “We must drink to the happy couple.”


    His grin spreads, but there’s something sinister beneath the fa?ade, his tattoos making him seem even more deadly.


    “That’s a good idea.” Konstantin nods as one of the waitstaff starts pouring each one of us a shot.


    When she’s about to pour me one, he shakes his head, and she returns to her spot in the corner of the room.


    Kirill picks up his shot ss in the air, and everyone follows. “Za zdorovya i schastya. It means to health and happiness.”


    His eyes go to mine, and I offer a small smile before they all swallow their drinks and pour another round. After that, it seems the air of awkwardness melts away. Even Anton looks at me, though it’s like he’s assessing me, which doesn’t make me feel any better.


    Konstantin’s mouth drops to my ear. “You didn’t seem thrilled about the idea of a party. Do you not like parties?” His fingerszily glide up my thigh past the hem of my red pencil dress, discreetly slipping between my thighs. “Maybe I can change your mind.”


    My breath hitches as he slips a single digit past my panties, and I suppress a moan, shoving his hand away without catching the attention of his brothers.


    “There are children present. Behave,” I whisper, and he lets out a deep-chestedugh.


    “It’s hard to behave when you’re dressed to kill, Mrs. Marinova. Is that your intention? To kill your husband before you’ve had the chance to fall in love with him?”


    My eyes slip to his, his words unnerving me.


    “You are so beautiful.” His gaze sinks into mine, the quiet before the storm. The beauty before it’s washed away in the aftermath.


    Because he has no idea how right he is or how many times I’ve dreamed of killing him, but now the thought seems almost painful.


    His thumb caresses my cheek. “Eat. Your food is getting cold.”


    But neither of us seems to be able to look away, and all I want is to kiss him and tell him that I’m sorry.


    Even when maybe it’s thest thing he deserves.<hr>


    After dinner, we move to the den. The fire crackles in the background, though the room still feels cold.


    I stand against the back of a sofa, an iced tea in hand, watching as Konstantin kneels on the floor beside Lev. They’re working together on a puzzle, Konstantin’srge hands guiding Lev’s smaller ones with absolute tenderness as he whispers to him, things I can’t make out from here. There’s something about the way he is with the child that softens the edges of his hard exterior, just for a moment.


    My chest tightens as Lev hands him a puzzle piece and Konstantin kisses his knuckles before cing the piece where it’s supposed to go. And stupidly, I start to imagine if we had a family. If this was our child he was ying with.


    What would that even be like? To have a family of my own. People to love, and who love me back.


    Here I go, getting sucked into fairy tales again.


    But sometimes it’s just easier to get lost in something instead of being forced to face your own reality.


    The more I watch them together, the harder it bes to look away, and the more I realize that Konstantin is nothing like his father. The man in front of me is gentle, patient, protective. He’s good to the people he loves.


    And if he can be different, maybe there’s hope for me to be different too. Maybe there’s a chance that I could be a good mother, despite all the ways I’ve been failed.


    I close my eyes for a moment, letting the thought settle in.


    Someone clearing their throat startles me, and when I peer to my left, I find Kirill there, standing beside me with an intensity that matches his presence. His eyes flicker briefly toward Konstantin and Lev before turning to me.


    “I’ve never seen my brother with a woman the way he is with you.” There’s a fondness there, twined with the hard edge of his voice.


    “Well, that’s good, then.” My gaze meets his, a quick smile shing on my face.


    He nods with a tilt of his mouth right before he whispers, “Just know, if you hurt him, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”


    The words hit like a swift punch, delivered with the kind of calm certainty that sends a chill down my spine. Without another word, he walks away, leaving his threat hanging in the air.


    This is just further reminder that the danger I’m in isn’t just from one side. It’s everywhere.


    And it’s only a matter of time before it catches up to me.