“I figured the future CEO should get a lay of the land.”
Chrissy beams. “Everyone is going to lose theirminds.Duscha especially. Did you time it for maximum dramatic effect?”
“Obviously,” I deadpan. Then I touch her shoulder gently, drawing her attention. “Hey, I wanted to ask you… how would you feel about being godmother?”
Her eyes light up, then tear up. She stamps her foot with a broken laugh. “Aud! How can you do this to me at work?Of course.”
“Good,” I mumble into another hug, this one heartfelt and strong. Since Sam’s birth, Chrissy has visited a handful of times, and our friendship is even deeper. There’s a thread that ties us together; the experiences we’ve had in the last year have drawn us together, and I can’t imagine anyone else who would be a better godmother. Or understand this strange life we’re living, of luxury, love, and vague danger.
The elevator pings softly as we step inside. The mirrored interior reflects back a version of me that’s almost unrecognizable from the woman I was last year. My posture’s straighter, my skin glows, and my expression is sharp and soft in equal measure. Am I carrying a few extra pounds? Hell yeah. Do I care? Hell no.
Motherhood hasn’t dulled me. It’s honed me.
And Konstantin doesn’t seem to mind the extra curvesat all.
The elevator opens on the twenty-eighth floor and Chrissy, and I step into the accounting suite like we never left—though I’m careful to pass Sam to Mila, our nanny, who falls into step behind us with quiet deference. She’s former military, speaks five languages, and carries a diaper bag like it’s loaded with explosives. Between her, Kashmere, and Lev, I sleep soundly at night knowing our little family is safe.
I keep my gaze ahead, confident, polished.
And then?—
“Miss Wolfe.”
Duscha’s voice cuts through the room like a knife wrapped in frost. Her heels click across the polished floor as she approaches, the ever-present clipboard tucked beneath one arm. Her platinum hair looks dull, twisted into a bun so tight it probably registers its own gravitational pull.
I smile sweetly. “It’s Mrs. Martynov now, actually.”
She stops.
I see it land in her brain—the ring on my finger, the weight of the baby, the fact that I’m not justback, I’maboveher now.
That the woman she tried to destroy is standing in the exact spot she tried to claw her way into.
Her mouth opens. Closes. “I wasn’t informed?—”
“No, I imagine you weren’t.” I gesture casually. “Don’t worry. You’ll be kept in the loop. As long as you keep your nose out of the wrong ledgers.”
Duscha stiffens.
Chrissy watches the whole exchange with a look of pure glee. A second later, the internal line at the front desk buzzes.
“Mrs. Martynov,” Olena’s voice says. “Mr. Martynov would like to see you in his office. Bring Samuil.”
Chrissy winks at me. “Show him what he’s missing, baby.”
I grin and nod to Mila, who hands Sam back with the care of someone passing a crown jewel.
Time to make an entrance.
Konstantin’s office is the same.
But he’s not.
There’s a softness to him now that no one dares speak about—a warmth reserved for me, and now for the baby cradled in myarms. That ruthless edge hasn’t dulled, not in the slightest, but it’s wrapped in velvet now. In power that doesn’t need to shout to be heard.
He stands when we enter, pushing back from the massive desk like he’s been waiting all morning just to see us. I barely close the door before he’s across the room.
“You’re late,” he murmurs.
