“Konstantin—” I start, reaching for him.
He doesn’t turn. The door clicks behind him, and I know that he won’t come back.
I’ll give you everything.That’s what he said to me, once—and Konstantin Martynov doesn’t break promises.
Chapter 26
Konstantin
The penthouse smells new. Not fresh—new. Cold concrete, virgin lacquer, brushed steel fixtures and faint ozone from recently installed wiring. A property that’s never been lived in, touched only by designers and cleaners.
I don’t like it.
Still, it’s necessary. The townhouse is compromised—riddled with ghosts. My blood dried into the marble. Audrey’s scent still in the air, clinging to the high-thread-count sheets I burned the same day I was released from the hospital.
I gave the order to sell it that afternoon. Had it wrapped up through my own real estate firm to keep it quiet. Transferred to shell ownership in two hours flat. All of it arranged through Satin.
They’re already waiting when I arrive.
Leaning against the far wall of the elevator lobby, all tailored steel-gray slacks and an asymmetric turtleneck, Satin is a modern sculpture come to life. They wear their long black hair in a single braid down the center of their back, geometric silver jewelry catching the mid-morning light.
Their expression is, as always, unreadable.
“Mr. Martynov,” they purr, offering the keys between two perfectly polished fingers. “Welcome home.”
I take the keys. They’re cold.
“This place was just finished last month. Custom design. Over seven thousand square feet. Black walnut, brushed steel, radiant floors, smart glass on every window. You’ll love the view.”
I step past them into the main room.
The view is fine.
Manhattan stretches beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a glittering river of ambition and rot. I stare out at it and feel… nothing.
Behind me, Satin’s heels click once on the slate tile. “You want a walkthrough?”
“No.”
“Understood.”
There’s a pause. I hear it before I see it—the calculation in their voice, the curiosity that no one else would dare express.
“I’ve heard a rumor,” they say lightly. “That congratulations are in order.”
I turn slowly.
Satin is smiling with their mouth, not their eyes. Their fingers worry the end of the braid; the only sign they’re anxious, wondering if they’re overstepping.
“Is it true?” they ask. “A child?”
The word hits harder than expected.
Child.
I say nothing, which is answer enough.
Satin’s gaze flickers, and the smile fades. “Be careful, Konstantin. In this city, rumors spread like blood in water. And children… children make people stupid.”
