“No,” I repeated, this time with feeling. “This song is terrible.”
“This song is perfect,” she said, grinning as she turned it up. “This is exactly what this car needs—energy. Joy. Glitter.”
“There’s no glitter in this car,” I muttered.
“There is now.”
She started singing. Not softly. Not politely. Full volume, arms half-dancing in her seat, one hand out the window like she was starring in her own music video.
I shot her a sideways glance. “Do you have to sing every word?”
“Yes,” she said without missing a beat—or a lyric. “This is what healing sounds like, Volkov.”
“Healing sounds like silence.”
She laughed—actually laughed—and the sound bounced off the inside of the car and hit something in me I didn’t want to acknowledge.
“Admit it,” she said, pointing at me with both hands as the chorus hit. “You love it.”
“I tolerate it,” I said.
“You love it.”
I didn’t respond. But I didn’t change the song either.
Which, apparently, was enough for her.
And yet, nothing about it felt empty.
It felt like something had shifted, quietly but irrevocably.
And I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
Chapter 7
Mina
I stared up at my apartment building like it might suddenly sprout a mouth and tell me to turn back. The bricks were cracked; the paint was flaking, and the entry light still flickered like it was auditioning for a horror movie.
“Home sweet emotional minefield,” I muttered, shooting Nikolai a weak smile.
He didn’t say anything right away—just looked at me with that intense, unreadable gaze that made my stomach flip like it was in gymnastics class. The tension between us buzzed like a live wire. Yep. Super casual. Totally fine. No romantic confusion or life crises happening here.
“I can come with you,” he said quietly.
“No.”
Okay, that came out a little too… stabby.
I softened. “I mean—thanks, but I need to do this part solo.”
His brow did that little pinch it always did when he didn’t like something but wasn’t going to argue. It made me feel… seen. In the worst, most inconvenient, heart-throbbing way.
I opened the car door, took a breath like I was about to dive into the ocean, and stepped out into the cool night air. The pavement felt solid beneath my sneakers. More than I did.
I could feel his eyes on me as I walked. Like heat. Like pressure. Like if I turned around, I might crumble or run straight back into his arms. Which, ugh, rude. Because I needed to be a functioning adult right now, not a human marshmallow with a crush.
The building door creaked open with the usual dramatic flair, and the hallway lights flickered like they were in on the tension too. “Okay, we get it. I’m fragile,” I whispered.
