I scan the room, taking stock.
Konstantin’s mother—the undisputed matriarch of this beautifully miserable household—stands at the sink, aggressively wiping down a counter that already gleams. Herdisapproval practically radiates off the marble. Either the kids broke something again, or she just ran out of things she could control.
From the doorway, Oleg appears like a glitch in the matrix. Silent. Stationed. Watching everything with the intensity of someone who has no off switch. His eyes meet mine briefly, just long enough to clock my mood, then shift away.
Great. Whatever meltdown happened here is now logged, tagged, and probably already being summarized for Konstantin in some encrypted nightly report.
“What happened?” I ask, dropping my purse onto a chair.
Anya appears within seconds, practically materializing from thin air like the staff here are trained to detect clutter telepathically. She scoops up the bag with both hands, eyes wide, like it might explode.
“I’ll take this, Mrs. Belov,” she says quickly, already halfway out of the room before I can tell her it’s fine. In this house, nothing stays where you put it. Not even your own damn bag.
Lev springs into action. “I was putting on the rings, but the glue sucked, and thenBabushkasaid—”
“Babushkasaid we should just buy a new one,” Nikolai cuts in, climbing onto a barstool like this is a courtroom drama and he’s here to deliver closing arguments. “But Lev freaked out.”
“Did not freak out,” Lev growls, already red in the ears. “I said it’s stupid to buy something you can fix.”
“You just messed it up,” Nikolai murmurs, shooting me a knowing look beyond his years.
“I didn’t mess it up,” Lev protests, grabbing my hand and tugging me toward the kitchen like he’s deputizing me into NASA. “The stupid glue didn’t work.”
“You’re stupid.”
“I’m not!” Lev shoves Nikolai with all the force of a righteous 12-year-old, nearly knocking his twin off the stool. “You didn’t even help!”
I glance between them, silently grateful for the distraction. Lev’s brow is furrowed in frustration, eyes blazing—his father’s fire, but without the frost.
“Let me see if I can help,” I say, letting him drag me toward what I now realize is a solar system diorama.
It’s rough. Saturn’s ring is dangling by what looks like a desperate prayer and half-dried Elmer’s. A glob of glitter is somehow on the ceiling. I don’t ask.
“You need thread, not glue,” I say, crouching down for a better look. “That ring is too heavy.”
Lev’s eyes light up. “You can fix it?”
“Of course she can,” Nikolai says matter-of-factly, like this is obvious. “Bella fixes things.”
I freeze for half a second. Oleg shifts slightly in the background. Not much, but enough. Watching. Noting. Measuring.
I nod like that comment didn’t land square in my chest. Before I can even look around, Oleg is already placing a tray on the counter beside me—thread, scissors, a small sewing kit, even a thimble.
As I start threading the needle. My phone buzzes from inside the pocket of my blazer.
Nope. Not now. Not if it’s her again.
“Okay, NASA,” I say, exhaling. “Watch and learn.”
I start stitching Saturn’s ring back into place. Lev watches, eyes wide, hands fidgeting.
“How do you know how to do that?”
“Used to make Lila’s Halloween costumes. Store-bought was off the table.”
“Why doesn’t she live here?” Lev asks bluntly.
“Boarding school. Super fancy. Lots of math.”
