“Bella, you okay?” Alya asks, tilting her head, her bear dangling. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
Oh, kid, you have no idea.
I force another smile, my face practically cracking under the effort.
“Just, uh, thinking about glitter glue. Sticky stuff, right?”
Konstantin’s gaze lingers, his iPad now idle, and I swear he’s cataloging every twitch of my face like I’m a suspect in his personal crime drama.
“Sticky, indeed,” he says, his voice low, layered with something that makes my skin crawl. “Hard to clean up once it’s out.”
“Ha—ha—” I try to laugh at Konstantin’s supposed joke, but it comes out like a dying hyena, my voice wobbling as I grasp for anything to fill the silence.
“We’re here, sir,” Viktor says from the driver’s seat, his voice flat but cutting through the tension like a lifeline.
Konstantin’s stare finally shifts to the window, and I exhale, not realizing I’d been holding my breath like I was auditioning for a deep-sea diving horror flick. My lungs screamthank you, but my heart’s still doing thecha-chain a panic-glitter storm.
The convoy slows, turning into the private school’s lot, its wrought-iron gates flanked by manicured hedges and discreet cameras. The twins’ school is a 30-minute drive from the estate, a fortress of elite education where tuition could buy a small country. The boys grab their backpacks, Lev still rambling about pizza, Nikolai shoving his book into his bag with a sigh.
Nikolai slides off the seat, turning his head toward Konstantin, his notebook tucked under his arm. He glances at me, then back to his father, a quiet smile tugging at his lips, so subtle it’s like catching a shooting star.
“It’s cool having you both drop us off today,” he says.
I glance at Konstantin, who’s looking at Nikolai with that unreadable intensity, then at me, a flicker of warmth in his eyes.
My heart stumbles because I know what this means to them.
They’ve never had this—both parents, together, sending them off. Irina was gone before Alya could walk, and Konstantin was always working, leaving Mariya or Yelena to handle it. But now, with me here, they’re looking at us like we’re something whole, and it’s tearing me apart in ways I can’t name.
Alya’s still strapped in beside me, swinging her legs and humming the last line of the song like she’s got her own theme music. She waves dramatically through the tinted window as Lev and Nikolai hop out, their bags slung over their shoulders, already being swallowed by the school gates.
“Bye-bye! See you later, alligator!” she calls, then turns to me with a grin that’s way too grown for her sparkly unicorn hoodie. “Shopping time now?”
I nod, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “What color would you like?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Pink. But not the baby one. The cool pink. Like flamingo pink. Like fight-me pink.”
Konstantin chuckles under his breath. Just once. Then silence.
I glance over.
His phone is in his hand now, thumb pausing over a message he’s just read—something short, from the way his eyes narrow. A beat later, he sets it down in the center console, screen facedown. He never does that. Not unless whatever he read just rearranged his whole mood.
His gaze lifts slowly to meet mine.
The warmth is gone.
No smirk. No teasing glint. No soft edges.
Just that look. The one that says something’s wrong.
The one that says:this day just changed.
And I have a very bad feeling it’s not about a pink backpack.
45
Konstantin
