“What? I’m just saying, the only thing he was good at balancing was a kombucha bottle on his abs.”
“What’s kombucha?” Alya asks, tipping her head back to look at Elena.
“Something you should never, ever drink,” I say quickly. “It’s… adult juice.”
“Oh, like wine?” Lila asks, a little too innocently.
“Exactly,” Elena says, winking. “Except way worse.”
“Elena!”
She laughs, stretching her arms above her head until her back pops.
“Relax, B. It’s Saturday. You’re allowed to breathe, you know.”
“Yeah,” Lila chimes in, kicking a splash of water over Alya’s foot. “Breathe. And stop being such amom.”
I huff, reaching for a magazine that smells like cheap perfume and ink. “I’m not—”
“Totally a mom,” Elena and Lila say in unison.
“Since Bella is Papa’s wife, that means she’s my mommy!” Alya announces, her voice sweet and matter-of-fact, like she’s stating the most obvious truth in the world. Her eyes dart between us, a small grin spreading over her face. “Does that make me the little sister?”
My heart stutters, then swells so suddenly I can barely breathe.Mommy. The word hits me like a physical force, spreading warmth from my chest to my fingertips. I’ve been “sister” for so long—sister, guardian, caretaker—but “mommy” is something I never expected. Especially not from this fierce little girl with stormy eyes so much like her father’s.
“Obviously,” Lila says, flicking a tiny bit of water at Alya, who squeals and tries to splash back. I should stop them. I should. But watching them makes something warm settle in my chest, a feeling I haven’t had in a long time. Like maybe, just for a few hours, everything is okay.
But the two hulking guards stationed at the entrance, arms crossed and eyes sweeping the room, remind me that everything is not okay. Not even close.
It’s been twenty-four hours since the house turned into a military compound. Extra security patrolling the grounds, hushed conversations behind closed doors, and Konstantin—well, he’s been as present as a ghost. I caught a glimpse of himthis morning, striding down the hall with Arseny, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. He didn’t see me.
Four days until the succession ceremony. Four days until everything changes. Again.
My phone buzzes on the armrest. A text from Julian:
Julian:Learning to shoot from N & L. Did you know Nikolai can calculate wind resistance in his head? Kid’s a genius. Lev keeps doing trick shots like we’re in a Western. Security dudes look terrified.
I smile, typing back:
Me:If either of you loses a body part, I’m not explaining it to Konstantin.
Another buzz:
Julian:Chill, sis. These guys have more security than Fort Knox. One guy yelled at Lev for spinning a gun on his finger. Kid pouted for like 10 seconds then started doing it again when the guy turned around.
“Good news?” Elena asks, eyeing my smile.
“Julian and the boys are at the shooting range. Apparently, Lev is channeling his inner cowboy.”
Elena snorts. “Of course. Rich kids playing with guns. Very on-brand.”
“They’re being supervised,” I say defensively, though I’m not sure why I feel the need to defend the Belov family’s parenting choices.
“By security guys who probably moonlight as professional killers?” Elena whispers, leaning closer. “Yeah, super reassuring.”
I roll my eyes but don’t correct her. Because she’s not exactly wrong.
“Mrs. Belov?” A salon attendant materializes beside me, her voice soft and deferential. “Your manicure appointment is ready.”
