Tatiana rises to her full height, eyes narrowing. We stand face to face now, barely two feet apart. Her perfume is expensive, cloying—something French that makes my newly sensitive stomach roll.
“Well, well,” Tatiana says, voice dripping with false sweetness. “The new Mrs. Belov has claws. But let me give you some advice,Bella. One day, you think you’re on top of the world. The next, you’re… dead.”
Elena steps forward, eyes wide with mock surprise. “Woo, woo, woo. Who’s talking about dead things? Oh, right. Botox Barbie herself. Shouldn’t you be in a freezer somewhere?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing—or screaming. Elena has never known when to back down, even when facing someone who could probably arrange her disappearance with a single phone call.
Tatiana’s gaze flicks to Elena, then back to me. The calculation in her eyes is chilling.
“And who might this be? Another remnant of your… working-class past?”
“I’m her Botox detector,” Elena replies with a sweet smile. “And, honey, whoever did your last round needs to have their medical license revoked. Your forehead hasn’t moved since 2010, but the rest of your face is just kinda… floating around underneath it. It’s fascinating, really. Like geological layers.”
I could kiss her and kill her in the same moment.
“How embarrassing for Konstantin,” Tatiana says, her voice sharp as glass. “First, he marries awaitress, and now he has to tolerate her uncultured friends. Some bloodlines simply can’t be elevated, I suppose. Like trying to train alley cats for the show ring.”
The dig hits harder than I want to admit. Not for me—I’ve never been ashamed of where I come from—but for what it implies about Konstantin. That I’m somehow a stain on his reputation. That he’s settling. That this entire arrangement is beneath him.
Tatiana turns back to Alya, completely dismissing Elena and me as if we’ve ceased to exist. Her body language says it all—we’re less than nothing in her world.
“How are your brothers,devotchka? Are they behaving themselves?” Her tone shifts when she speaks to Alya, becoming almost genuine. Almost.
“They’re at the shooting range,” Alya says, her small hand finding mine again, fingers warm and trusting as they wrap around my palm. “With Mommy’s brother, Julian. Lev hit all the targets!”
Tatiana’s face freezes, the muscles around her eyes tightening despite the Botox. A flash of genuine emotion—shock, followed quickly by contempt—cracks her perfect mask.
“Mommy?” she repeats, the word coated in disbelief. Her gaze flickers between Alya and me, taking in our clasped hands, the protective way I position my body, the natural way Alya leans against my side.
Something dark passes behind her eyes. “Oh dear. How… quaint.”
My heart swells and contracts simultaneously—pride at Alya’s acceptance, fear at the calculation I see forming behind Tatiana’s eyes.
“Children form attachments so quickly, don’t they?” Her voice has gone silky, dangerous. “A shame they often have to learn about impermanence the hard way. One day, you’re the cherished child; the next…” She makes a small, dismissive gesture, fingers fluttering like she’s shooing away an insect. “Well, life is unpredictable, isn’t it? Especially in our world.”
The threat is barely veiled now. I instinctively move Alya further behind me, one hand resting protectively over my stomach before I can catch myself. Tatiana’s eyes follow the movement, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her features.
Viktor shifts closer to us, his hand moving slightly toward what I assume is a concealed weapon. The other guards have tightened their formation, eyes constantly scanning the street, the buildings, Tatiana’s car.
“Is that a threat, Cruella?” Elena asks, examining her nails like she’s bored by the whole exchange. “Because I gotta say, the whole evil stepmother vibe is a little Disney Channel circa 1995. Next, you’ll be offering us poisoned apples and cackling about being the fairest of them all, which,” she looks Tatiana up and down with exaggerated assessment, “would be quite the stretch.”
Tatiana’s face transforms, cold fury replacing the calculated smile. “You should teach your… friend about respect,” she says to me, each word precisely enunciated. “Before she finds herself in a situation she can’t talk her way out of.”
“Or what?” Elena challenges, stepping forward. “You’ll have your minions feed her to the sharks? Make her disappear? Force her to listen to your boring threats for another minute? Because honestly, the last one seems cruelest.”
Tatiana’s hand flies up, a blur of motion aimed at Elena’s face.
“No!” I gasp, reaching out too late.
But the slap never lands.
Instead, a large hand intercepts Tatiana’s wrist in midair. Arseny—who I hadn’t even noticed approaching—holds her arm effortlessly, his expression almost bored. He’s appeared silently beside us, moving with the dangerous grace of a predator. His grip on Tatiana’s wrist is firm but controlled—exactly enough pressure to stop her, not enough to mark her skin.
“Mrs. Belov,” he says, and it takes me a second to realize he’s addressing Tatiana, not me.
Elena, completely unfazed by her near brush with assault, is openly staring at Arseny like he’s the last dessert at a buffet. Her eyes travel from his face down to his shoulders, lingering on his hands before making their way back up. Not subtle. Not even trying to be subtle.
And Arseny — who usually moves through life like everything’s a joke only he understands — is staring right back. His smirk is gone, replaced by something darker, more intent.When Elena drags her teeth over her bottom lip, his eyes drop to her mouth, lingering just a beat too long.Good lord. It’s like watching two predators circle each other, trying to decide if they want to fight or mate.
