SLAP!
The slap echoes through the room like a gunshot. The force of it snaps Anatoly’s head to the side, a red handprint blooming on his weathered cheek.
“Don’t you dare!” Yelena shouts, struggling against her restraints. “Don’t you touch him!”
Tatiana laughs, the sound brittle and dangerous. “How touching. The first wife, still so loyal.” She turns to Yelena, hersmile sharp as a blade. “Did you know he still keeps your picture in his wallet? Even after all these years. Even after I gave him a son. Even after I gave him everything.”
“I’ve never promised you anything,” Anatoly says quietly. “Our agreement was clear from the beginning.”
“Agreement?” Tatiana’s voice rises, sharp with decades of resentment. “You think a 23-year-old girl shipped off to marry a man twice her age had any say in that agreement? You think I wanted to spend my life as your trophy, paraded around at parties while you built your empire, and I smiled on command?”
Alya begins to sob in earnest now, her small shoulders shaking. Without thinking, I try to move toward her, but one of the guards shoves me back against the wall.
“Leave the children out of this,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Whatever grievance you have with Anatoly, they’re innocent.”
Tatiana’s attention swivels to me, her eyes narrowing. “Thewaitressspeaks. How quaint.” She moves closer, studying me like I’m a curiosity in a museum. “Tell me, Isabella, did you know what you were walking into when you signed that contract? Did you understand the family you were joining?”
“Her name is Bella,” Elena interjects, earning her a cold glare.
“Let me tell you a story,” Tatiana continues, ignoring Elena. “About a girl who was sold by her father to settle a debt. A girl who thought if she played by the rules, if she was the perfect wife, the perfect mother, she might one day have a say in her own life.”
She begins to pace, her expensive heels clicking on the concrete floor. “I was beautiful once. More beautiful than Irina. More beautiful even than you.” She gestures dismissively at me. “Anatoly paraded me at parties, showed me off like a prize. But beauty fades. And when it does, you’d better have something else to bargain with.”
“You had your fair share of material benefits,” Anatoly says quietly. “A life of luxury. Homes. Cars. Jewelry. You wanted for nothing.”
“I played along,” Tatiana continues, pacing again, the click of her heels punctuating each word. “For years, I smiled and nodded and did exactly as I was told. I wore the diamonds, hosted your parties, bore your son. I was the perfect doll, dressed up and put on display, waiting for the day you’d finally see me as a partner instead of a pawn.”
She stops, eyes narrowing, a bitter laugh clawing its way up her throat. “You should’ve died, Anatoly. But no—you wake up from the damn coma, clinging to life like a parasite that refuses to let go. And here we are. All of us still playing your game.”
Anatoly’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking beneath his graying beard. “Is that what this is about?” he asks, his tone deceptively calm. “Power?”
Irina shifts uncomfortably beside the children, her perfect features pinched with growing unease. She glances at Lev and Nikolai, then quickly away, as if unable to meet their eyes.
“It’s about what’s fair. What’s mine.” Tatiana’s voice drops, becomes deadly serious. “You promised Filipp would be your heir. You promised my son would inherit what you built.”
She throws her head back and laughs, the sound sharp and hollow, her Botox-stretched face unable to fully contort. The smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, like a mask that’s been pulled too tight. “And then you chose him…” she spits, the words tasting like they’ve been marinated in three-day-old garbage. “Konstantin.”
“I never said—”
“You didn’t have to say it!” Tatiana shrieks, her composure finally cracking. “You showed me! Every day, every decision, every time you went to her,” she gestures wildly at Yelena, “for advice instead of me. Your wife.”
The pieces click into place, the twisted logic revealing itself. This isn’t just about the succession. This is about a woman who believes she’s been denied what she’s owed. What she sacrificed her life for.
“And you,” Tatiana turns to Irina, her voice dripping with disdain. “The perfect vessel for his perfect heir. Selected from a catalog of acceptable bloodlines, with your impeccable pedigree and empty head.”
Irina flinches, her porcelain composure cracking. “That’s not true. Konstantin and I—”
“Were arranged,” Tatiana finishes. “Just like me and Anatoly. Just like every marriage in this godforsaken family. Ask Yelena. She’ll tell you.”
Yelena’s face remains impassive, but her eyes blaze with cold fury.
“Some of us understood our duty,” she says stiffly. “Some of us didn’t need to be forced to do what was right for the family.”
Irina’s face contorts, her gaze darting to Lev and Nikolai.
“You think I wanted this? To be a broodmare for the Belov line? To produce heirs while my husband built his empire?”
The boys’ faces drain of color, Nikolai’s jaw tightening while Lev’s eyes well with tears.
