I drag my eyes open. Honestly? It’s stupid how beautiful this place looks, even at this ungodly hour.
The first hints of morning light are seeping through the windows, casting a silvery-blue glow across the pale floors, like water just before the sun really catches it.
The cream drapes, drawn halfway open, ripple softly in the breeze. My bed—or rather, my marriage contract bed—is carved out of dark oak, layered in linens so soft I could probably sell one pillow and pay off my car. Correction: my former car. Betsy is dead; may she rest in patchy, red-peeling peace.
Konstantin’s view might have the ocean and cliffs of Big Sur, but this room? This room feels like it was designed to seduce sleep itself. A bitter laugh bubbles up. And to think I went to bed last night full of righteous fury, vowing to build an emotional wall so high and thick it could qualify as a historical landmark.
No emotions, Bella. Not anymore.
Not with him. Not after what he said. I squeeze my eyes shut, the echo of his words still scraping at the inside of my skull. I remind myself—firmly—that Konstantin Belov is not my safe place. He never was. He never will be.
But my throat tightens anyway. Because this is the time—back home, right about now—I’d be stumbling into the kitchen to make breakfast for Julian and Lila. Julian would already be up, scrolling through his phone and pretending not to stress about whatever test he had that day. Lila? Lila would still be a burrito in her blankets, requiring a full rescue operation to get her out of bed.
My chest pinches. I reach blindly for my phone, like a lifeline, and shoot off a text to our sibling group chat.
ME: Morning, chaos monsters. Reporting live from… a weird new habitat. How’s the home front holding up?
ME: Julian, good luck with your test. Lila, wake up and pretend to be a human.
ME: Miss you both more than my sanity.
Julian answers fast, because of course he does. My reliable early bird.
JULIAN: Roommate’s hogging the bathroom. Test at 10. Could be worse. Could be algebra.
I smile, but it pinches at the edges. My fingers hover over the screen before I tap out:
ME: Let’s try to do a call this weekend? I’ll figure something out. Love you both.
For a moment, I stare at the screen, chewing my bottom lip.
Lila pops up next. Her message is a punch straight to the gut:
LILA: Where are you, by the way? You sound like you’re on vacation or something.
There it is. A sharp spike of guilt knifes through my ribs because out of the two of them, it’s Lila who doesn’t know anything. Julian—well, Julian suspects more than he lets on. He’s too mature for his age, my calm in every storm. He’s giving me space, waiting until I’m ready to explain the whole mess. But Lila? She’s still a kid, and I’ve kept her in the dark, telling myself I’m protecting her. Lying to myself, mostly. Because thetruth is, I don’t even know how to explain this.“Surprise! I accidentally married a mafia kingpin to save our house!”isn’t exactly something you drop between breakfast and first period.
I type and erase three different replies before settling on:
ME: Somewhere weird but safe. Promise. I’ll tell you soon.
I hesitate, then add a little white lie:
ME: Long story. Homework first, interrogation later. [grimace face]
It’s my fake-casual, like,“Hehe, everything’s fine even though it’s totally not.”
She doesn’t reply right away, which somehow makes it worse. My chest tightens. Because the truth is, I don’t know if I can just video call them whenever I want. I don’t even know the full list of rules in this place yet. Mental note: Add it to the growing list of things I need to negotiate with Konstantin. Right after “stop falling asleep angry” and “stop imagining murder at sunrise.”
A knock startles me, snapping me out of my spiral. Gentle, hesitant. “Mrs. Belov?”
I freeze. That’s still strange to hear. Like she’s talking to someone else.
“Are… are you wake up?” The voice is careful, uncertain—like the words are foreign, picked one by one from a phrasebook.
I wipe at my face fast, catching the stray tears before they betray me further.
“Yeah,” I croak, then clear my throat. “Yes. Come in.”
