Tatiana laughs, low and cold, but her eyes flicker—she didn’t expect pushback.
She leans closer to Bella, her smile tight and syrupy, like she’s offering tea while slipping poison in the cup.
“Be careful, girl; you don’t know who you’re talking to.” It’s a warning wrapped in silk, her face all charm, but the venom’s clear—she’s marking Bella as an outsider, a nobody who’s stumbled into her game.
Bella’s flute wavers, her eyes narrowing, andblyad, she doesn’t back down, even if she’s clueless about Tatiana’s weight.
“Oh, I know a bully when I see one,” she snaps, voice sharp but slurring at the edges, her cheeks flushed from too many drinks.
Tatiana raises an eyebrow.
“You don’t scare me, whoever you think you are.” She sways slightly, chin still up, and my chest tightens—pride, want, and a stab of worry.
Tatiana doesn’t even glance at her; just makes a sharp “Tsk” sound, lips curling like Bella’s not worth the air. She turns her gaze to me, eyes glinting with that poison I know too well.
“Such a disappointment,” she says, like I’m the one who dragged trash into her world.
Just like that, she turns, batting her lashes at a gray-haired mogul nearby, her voice loud enough to carry.
“Oh, Richard, we must discuss that Napa venture—such potential!” She’s fishing for deals, sidelining me, and it’s classic Tatiana: undermine, distract, conquer.
Filipp just smirks, his gaze lingering on Bella like he’s testing me, daring me to snap.
I clench my jaw.
Themudak—I warned him to stay away from her, and now he’s here, with Tatiana, thinking he can play me.
My blood’s roaring.
Blyad, I’d love to smash that smirk off his face, but I won’t—not here. Photographers are circling this damn Summit, snapping every move, and I’m not handing them a headline for tomorrow’s rags. “Belov Loses It at Chateau Marmont” isn’t the plan.
Keep it locked, keep her safe, deal with this suka later.
Bella’s trembling beside me, her knuckles white on that damn flute, and I see it now—her anger at Tatiana, her fear from that creep earlier, the champagne she’s been grabbing from trays all night to hold it together.
She snatches another glass from a passing waiter, downs it in one gulp, and leans into me, her body soft and unsteady, curves pressing hard against my side.
“Who the hell is she?” she mutters, looking up, her cheeks pink, eyes glassy, swaying so her shoulder slips against my chest. Her lips pout, red and slick, andsukin syn, she’s a mess—drunk.
“She’s my stepmother,” I say.
“Stepmother…” Bella repeats, her voice trailing, and then it hits her like a brick. She tilts her head, staring up at me, her plump lips red as sin, slick from champagne, her blue eyes wide with shock.
I shift, turning her slightly, shielding her from Tatiana’s venom and Filipp’s stare. Her lips part, a soft gasp, and my cock twitches.
“Let’s go home,” I say. My hand slides to hers, fingers locking tight.
I don’t give a fuck anymore. I just need her out of this fire. Backhome, where I can protect her—where I can have her.
29
Bella
I’m fucked.
Not literally—yet—but my head’s a champagne-soaked mess, and I’m slumped in the passenger seat of Konstantin’s Rolls-Royce, the same beast we rode to that Summit shitshow.
I shouldn’t have downed that last flute—or the one before. But Tatiana’s “acquisition” jab, that creep’s leer, and Konstantin’s whole… everything?
