Hannah doesn’t know who I am. Lauren is managing two separate realities under the same roof, keeping them from colliding, and that’s costing her more than she’ll say. What happened earlier exists in a sealed compartment—real for the two of us, invisible to the world outside this room.
That’s not sustainable. It’s not what either of us wants.
But it’s what’s possible right now.
Aslanov first. Everything else after.
I reach for my phone and check the feeds. All clear. Then I get up, because there’s work to do, and wanting a different life doesn’t make the current one wait.
Four years I spent in survival mode, stripping everything down to what was necessary. Aslanov took my empire, my name, my life beside these two—and I let him, because the alternative was worse. But patience has a limit, and I’m reaching mine. Every day we stay in this penthouse is another day he’s out there, consolidating, preparing.
Lauren comes back in and closes the door behind her.
She’s wearing a loose shirt, buttons done up carelessly, hair still down from sleep. I file the image away and say nothing about it.
“Hannah okay?”
“She’s fine.” Lauren sits at the foot of the bed, pulling one knee up. “But she’s restless, Niko. She’s been cooped up in here for a week with no school, no friends, no routine. I can see it starting to affect her.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” She says it without sharpness—just tired honesty. “She needs structure. She needs to be learning, socializing, moving through her day with some kind of purpose. She can’t play with those dolls indefinitely.” A beat. “Neither can I, frankly. The dramatic storylines she invents for them are starting to concern me.”
That pulls something close to a smile out of me. “She gets that from her mother.”
Lauren points a warning finger at me. “Don’t.”
I raise my hands.
“Claire,” she says, getting back to it. “You already saw what happened yesterday—Hannah took to the tutoring immediately. Claire has the experience, she has the patience, and she’s already here. I think we should make it a proper arrangement. Daily sessions, structured. It would give Hannah’s days some shape.”
I consider it. My instinct is toward caution—fewer variables, fewer points of exposure. But I’ve already run Claire through everything available to me. Passport records, employment history, financial background, travel. Former kindergarten teacher who transitioned into estate management in her thirties. Clean record, stable life, no affiliations I could find. I wouldn’t have brought Lauren and Hannah here otherwise.
“Fine,” I say. “Talk to her.”
Lauren’s expression relaxes. “Thank you.”
“But it stays contained to the penthouse.”
“Obviously.” She gives me a look that says she didn’t need clarifying on that. Then she stands, smoothing down her shirt. “I’ll go ask her now, before Hannah dismembers another Barbie.”
She’s almost at the door when I say her name.
She turns.
I hold her gaze for a moment.Blyad.There’s too much to say and none of it is ready yet.
“Nothing,” I say. “Go.”
She watches me for half a second longer than necessary, then slips out.
Chapter Seventeen
Lauren
The pieces are fitting together too perfectly.
I know better than to trust that.
