What on earth is wrong with me?
Why is my entire body malfunctioning after just one look from this man?
Before I can make sense of the reaction, my mother’s voice cuts through the room like a whip.
“Natalya. Come help me upstairs. Now.”
Her voice carries a familiar fragility. I look up, and just as I expected, her face is distraught, her body trembling like a leaf.
I almost laugh at the sight, at the ridiculousness of her act. This sharp, venomous, manipulative woman pretending to be a fragile, helpless widow is the most comic sight of the century.
I give the Balshov brothers one final glance.
Alexei is giving orders.
Dmitri is watching everything with a bored expression.
Mikhail is rubbing his temple, exhausted.
And Viktor…
Viktor’s gaze is still on me.
My stomach flips, not unpleasantly, just in a dangerously unfamiliar way.
I turn away quickly and follow my mother out of the room, struggling not to suffocate in the sharp scent of her perfume. My footsteps feel uneven, my breath caught somewhere in my chest.
I’m not sure what scares me more: The possibility of seeing Viktor Balshov again someday. Or the knowledge that I might actually want to.
Chapter One
Natalya
I thrum my fingers in tune to the country music playing on the radio as I drive Andrei toward the airport. Something about love, blue skies and endless waters. The tune sounds familiar—it’s probably one of those 90’s songs I’ve heard in passing.
I glance at the dashboard and the time catches my eyes. It’s barely six in the morning; too early for most people to be awake, but Andrei sits in my passenger seat looking annoyingly alert, tapping his fingers on his knee like he’s running mental checklists.
“What is it?” I ask, barely sparring him a glance.
“Wondering if I forgot anything,” he murmurs.
“Probably not.” He’s one of the most meticulous people I know.
“What about you?”
I glance over at him, shaking my head slightly in confusion. “What about me?”
“Will you be alright alone? Sure you don’t want to come with me?”
“Andrei,” I say, finally giving in to the urge to roll my eyes despite the warmth spreading in my chest. “I don’t know if you realize it but I’m twenty now. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”
“You say that,” he mutters, squinting at the road ahead, “but we both know you can’t be trusted with basic human needs when you’re alone. Last time I left you for forty-eight hours, you forgot to eat until I called.”
“That was one time.”
“And the time before that, you almost fainted at the shop because you’d skipped breakfast.”
“I was busy!”
