She tries again, reaching for hope. “Maybe your grandfather’s will… Maybe it will bring something good to you, Alyosha. Perhaps you’ll find happiness. A wife, a family. It doesn’t always have to be cold and hard.”
I shake my head, the old bitterness rising. “Don’t wish for things that can’t be, Mama. I’ll do what’s needed. I’ll produce an heir. That’s all anyone wants from me. Love doesn’t belong in my world.”
She looks hurt, her mouth pressed in a sad line. “You think that’s all life is? Duty and loneliness?”
I look at her, a sharp edge to my voice I don’t bother to dull. “How does Father feel about you?”
She doesn’t answer. She looks away, her hand tightening on the edge of the table, her eyes shining with old disappointments she never speaks aloud.
I regret the words instantly, but I don’t take them back.
I finish my soup in silence, the gulf between us stretching wider than ever.
Love is for other men. Not for me.
8
ZATANNA
Four days.That’s how long I’ve been here. Four days of filling in spreadsheets, printing files, delivering coffee, fixing the copier, and answering random emails for people whose names I barely remember.
Four days of nods, polite smiles, and the gnawing certainty that I don’t actually belong.
There’s still no real job for me. No assignments, no directions from management. Just scraps and side work handed over by coworkers who seem grateful for the help but never actuallyneedme. I feel like a ghost—visible only when someone’s in a bind, invisible the rest of the time.
And by the end of the fourth day, paranoia is clawing at my insides. I’m convinced they’re about to fire me. Why else hire someone and then give them nothing important to do? Maybe the offer was a mistake. Maybe they found out about the recording. Maybe the CEO realized he doesn’t need another assistant after all.
The anxiety builds until I can’t take it. I decide to do something I’ve been avoiding: talk to the CEO. Maybe if I ask for work—realwork—I’ll prove myself. Or at least I’ll know where I stand.
I mention my plan quietly to Lina. while helping her collate some files.
She looks up, alarmed. “You want to talk to Mr. Vasiliev? Like, by yourself?”
I shrug, trying to sound braver than I feel. “Someone has to tell me what I’m actually supposed to do around here.”
Lina leans in, lowering her voice. “I wouldn’t, if I were you. He’s not… he’s not like other bosses.”
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shakes her head, lips pressed tight. “Just… if you need anything, maybe talk to HR or his secretary first. People don’t just walk into his office. Not unless they’re called.”
“But why?” I push. “Is he that scary?”
She hesitates, eyes darting toward the corner office as if he might hear her through the glass. “He’s… intense. And private. And… Look, Zee, if you want advice? Stay out of his way until you know the lay of the land. Some questions are better left alone.”
Her warning lingers as I finish up, the uneasy hush spreading through me. I stare across the open-plan floor at the closed, shadowed door of the CEO’s office, my questions stacking up, heavier with every hour.
Maybe I should listen.
But I don’t think I can stand being invisible any longer.
I take Lina’s advice and head for the CEO’s secretary first. Her nameplate reads “Vivian,” her entire desk a study in icy precision. Vivian barely glances up from her monitor as I approach, fingers flying over the keyboard.
“Excuse me,” I begin, nerves bubbling in my chest. “I was hoping to speak with Mr. Vasiliev, or at least get some clarification on my role. I’ve been here a few days, and?—”
She cuts me off, not even looking at me. “If you need clarification, take it up with HR. Mr. Vasiliev’s schedule is full, and he doesn’t meet with junior staff without an appointment.”
I hesitate, swallowing. “It’s just… I haven’t been given any direct tasks, and?—”
