The garden sprawled before them like something out of a painting—unreal in its beauty, still, and almost too quiet to belong to a house like the Volkov mansion. It was the kind of place that whispered secrets. Roses bloomed in every imaginable hue, winding through ornate trellises and curling over marble archways. There were manicured hedges in twisting patterns, stone fountains trickling crystal-clear water, and a faint perfume of lavender and rain-kissed earth in the air.
Elara walked beside Nikolai, her pace slow and thoughtful. She wasn't speaking much. In fact, since he'd offered to show her the garden, she hadn't said more than five words.
He noticed.
And it unnerved him more than he cared to admit.
Nikolai didn't like silence when it came from her. He was used to Elara spitting venom, making sarcastic comments, challenging him. That was how they operated. She pushed, he pushed harder. She threatened to escape, he reminded her who had the power. It was messed up, toxic even—but it was familiar.
This wasn't.
He could feel her eyes on him every few steps. Quick glances. Lingering stares when she thought he wasn't looking. But they weren't looks of hate. Not exactly. Something had changed, and he couldn't place it.
It wasn't fear.
It wasn't anger.
It was… softness. Sadness.
Pity.
And that, more than anything, made him clench his jaw.
They turned a corner where the path curved past a koi pond, the surface rippling as the golden and white fish glided beneath lily pads. A marble bench stood under the shade of an old elm tree. Without a word, Elara sank onto it, placing her hands in her lap, her fingers twisting nervously.
He stood for a moment, then slowly sat beside her.
Still, she didn't speak.
Nikolai leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, eyes scanning the water.
"What?" he asked, his voice low.
She blinked, startled. "What?"
"You've been staring at me like that for the last twenty minutes. So what is it?"
She looked away quickly, cheeks warming with guilt. "I haven't."
He let out a sharp breath through his nose, a humorless smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're a terrible liar."
Elara fell quiet again.
Nikolai studied her from the side. She looked soft today—her hair loose, her face free of makeup, dressed in a pale sundress that fluttered in the light wind. But her eyes carried weight. Her lashes were slightly damp, like she'd cried earlier. Maybe the hormones were catching up with her.
He glanced back at the water. "Is it the baby? The mansion? The people? Tell me what's bothering you."
Elara shook her head. "It's nothing."
"That nothing looks like it's eating you alive."
She sighed, then turned toward the pond. "It's just... a lot. This place. Your family. The way everything feels like a damn movie I never agreed to be in."
He didn't press her. He didn't even look at her. He just sat there, watching the koi swim in gentle circles.
Elara studied his profile—his strong jaw, the faint scar near his eyebrow, the way the sunlight softened the harsh angles of his face. He looked peaceful like this, but now that she knew… now that she had read what he went through as a teenager, she saw it differently.
She saw the boy underneath all that Bratva steel. The broken boy with bloodied knuckles and forced silence.
It made her chest ache.
She'd once believed he was just another controlling brute. And in many ways, he still was. He took away her choices. He dragged her back from Lisbon. He forced her into a life she didn't ask for. But behind all that dominance was a kind of pain so deep, so old, it had carved itself into the very way he loved.
That was what this was—his way of loving. Broken. Possessive. Damaged.
She didn't say any of it.
He didn't ask.
But he could still feel the shift in her. The strange, weighted warmth in her gaze.
And it made him stiffen.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked without turning.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm made of glass."
She blinked. "I'm not."
"You are," he said. "You weren't before. So what changed?"
She hesitated. "Nothing. I just… see things differently now."
Nikolai's jaw tightened, but he nodded slowly. He thought maybe it was just everything catching up to her—the stress, the pregnancy, the weight of being here in a mansion full of criminals. Maybe she finally realized what she'd gotten herself into.
Or maybe, a quiet part of his mind whispered, she was starting to care.
That thought scared him more than anything.
"You don't have to stay in this world forever," he said, surprising both of them.
Elara turned to him, brows raised.
"I mean…" he rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not saying I'll let you go. I can't. Not yet. Not when everything's still—"
"A mess," she finished.
"Yeah."
She looked down at her hands.
He watched her for a long moment, then reached out and gently placed a hand over hers. She flinched, but didn't pull away.
"I know I've made this hell for you," he said, voice low. "But I never wanted to be the monster in your story."
She didn't respond.
"You can tell me if you want to go back to Lisbon one day," he said. "I won't stop you forever."
Elara slowly looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with emotion.
She knew he meant it. At least part of him did. But she also knew that letting her go would tear him in half. Because deep down, he wasn't just afraid of losing her. He was afraid of being left. Again.
She squeezed his hand softly. "Maybe… let's just get through this part first."
He nodded.
They sat in silence again, but this time, it wasn't heavy. It was thoughtful. Quiet. Shared.
Elara rested her other hand on her stomach, her mind racing.
She wouldn't tell him about the diary. She couldn't. That pain was his alone. But now that she knew, she would treat it with care. She would carry it with her, silently, the way he'd carried it all these years.
And maybe—just maybe—that was the beginning of something neither of them understood yet.
They had nearly made it to the back patio when a familiar voice pierced the calm.
"Hey love birds, food is ready!" Natalia shouted from the back door, her voice warm and commanding in a motherly way that made it impossible to ignore.
Nikolai sighed. He looked over at Elara and muttered, "Let's go."
She nodded wordlessly, and they began walking back to the mansion together. Their footsteps crunched softly against the gravel as they passed the statues of Volkov ancestors lining the pathway. Despite the tension humming beneath her skin, Elara admitted to herself that the garden had been beautiful—an oasis amid chaos.
Inside, the grand dining hall was already buzzing. Everyone had gathered around the long, polished oak table. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting golden glows on the silverware and plates laden with food. Viktoria sat at one end with Dimitri beside her, both speaking quietly over glasses of red wine. Anya, as usual, was the center of chaos, and today, her chaos came with four paws and sharp teeth.
Anya was tying a silky red bow around the thick neck of Misha—the family's prized guard dog and officially trained Bratva killer. The beast was massive, almost wolf-like, with gleaming black fur and golden eyes that gleamed with silent threat. But Anya was unfazed.
"There. Perfect," she said, stepping back to admire her work. The bow was slightly crooked, and Misha was giving her a look that could melt steel. "Now you look dashing. I think I should take you to school with me—to scare off those puberty-struck boys who think they have a chance with me."
The table erupted into laughter.
"Please don't traumatize the students," Viktoria said without looking up from her plate.
"No promises," Anya replied with a dramatic flip of her hair.
Elara smiled faintly, her tension easing. She took a seat beside Nikolai, across from Anya and down the table from Natalia. The spread before them was luxurious—steamed vegetables, honey-glazed roasted duck, warm garlic bread, and bowls of creamy soup that filled the air with a mouthwatering aroma.
Nikolai served Elara before fixing his own plate, another quiet gesture that didn't go unnoticed by his mother.
"Tomorrow," Natalia said as she poured herself some water, "Elara and I are going out."
Elara looked up. "We are?"
"Yes. Spa day. Just us ladies. No bratva business, no testosterone, and absolutely no murder plots. Just massages, facials, and gossiping about our overbearing husbands."
Anya grinned. "Can I come too?"
"Absolutely not," Natalia said immediately.
"Hey!"
"You're still a child, Anya. This is grown women talk. You can join us in a few years—maybe."
Anya huffed and stabbed her carrot aggressively.
Dimitri looked amused. "That sounds like a well-deserved break."
"You think I'm joking," Natalia replied. "I need a day away from your chaos. Every day, it's weapons, territory, strategy, more weapons. My pores can't breathe in this environment."
Everyone laughed again, and Elara found herself relaxing a little more. She hadn't expected to laugh at all in this house, but the Volkovs—dysfunctional and dangerous as they were—had their moments.
As they continued eating, Natalia leaned closer to Elara and whispered, "It's okay to feel overwhelmed. I did too when I first married into this madness. That's why I'm kidnapping you for the day tomorrow."
Elara nodded, her eyes soft. "Thank you. I think I need it."
And just like that, something settled in her chest. Not quite peace, but a truce—with herself, with this place, and maybe, someday, even with Nikolai.
Misha, the terrifying dog, rested his head on Anya's lap as she snuck him bits of duck. Dimitri muttered something about spoiling the dog, and Natalia threatened to kick him out of bed if he didn't let her enjoy her meal in peace. It was chaos. Absolute, beautiful chaos.
And for the first time, Elara wasn't entirely sure she hated being there.