The drive back to the Volkov estate was unusually quiet.
Elara sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed loosely over her chest, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. The trees blurred past her window as the SUV cruised along the countryside, the engine humming like a lullaby trying to soothe the storm inside her. Beside her, Nikolai kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other draped lazily on his thigh. He hadn't spoken since they pulled out of her parents' driveway.
Finally, he broke the silence.
"Well… that went well," he muttered, casting her a sideways glance.
Elara barked out a laugh, half amusement, half exhaustion. "Yeah, if you erase the part where my father threatened to perform a lobotomy on you with no anesthesia."
Nikolai chuckled softly. "To be fair, he did say he was a neurosurgeon. I'm sure he'd do a clean job."
"I'm serious," she said, turning in her seat to face him fully. "If he finds out who you truly are—what you really do for a living—he might just follow through."
He gave a small shrug. "Probably. But I've had worse threats. At least he didn't reach for a scalpel."
"He nearly did," she retorted. "His eyes were practically slicing your skin."
"I survived. Points for me?"
She rolled her eyes. "You're lucky he didn't ask for your social security number and birth certificate."
"I had those memorized just in case," Nikolai said, grinning.
Her glare faltered, softening into a reluctant smile. "Still… you did good. You were… convincing."
He smirked. "I'm always convincing, Elara. But thanks. That means a lot coming from you."
They pulled into the circular driveway of the Volkov mansion just as the sky began to blush with the colors of early evening. The estate stood tall and proud, its glass windows catching the dying sunlight, casting golden reflections against the lush garden hedges.
As soon as they stepped out of the car, the front door flung open.
There stood Natalia Volkov, wrapped in a wine-colored robe and looking every bit like a queen awaiting news from the battlefield. She had her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed with unfiltered curiosity.
"Well?" she asked, not even bothering with a greeting. "Did he survive dinner? Or did Mr. Dawson have to be sedated?"
Elara sighed as she walked up the steps. "Barely. You know what he said to Nikolai? He said if he ever broke my heart, he'd perform brain surgery on him. With no anesthesia."
Natalia's eyebrows lifted with impressed amusement. "That man has style. I like him already."
"Yeah, well, I think Nikolai peed a little," Elara muttered.
"I did not," Nikolai said as he joined them, slinging an arm around Elara's shoulder. "But I'm not ashamed to admit I briefly reconsidered all my life choices."
Natalia's grin widened. "So? Did you two behave like a sweet, tax-paying couple that shops at farmer's markets and bakes cookies for neighbors?"
"I think we nailed it," Elara said.
"Until the baby bomb," Nikolai added.
Natalia's mouth fell open slightly. "Wait—you told them? You told your parents you're pregnant?"
Elara nodded slowly.
"And?"
"Well, after Dad finished glaring death at Nikolai and threatened his soul, he... accepted it. Eventually."
Natalia clapped her hands together, eyes twinkling. "Oh, I wish I had been a fly on that wall."
"Trust me, you don't," Nikolai said dryly.
Natalia led them inside, ushering them toward the living room with a flourish of her hand. The chandelier glittered above them, and a fire was crackling softly in the hearth. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and something freshly baked.
"I had Mikhail's chef make cinnamon rolls," Natalia said, settling onto one of the plush couches. "I figured we'd need comfort food tonight."
"Elara," came Anya's voice as she entered, barefoot and holding a half-read book. "Did your father shoot Nikolai?"
"Not yet," Elara said. "But he might if he finds out Nikolai isn't really a systems analyst who owns a cat named Archie."
Anya gasped, grinning. "He doesn't own a cat?! That's the real crime."
"Anyway," Natalia said, sipping her tea. "Now that this family milestone is crossed, what's next?"
Elara exchanged a look with Nikolai.
"Well," she said, "next is… figuring out how we're going to get through this pregnancy without my dad showing up with handcuffs and holy water."
"And getting that marriage certificate." Natalia said, her tone suddenly serious.
"Wait, what?" Elara blinked.
"I'm sorry, but you're showing now. A bump will show soon. That baby is already living rent-free, and I need to ensure no gossip starts that the baby is a bastard child."
Nikolai stifled a cough. "Technically…"
"Don't. Even. Joke," Natalia snapped. "The big wedding can come later. The last thing you want is for your child to be called a bastard child and for Mikhail to drag you to get a marriage certificate."
Elara groaned, covering her face. "This family is insane."
"We're rich and dangerous," Natalia said, smiling sweetly. "Insanity is part of the charm."
Nikolai looked over at Elara and whispered under his breath, "It really can't be that bad."
She glared at him. "You keep saying that. And then things get worse."
He chuckled and leaned in to kiss her temple. "That's what makes it exciting."
------------
They were in their room now, the warm glow of the bedside lamps casting soft shadows across the walls. The house was quiet except for the faint humming of the central heating and the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath the Persian rug. Outside the window, the sky was a deep velvet, dotted with stars that blinked down like silent witnesses to the madness of the evening.
Elara sat on the edge of the bed, bent over as she untied the straps of her heels. Her fingers moved slowly, methodically, like her thoughts were somewhere far away. When she slipped off the first shoe, she let it fall to the floor with a quiet thud, then did the same with the second. She exhaled, shoulders slumping slightly as she peeled off her socks, folding them neatly on the nightstand.
Across the room, Nikolai sat on the small leather armchair beside the window, his legs slightly spread as he hunched over his burner phone. The screen's faint glow illuminated the hard lines of his face, his brow furrowed in concentration as he scrolled through encrypted emails. This phone was reserved for Bratva business only—untraceable, heavily protected, and used strictly when the things he did needed to remain unseen by the rest of the world.
The silence between them was not uncomfortable, but it was dense, filled with unspoken words and half-formed thoughts neither had the energy to voice just yet. The tension from lunch with her parents still lingered in the air like the last traces of smoke after a fire. And the fact that they have to get a marriage certificate as soon as possible.
Then, without looking up from his phone, Nikolai spoke.
"Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?"
Elara blinked and looked up at him. His voice had been calm, casual even, but the question caught her off guard. She stared at him, unsure for a moment if she'd heard him correctly.
"Why do you ask?" she said, her tone cautious.
He glanced up at her then, his gaze steady. "Just curious."
Elara shifted on the bed and pulled her legs up underneath her, hugging her knees lightly. "I don't know," she said after a beat. "I guess they're both fine. I don't care whether it's a boy or girl. All I care about is giving them the best life possible. One without fear, without secrets. One where they don't have to wonder what their father does behind closed doors."
Nikolai flinched slightly at her words, but she didn't notice—or pretended not to. He nodded slowly and looked back at his phone.
"What about you?" she asked, watching him.
He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. As long as they're healthy. And you're okay. That's all I care about."
There was sincerity in his voice, even if his face was unreadable. It was the kind of thing that made Elara both angry and comforted all at once.
She stood, walking toward the bathroom and turning on the shower. Steam quickly began to rise, curling around the room like mist creeping through a forest.
She was just about to close the door when she felt him behind her. She turned around and frowned.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking a shower," he said casually, peeling off his shirt and tossing it into the laundry basket.
"Not with me, you're not," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "I don't trust you to keep your hands to yourself. And I'm still mad at you."
He gave her that maddening half-smile of his—the one that was both boyish and arrogant, the one that got under her skin more than any insult ever could.
"We're both adults. I can control myself. Besides, it's not like I haven't seen you naked before."
She scoffed. "Yeah, and that's part of the problem."
Still, he moved past her and into the bathroom, starting to unbuckle his pants as if her protests were just background noise. She glared at his back.
"Fine," she muttered. "But you stay on your side of the shower. You so much as brush against me, I'll knee you in the groin."
"Noted," he said with a grin.
Inside the shower, the hot water poured over them like rain, drumming against their skin and filling the space with the scent of sandalwood and lavender. Elara kept her back to him, arms crossed as she let the water wash away the tension of the day. She could feel his presence behind her—quiet, contained, watching.
Despite her annoyance, there was something oddly comforting about having him there. Like a storm cloud hovering just close enough to be dangerous but not yet raining down ruin. She didn't trust him, not completely, but she did feel safer when he was around. And she hated that.
Nikolai didn't say a word. He respected her space. Didn't touch her. Didn't even look at her longer than necessary. And when she turned slightly to glance at him, she saw a shadow of something rare in his eyes—restraint.
When the water began to cool, they stepped out and dried off. She wrapped herself in a towel and walked to the bed, still not saying much. Nikolai followed her a few minutes later, dressed in sweatpants and a black T-shirt, his hair damp, sticking to his forehead.
They lay in silence for a long time. The space between them was only a few inches, but it felt like miles.
"Thank you," she finally whispered, not looking at him.
"For what?"
"Not making this harder. For being there today
For not running."
He didn't respond immediately. Then, in the quiet, he said, "I'm not going anywhere, Elara. Not now. Not ever."
She closed her eyes, wishing she could believe that without doubt.
But maybe, just maybe, tonight was a start.