Chapter 11
ELEVEN
ALEXANDER
The wind carries the scent of fresh grass, the sound of distant chatter blending into the rustling of trees. Viktor swings, his form practiced and effortless, the club slicing clean through the air before the ball soars across the course.
“Perfect shot,” he says, dropping his club with satisfaction. “You see that?”
“Mm.” I roll my shoulders. “Not bad.”
He scoffs. “Not bad? That was fucking flawless.”
I pick up my club and step forward, adjusting my grip. I don’t waste time when I swing- The ball cuts through the sky, landing a few feet from his.
Viktor watches it, then lets out a low chuckle. “Show-off.”
We walk across the course in comfortable silence, the distant chatter of other players fading into the background. I don’t come here often, but Viktor does. He likes the quiet, the exclusivity. For me, it’s just another place to breathe away from everything else.
When we reach a shaded spot near the lake, Viktor stretches before dropping onto one of the benches. I stand beside him, eyes drifting across the course.
“You know,” he starts, leaning back against the bench, “you’ve been off the grid lately.”
I glance at him.
He smirks. “Vera said you’ve been avoiding her.”
I roll my eyes at that. “She reports to you now?”
“Something like that,” he replies with a smirk, “are you done with her?”
I ground my teeth this time watching the lake, “We were never together, you know that.”
You’ve been fucking her for years, Sasha,” Viktor says flatly. “You know she’s in love with you. And your mother likes her.”
I sigh, long and heavy, running a hand down my face. Sometimes I think Viktor and Maksim exist for the sole purpose of irritating the shit out of me. It’s probably why they get along so damn well.
Vera.
She’s the only woman my family knows. Not the only woman I’ve been with, of course—but the only one they’ve seen consistently. The only one I allow into family dinners, vacations, and birthdays. To them, she’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to serious.
I met her in a club during my military service back in Russia. One look at her across the dance floor, and all I wanted was to take her back to my place, bury her face in my pillow, and fuck her until she couldn’t walk. The smile she gave me told me she knew exactly what I was thinking.
It was supposed to be a one-time thing. It wasn’t. We kept going, again and again, for years.
But from the start, I was clear—it’s just sex. She agreed. And it’s always been simple, clean, and straightforward, with no questions. She calls, I let her in. No problem.
At least… until a month ago.
Until a boy with blonde hair and wide brown eyes walked into my life.
Eyes too soft. Too fucking beautiful. He’s been lodged in my brain ever since, like a bullet I can’t dig out.
“You’re probably not gonna answer me,” Viktor cuts in, crossing his legs lazily. “But is this about the blonde kid?”
The words drag me out of my thoughts. I glance at him, meeting his gaze head-on.
“What?”
“The one from the art exhibition,” he clarifies, watching me closely. “I saw the way you looked at him.”
I arch a brow. “You noticed?”
“You know, I notice a lot of things.” He shrugs, too casually. “And I’ve known you long enough to know what you are. The type of person you are.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “So—what’s the deal with the kid?”
“Don’t fucking call him a kid,” I grit, glare sharp enough to cut. “He’s an adult.”
Viktor raises both hands in a mock surrender. “Relax. He just looks young. Too young. Too… innocent.”
My jaw tightens, “He’s twenty.”
Viktor doesn’t miss a beat.
“And you’re twenty-nine.” He leans back, letting the words hang in the air between us. “That’s a good nine years, Sasha.”
I exhale, sharp and slow, setting my club down harder than I should before taking a seat beside him.
Of course, I’ve thought about it. The age gap.
The fucking optics of it all. But every time it slips away, because when I look at him, I don’t see numbers.
I don’t see years. I see him. And never, not once, have I seen a child.
I don’t even know if Lucas knows my age. Don’t know if he’s thought about it. Does it bother him? Would it? Does he look at me and wonder the same way I do?
“I’m not saying you’re a creep,” Viktor continues, his tone shifting softer, more measured.
His hand clasps my shoulder, grounding, irritating.
“I just never pictured him for you. He looks… fragile. Too soft. Too breakable. And you—” his eyes cut into mine, steady, unyielding “you don’t do fragile. ”
My throat works, but I don’t say anything.
“I just want to know what’s going on in your head,” he presses. “That look you gave him at the exhibition… it wasn’t subtle, Sasha. Anton saw it too. You were locked on him like he was the only person in the room.”
I hesitate. The words don’t come easily. I’m not used to explaining myself. Most people don’t deserve explanations. But even as I try to shape the thought, I realize I don’t have one.
Because there is no logic. No strategy. No plan.
I think of the way Lucas carries himself—with that quiet, hesitant grace that doesn’t ask for notice, but somehow draws it anyway.
The way he meets my gaze, steady and unflinching, even when I can tell it costs him something.
Every step he takes feels measured, every glance calculated, like a person trying not to trigger invisible tripwires.
But he faces me. Even when it would be easier to look away, he doesn’t.
That… defiance, small as it is, burns like a stubborn flame. And it intrigues me.
“I find him…” I pause, rolling my wrist as if to loosen the word before I let it out. “…interesting.”
Viktor barks out a short laugh, tilting his head. “Interesting? That’s a first. I’ve never heard you say that about anyone.”
I glance at him, voice low, certain. “I know.”
He studies me for a beat, then shakes his head with a crooked grin. “So let me guess, you don’t just want to fuck him and be done with it?”
“No.” My answer is immediate: “I don’t.”
And that’s the truth.
I’ve fucked people—mostly women. Easy, casual, forgettable.
A few men, too. Four, maybe five? They blur together, the difference meaningless.
It’s never about them. Never better, never worse.
Just control. Just sex. I don’t linger. I don’t chase.
I don’t stay long enough to care about the faces, the names, the details.
Even Vera, who hung around for years, was a convenience.
A habit. Something to fill the space when it suited me.
I never bothered to name it, to define it, because what was there to define?
I don’t date. I don’t attach. People are temporary.
Replaceable. They exist in my world for as long as they’re useful or as long as I feel like it.
That’s who I am. That’s how I’ve always been.
But Lucas…
The first time I saw him, I didn’t think about sex.
Didn’t think about peeling him out of his clothes or pinning him under me like I would with someone I found attractive.
I just… stared, like some idiot who forgot how to breathe.
He was beautiful, yes—but not the kind of beauty that shouts.
His was softer. Louder in ways he doesn’t even realize.
A type of beauty that sneaks past your defenses before you can close the gates.
But it wasn’t just his face, or his hair, or the freckles I caught in the light. It was the way he looked at me. He was afraid, of course he was, but it wasn’t disgust. It wasn’t the wide-eyed horror I’ve seen before on others. He didn’t see me as a monster. He just… saw me.
And something about that look lodged itself under my skin. It made me want to protect him, which is not in my nature. Protect him from the world, from the cruelty of people I know too well… but also protect him from me. From the parts of me that can’t be softened. The parts that eat people alive.
“You think he finds you interesting, too?” Viktor asks, cutting into my thoughts.
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes against the bench. I glance down. The name on the screen makes my pulse tick faster, subtle but there. Lucas.
We exchanged numbers two days ago, after I took him out for brunch when he picked up the new hearing aids. But neither of us had reached out since.
Until now.
Lucas: I have a tight schedule
with work and school. I do not
know when I’ll have time to
Teach you ASL
I read it twice, slowly. He thinks he can slip away. He thinks excuses will put space between us. I almost laugh at that; it seems he doesn’t know me at all.
Alex: Quit the job.
I send it without hesitation, sliding the phone back into my pocket. A move that says more than the words themselves. I can feel Viktor watching me, that grin tugging at his mouth again. But I don’t give him the satisfaction of a glance.
Because Lucas just lit a fuse, and I don’t let go of what I decide is mine.
* * *
The steak hisses in the pan, the scent of searing meat curling into the air. I stand over it, watching the edges brown as the butter melts and coats the steak in a golden glaze.
Do I wanna know? Hozier’s version plays in the built-in speaker.
My phone buzzes where it’s resting on the counter. I don’t look at it right away. I flip the steak, listening to the sharp sizzle, watching the fat bubble. Only when the steak is perfect and resting on the side do I wipe my hands and check the screen.
It’s from Mike, already telling me he’s parked outside the cafe Lucas works in. I shoot him a thumbs up and go back to Lucas’ texts.
Lucas: Stop ignoring me.
I can’t just quit my job.
I let the words hang there, watching them on the screen like they’re some kind of challenge. I dry my hands, pick up the phone, and type back.
Alex: What time do you get
off work today?
Lucas: By 8, why?
Alex: Good. My driver is already
there to pick you up.