Chapter 34 Konstantin
KONSTANTIN
The sight of Mila standing in my foyer, draped in a dress that costs more than most people make in a month, sends irritation crawling up my spine like ice.
I didn't invite her. The invitation was extended to her father, Ivan Bocharov, as a matter of business courtesy—nothing more. Hell, I didn’t even expect him to show, and I should have realized that giving him an invitation would mean Mila would show too.
But somehow, I thought she’d have better sense.
Ivy's hand tightens almost imperceptibly on my arm, and I can feel the tension radiating from her small frame.
She's trying to hide it, but I know her well enough now to read the subtle signs.
The way her shoulders square just slightly, the barely noticeable lift of her chin.
My little wife is preparing for battle, and something primal in me responds to that show of strength.
"Mila," I say, my voice carefully neutral as we approach. "I wasn't expecting you."
She turns toward us with that practiced smile of hers, the one that never quite reaches her green eyes. There's something else there tonight, though—a gleam that sets my teeth on edge. Mila is up to something. I've known her long enough to recognize when she's plotting.
"Konstantin, darling," she purrs, stepping forward as if she intends to embrace me.
I don't move, keeping Ivy firmly at my side, and Mila's smile falters for just a fraction of a second before she recovers.
"I came with Papa, of course. You know how he hates these social gatherings without me to smooth the way. "
It's bullshit, and we both know it. Ivan Bocharov has been navigating social and business situations since before Mila was born. But I don't call her on the lie. Not yet.
"Of course," I reply smoothly. "How thoughtful of you."
My eyes find Maksim across the room, and I catch his attention with a subtle nod toward Mila. His dark gaze follows mine, and he gives an almost imperceptible nod of understanding. Keep an eye on her. Maksim has been with me long enough to read my signals without question.
"And this must be your… wife," Mila continues, her gaze sliding to Ivy with barely concealed disdain. The way she says 'wife' makes it sound like a temporary inconvenience.
"Ivy," my wife says, extending her hand with more grace than Mila deserves. "Welcome to our… home."
Mila takes the offered hand, but I notice how her grip lingers just a moment too long, how her smile sharpens at the edges. "How lovely. And so young."
The comment is designed to wound, to make Ivy feel small and out of place. But my wife doesn't flinch. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, that hint of a smile playing at her lips that I've come to recognize as dangerous.
"Thank you," Ivy says sweetly. "Youth does have its advantages."
I have to bite back a smile at the subtle barb. My little wife has claws when she needs them.
The evening progresses, and I try to stay close to Ivy, but the demands of hosting pull me in different directions.
Business conversations that can't be avoided, introductions that must be made, the careful dance of maintaining alliances and showing respect to the right people.
Each time I'm drawn away from her side, I feel that familiar tension in my chest—the need to keep her close, to protect her.
It's more than duty now, though I'm still coming to terms with that realization.
Somewhere between her defiant glares and soft sighs, between watching her stand up to Mila and seeing her curl into my side when she thinks no one is looking, something fundamental has shifted.
The protective instincts I've always felt have deepened into something more complex, more consuming.
Love. The word sits heavy in my chest, both terrifying and inevitable. Best to table those thoughts for now.
I'm discussing shipping routes with Alec Sidorov when I realize I haven't seen Ivy in several minutes. My eyes scan the room automatically, searching for that familiar fall of blonde hair, the elegant line of her shoulders in the midnight blue dress I chose for her.
She's not here.
"Excuse me," I murmur to Alec, cutting off his explanation of port delays. He follows my gaze and nods in understanding.
I check the obvious places first. The powder room is empty, the kitchen holds only catering staff. A cold knot of anxiety begins to form in my stomach as I move through the house, my steps becoming more urgent with each empty room.
Then I notice something else. Mila is nowhere to be seen, either.
The realization hits me like a physical blow. Whatever Mila is planning, she's making her move now, while the house is full of people and distractions. I should have anticipated this, should have kept Ivy closer.
I find them at the far end of the east hallway, near the library. Mila has Ivy backed against the wall, not physically, but with the aggressive lean of her body, the sharp gestures of her hands. Even from a distance, I can see the tension in Ivy's posture, the way she's holding herself very still.
"I know exactly what you are," Mila is saying as I approach, her voice low but carrying in the quiet hallway. "You're supposed to be in Witness Protection, aren't you? Hidden away like some dirty secret."
My blood turns to ice. How the hell does she know about that?
"Konstantin only married you out of duty," Mila continues, oblivious to my approach. "Some obligation to your dead father. You don't actually think he loves you, do you? A man like him doesn't fall for some naive little girl who doesn't even understand the world she's stumbled into."
Each word is a calculated strike, designed to hit where it will hurt most. And I can see from the slight tremor in Ivy's hands that some of them are finding their mark.
"You're wrong," Ivy says quietly, but there's uncertainty in her voice that makes my chest tighten.
"Am I?" Mila laughs, the sound sharp and cruel. "Ask him, then. Ask him if he would have chosen you if not for whatever promise he made. Ask him if he's ever told you he loves you."
That's enough.
I step out of the shadows, and both women turn toward me. Ivy's face floods with relief, but there's something else there too—doubt, planted by Mila's poisonous words.
"Mila," I say, my voice deadly quiet. I don't look at Ivy yet, can't trust myself to maintain control if I see how much damage has been done. Instead, I focus all of my attention on the woman who dared to threaten what's mine.
I reach out and grasp Mila's elbow, not gently. She gasps, her eyes widening as she realizes how badly she's miscalculated.
"You're leaving," I tell her, already steering her down the hallway toward the main room where I can find Maksim.
"Konstantin, wait—” she starts, but I cut her off with a look that makes her stumble.
"Now."
I spot Maksim near the bar and catch his eye, jerking my head toward the door. He's at my side in seconds, reading the situation with the efficiency of years of partnership.
"Escort Ms. Bocharov out," I tell him, transferring Mila's arm to his grip. "She's no longer welcome."
Mila's face goes white, then red. "You can't—my father—”
"Will understand that his daughter overstepped," I finish coldly. "Badly."
Maksim nods, but there's something in his expression that gives me pause. "Boss, I need to tell you something. About ten minutes ago, one of the soldiers came to me, said there were three men at the front gate. When I went to check, there was no one there."
The cold knot in my stomach tightens. "Which soldier?"
"Petrov. New guy, been with us about six months."
I file that information away for later. Right now, I need to deal with the immediate threat. "Get her out of here, then bring Petrov to my office. I want to talk to him."
"Of course." Maksim's grip on Mila's arm is firm but professional as he begins to guide her away. She throws one last desperate look over her shoulder.
"This isn't over, Konstantin," she calls out, her composure finally cracking. "You know what my family means to yours. You know what you're throwing away."
I don't respond. There's nothing to say. Whatever alliance her father thought he was building through a marriage between us died the moment she threatened Ivy.
As soon as they're gone, I turn around and see Ivy has followed us and stands a few feet away, her arms wrapped around herself in a gesture that's both protective and vulnerable. The sight of her like that, small and uncertain because of Mila's cruelty, ignites something violent in my chest.
"Ivy." I step closer, but she doesn't look up immediately.
"Look at me," I say, reaching out to cup her chin, tilting her face up until those blue eyes meet mine. "What we have now, what's between us—that's what’s important."
She searches my face, looking for truth, for certainty. I can see the war playing out in her expression—the desire to believe me fighting against the seeds of doubt Mila planted.
Before she can respond, before I can find the words to explain what she's become to me, Viktor appears at the end of the hallway.
"Boss," he says, his expression grim. "We need to talk. Now."
The urgency in his voice cuts through everything else. Whatever this is about, it's serious enough to interrupt, which means it's serious enough to be dangerous.
I look back at Ivy, hating that this conversation is being cut short, that Mila's poison is being left to fester. "We'll finish this later," I promise her.
She nods, but I can see the walls going back up, the careful distance she's putting between us. Mila's damage is already done.
As I follow Viktor toward my office, my mind is racing. Three men at the gate that weren't there when Maksim checked. Mila's convenient distraction of Ivy. The timing of it all.
Was there really someone at the gate, or was it a ploy? A way to get Maksim away from watching Mila so she could corner Ivy alone? And if it was a ploy, who else is involved?
The questions multiply as we walk, each one more troubling than the last. Each one another possible threat to my wife.