Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Ivan & Anna
Ivan
Five Years Later.
I'd been living in New York for five years.
Officially, the company needed someone to oversee the new branch. But I knew the truth—I stayed because I was waiting for someone.
She never showed. Anna never showed.
Dmitri dug into her background for me. Turns out Anna Bennett was too common a name. There were over a hundred in New York alone. We checked every single one. Wrong age, wrong face, wrong history—none of them fit. She vanished like a drop of water in the ocean. Not even a ripple.
Last winter, I saw a woman in Central Park with her silhouette. Cream knit scarf, honey-gold hair brushing her shoulders. I stood by the frozen lake with a hot coffee in my hand, watching for a long time.
Missing someone doesn't fade. It's a seed buried in your chest. You think it's dead, and then one frozen afternoon, one familiar profile—it sprouts again.
Victoria came around a few times too. Same as ever. No regrets. Every conversation circled back to Nadia, using our daughter like a skeleton key.
But I stopped giving her openings.
I cut off every resource she'd piggybacked off the Volkov name. Every connection she'd leveraged as the "Pakhan's ex-wife." Within six months, her polished socialite life crumbled.
"Daddy."
Nadia's voice came from behind me.
I turned.
She'd grown. She wore a soft yellow dress, and when she smiled, a shallow dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth. She'd turned into a beautiful little girl.
She ran toward me, clutching a piece of paper that flapped in the wind.
"Daddy." She was breathless. She held the drawing up to my face. "Look."
A crayon drawing. Three figures—me, Nadia, and a long-haired woman. Nadia had colored the hair pale yellow, but left the face blank.
I knew who it was.
Anna.
"Daddy, I miss her so much."
Anna's absence didn't just trap me. It trapped Nadia too.
She'd carried guilt all this time.
"Me too."
"I want to frame it." I held up the drawing against the living room wall. "Hang it here. What do you think?"
Nadia looked up at me. "Really? That would be wonderful."
Suddenly, Nadia tugged at my sleeve. "Daddy, I want a tutor."
"A tutor?"
"Yes." She was serious. "My classmates say good teachers teach you a lot. I want to learn."
She gazed up at me, eyes shining. How could I refuse an angel?
"Alright. I'll have Antonia arrange it."
Antonia had watched Nadia grow up. She'd served my mother for years, managing every detail of the estate. When I moved to New York, I brought her along.
Nadia beamed, eyes crinkling like a bird who'd finally gotten its sugar. She bounced off to find Antonia.
I looked down at the drawing. The faceless woman stood in the center, her hair colored in warm pale yellow—like a patch of sunlight.
Hey, kitten.
Running away from your master—very naughty.
You'd better stay hidden, or else...
I paused. Bitterness flooded my mouth. I didn't even know where she was. What could I do to her?
Anna
Five years.
I'd graduated. With the tutoring experience I'd built up, I'd earned a reputation among Manhattan's wealthy families. My clients paid well and gave me flexibility—enough to support Alex and me in Queens.
We'd moved out of that cramped Brooklyn studio into a two-bedroom apartment. The pothos on the windowsill was our third. This one thrived. The vines hung down, nearly touching the floor.
Chris came by often.
When he first found out I was pregnant, it took him three months to process.
Now he was used to watching cartoons with Alex, building blocks, occasionally fixing a leaky faucet.
I knew how he felt about me. And I'd told him clearly—I couldn't give myself fully to a new relationship. I just wanted to raise Alex in peace.
He never pushed. Not once. He stayed beside us, quiet and steady. An old-fashioned, dependable friend.
"Hey, you two. Come eat some fruit."
I walked out of the kitchen with a plate of sliced apples.
Alex immediately dropped his blocks and pattered over barefoot.
Chris sat by the coffee table, continuing the abandoned construction project.
"You don't have to bring so much every time. We're running out of room."
Chris looked up and smiled. "It's all for Alex. Books and snacks. Not for you. You can't refuse."
I was speechless. Smiling, I handed him the plate.
Alex nibbled an apple slice, hanging onto my leg. "Mommy, did you find a new job?"
I looked down at him.
Alex had the same honey-gold hair as me, soft curls at the nape of his neck. His gray-blue eyes caught the light from the window—bright.
Just like his father.
Whenever he focused on something, his expression made me falter. It always did.
Five years. And I still hadn't kicked the habit of falling for Ivan.
Fine. I was pathetic.
I still thought about him. The pain had dulled. It didn't tear me apart like it used to. But it hadn't disappeared—it had turned into a needle, thin as thread, lodged somewhere in my chest. Every so often, it pricked.
Reminding me Ivan existed.
I crouched down and ruffled Alex's soft hair. "I've got an interview this afternoon. New client in Manhattan. They have an eight-year-old daughter. Needs a tutor."
And most importantly, they were paying double my usual rate.
Alex leaned over and kissed my cheek, leaving a bit of apple juice. "Good luck, Mommy."
"Thanks, baby."
Upper East Side, Manhattan. The street was so quiet it didn't feel like New York.
I checked the address on my phone, then looked up.
Brownstone townhouses lined the block, their facades painted a uniform warm beige. The wrought-iron railings were rust-free, polished to a gleam. Trees along the street had just started turning yellow, sparse leaves rustling faintly in the wind.
The street was empty. No delivery trucks parked on the curb. No stacked boxes. No crooked trash cans. Even the fallen leaves had been swept clean.
I stopped in front of one townhouse and studied the entrance—no nameplate. Just a number. Exactly as the email had described.
Clearly, this family valued privacy.
I rang the bell.
A moment later, the heavy wooden door swung open. A housekeeper in a charcoal gray suit stood inside, her hair pinned neatly back. She nodded slightly, offering a polite smile. "Ms. Bennett? The young miss is waiting for you in the living room. Please follow me."
I followed her through the foyer. The marble floor gleamed like a mirror. Light from the crystal chandelier shattered into tiny bright spots on the ground. The air carried a faint scent—cedar, maybe, or some woody incense. It felt familiar.
The living room was huge. The floor-to-ceiling windows stood half-open, white curtains billowing slightly in the breeze. A girl sat on the sofa with her back to me, flaxen curls spilling over her shoulders.
The silhouette struck me as familiar.
The housekeeper approached her and bent down. "Miss, the teacher is here."
The girl turned.
When those gray-brown eyes landed on my face, the corners of her mouth curved up, revealing two small dimples.
"Anna. Long time no see."
My heart slammed into my ribcage. I froze in place like I'd been nailed to the floor.
"Nadia..."
She'd grown taller. Her features had opened up. Her chin had sharpened a little. Small pearl studs adorned her earlobes. Her smile was just as sweet.
She jumped off the sofa and ran toward me, throwing her arms around my waist. Her face buried in my chest, just like all those mornings when she'd leapt at me from behind.
"Anna, I missed you so much."
The hug hit me like a blow.
It took several seconds before I slowly lifted my hand and rested it on her thin back. Her shoulders trembled beneath my palm. She was crying.
My throat closed up. I could barely get the words out. "Nadia, why... why are you here?"
God. Running into Nadia after five years. In New York.
Unbelievable.
"Daddy and I looked for you forever," she said, holding me tighter. "But we couldn't find you. If I hadn't seen your photo on the tutor listing, we would've missed you again..."
Daddy?
The word shot through me like an electric shock.
Ivan.
He was looking for me?
But he—shouldn't he have remarried Victoria?
All I could hear was what Victoria had said that day—that Ivan mocked me in bed. Said I was trashy. Said I was delusional.
Why would he look for me?
He should hate me.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs behind me.
Every drop of blood in my body seemed to freeze. Even my arms around Nadia went numb.
The footsteps descended. Closer. Steady. Familiar. The rhythm I'd heard in my dreams every night for years. Every step struck against the taut string of my heart, about to snap.
I let go of Nadia and slowly turned around.
He was there.
Ivan stood at the foot of the stairs, one hand on the dark wood banister. He wore a charcoal gray shirt, sleeves casually rolled to his forearms.
He looked at me. His gaze heavy, dark—like a pool soaked in night. Calm on the surface. Currents churning beneath.
For a moment, I was back at The Ember Room. The night he bought me.
Spotlight on half his face. Intent. Intense.
This time, I didn't look away.