19. Chapter 19
19
Konstantin
I t’s been thirty minutes since dessert, give or take. Bella has already disappeared to her room. Good. Exactly where she belongs—on the outside edge of this family, watching, not stepping in.
And yet, her face keeps pulling at my mind like a loose thread I should never have touched. The way she bit into that blackberry. The bright, stubborn way she covered the chill I delivered.
I shut the thought down.
Pakhan first. Everything else is noise.
The children’s quarters are tucked away in the east wing, past the hall of portraits. I keep their world separate. Safer. Uncluttered by the business of my life.
Their wing is quieter now, save for the sound of Lev and Nikolai waging their usual bedtime war. The twins’ room is chaos wrapped in luxury: dark blue walls dotted with glow-in- the-dark stars, books and wooden swords scattered across the floor like fallen soldiers. The clock reads 9.45 p.m.
“Papa!” Lev scrambles across his bed, launching a pillow at his brother like a missile. “The pizza needed more pepperoni. I’m just saying.”
“And less basil,” Nikolai adds, more measured, adjusting the corner of his blanket to neaten it. “It tasted like the garden climbed onto the plate.”
Lev snorts, falling back against the heap of pillows.
“Yeah, way too much garden. Next time, Papa, we need proper pizza. Serious pizza.”
Nikolai stays quiet for a breath, eyes on the ceiling like he’s thinking it through. Then, in his careful way, he adds softly, “Bella smiled when we said that. Like she thought it was funny.”
His words settle between us, quieter than Lev’s bursts of energy but heavier somehow.
I feel it—their ease, the way her name slips so casually from their mouths. This house has been a kingdom of men and silence. There has been no woman here for them to know, no softness in these halls.
Of course they would notice her.
Of course they would latch on.
Dangerous. Far too dangerous.
I bury the thought beneath iron discipline.
“Focus on your studies,” I say, redirecting. “On your training. Discipline earns my respect.”
They quiet, as they always do when I drop the weight of finality into the room. I adjust Nikolai’s blanket, pull it up to his chest, and run a hand over Lev’s hair once before standing.
“Lights out. Now.”
“Yes, Papa.”
I step out, closing the door halfway behind me, and let the silence fall over their room. The hallway here feels different from the rest of the house. No guards pacing. No tension humming under the surface. Just the muted hush of bedtime.
A few maids finish tidying in the common area outside the children’s rooms, quietly folding miniature uniforms and lining up tomorrow’s lesson plans. I nod once to them, and they bow their heads, scattering like shadows.
Alya’s door is slightly ajar, the light from her reading lamp spilling into the corridor. As I approach, her nanny, Marina, slips out, clutching a basket of folded laundry. She dips her head low.
“Mr. Belov,” she whispers. “She is waiting for you.”
“Go,” I command softly.
Inside, Alya’s room is a small kingdom of quiet rebellion. Pale pink walls, but with fierce splashes of crimson from her drawings taped along the edges. Stuffed animals line her headboard like soldiers awaiting orders. A small bookshelf stands beside her bed, each volume alphabetized, no doubt by her insistence.
She sits upright beneath her quilt, arms crossed like she means to interrogate me rather than say goodnight.
I close the door behind me with care, the soft click settling into the quiet of her small kingdom.
“Papa,” she begins, steady for someone her age, “do you think your new wife will be happy here?”
The question lands hard.
I cross to her bedside and lower myself onto the edge of her mattress. The frame dips beneath my weight. My thumb brushes along the seam of her blanket as I straighten it, a small, unnecessary action to steady my thoughts.
“That is not what I concern myself with,” I answer finally. My gaze stays on the blanket as if it holds safer truths than her waiting eyes. “Her happiness is not required.”
She is quiet for a beat.
“But people who are not happy,” she presses, “they leave. Like… Mommy did.”
Her words land heavier than they should.
She has asked before. Those times, the questions were easy to dismiss. Not tonight. Tonight, they draw blood.
She does not remember Irina. She was too small when her mother vanished from this house. Too young to understand what it is to have a mother at all. She has only ever known a house of men and servants. Cold rooms. Lessons. Duty.
I let my breath ease out, though my chest tightens with the memory of betrayal.
“I do not know,” I answer honestly. “It is too soon to tell.”
Alya pauses, studying me. Then, with that sharpness I have never been able to blunt, she presses on.
“If she is happy, can she take me to school? Like you promised, when I got older?”
My fingers go still against the quilt.
“Lev and Nikolai go to school,” she adds quickly, sensing my hesitation. “But I never had anyone to take me.”
She lifts her favorite stuffed bear from beside her pillow, its fur worn from too many nights clutched tight. She grips it by the ears now, like she’s bracing herself for my answer.
This—this simple, childish bravery—is what unravels me.
“You think you are older now, solnyshko ?” I ask, my voice lower than before.
She nods, determined. “Old enough.”
Her eyes do not waver from mine.
I exhale slowly, feeling the weight of her hope settle against my ribs like iron.
“I will think about it,” I answer at last, my hand settling briefly over hers, still clutching the bear.
Alya’s face brightens, but she reins it in, masking her hope with a careful nod. Too wise for her years.
“Bella knows how to use guns, so she can protect me,” she points out, quick and sharp. “And I’m as clever as Lev. If she takes me to school, I’ll be ready.”
My mouth almost twitches.
“You think that makes you ready for the outside world?” I ask, smoothing her hair back from her forehead.
“Yes,” she says without hesitation. “If Bella comes with me.”
She knows exactly how to aim the shot.
I let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of her hope settle heavy across my chest.
“We will see,” I answer at last, my voice rougher than I intended. “If she’s willing… and if you are truly ready… perhaps.”
Alya brightens but reins it in, keeping her expression carefully controlled. Clever girl.
“Good,” she says softly. “She will take me to school, then.”
I smooth a curl away from her cheek, my thumb brushing lightly over her temple.
“Sleep now,” I tell her. “Dream of bright things.”
“Like having Bella bringing me to school!”
“Like an empire,” I reply, quieter than I should.
I linger longer than I should, watching her breathing slow, her fingers curled tightly around the bear’s ear.
Then I rise and leave her room.
I close Alya’s door behind me, letting the quiet settle over the hallway.
The house is still, save for the faint hum of the night.
As I pass the bedrooms, my gaze catches on Bella’s door.
Light spills from beneath it—thin, golden. She is still awake.
I pause, only for a breath.
She should be asleep. It is late enough for the house to rest, but the glow beneath her door tells me she is not resting.
My mind works too fast. Wondering what she is doing. Pacing the room? Reading? Thinking about me? About us?
She is my wife.
I could go in now. If I wanted. I have that right.
And yet, the image of her face from earlier flashes in my mind—the curve of her lips around the blackberry, the stubborn light in her eyes when she spoke to the children.
Too tempting.
Too much for this week.
I let the thought die there.
I move on, my footsteps measured against the pull in my chest.
No. She is not my family.
She is not my future.
I walk on, leaving her behind.