21. Chapter 21
21
Konstantin
T he first thing I see when I step into her room is not my children. It should be.
It should be Lev, already gloating like he’s won some grand war just by dragging his sister in here. It should be Alya, clutching her bear and beaming as if the sun rises only for her.
But no.
It’s her.
My wife.
She’s still tangled in the sheets, half-propped on her elbow, blinking the last sleep from those deep, sea-blue eyes. Her long, dark hair spills over her shoulders in waves—unruly, wild—and my gaze trails lower without permission.
The slip she’s wearing is indecently thin. Too thin. It skims over her curves like a second skin, whispering across the full swell of her breasts, dipping at her waist, clinging to her hips before vanishing beneath the bedclothes.
I’ve seen her naked before. I know the shape of her body. I know how her skin feels beneath my hands, soft and warm, like sin wrapped in silk. But this—this careless beauty, her caught-between-sleep-and-wakefulness look—it does something sharp to me. Something primal.
Heat licks beneath my ribs, low and slow, as my cock stirs in response. Not now. Not here. Not with my children standing two feet away.
But my body, treacherous thing that it is, doesn’t give a damn about timing. It just knows what it wants.
Her.
Bella shifts slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, and the movement only draws my attention to the way the thin material hugs her breasts, her nipples peaked against the soft silk in the cool morning air.
A muscle ticks in my jaw. My pulse thuds once, heavy.
I drag my gaze— force my gaze—away from her body and focus on Alya, who’s bouncing on her toes like she’s about to explode from excitement.
“Papa!” she says, her voice bright and sweet. “Bella will take me to school today!”
There it is. The dagger straight to my gut.
I school my expression into something neutral, even as my mind races. No. Absolutely not.
Routine is the enemy of safety. A predictable schedule is a gift-wrapped invitation to my enemies. And Alya—my only daughter, my heart wrapped in porcelain—will never be exposed like that.
Not if I can help it. Not after what happened to Irina.
The flash of that old fear claws at me, dark and cold beneath the surface.
But Alya is looking at me like this is the best news she’s shared all year, her eyes shining with hope. And Bella—damn her—she’s not helping. She glances between us, still bleary-eyed from sleep, but there’s a softness there. An unspoken question. She doesn’t argue. She doesn’t protest. She waits.
It’s almost worse. Because that means she’s not fighting me. She’s trusting me to decide. And something about that quiet surrender sinks into my bones like heat.
I should say no. I will say no. But not yet.
My gaze drops once more—I let it, just for a breath—tracing the way the blanket cuts across the tops of her thighs.
I wonder, fleeting and dangerous, what she’d look like beneath me, still warm from sleep, her hair spread over my pillows. My pulse tightens.
Control. Focus.
I clear my throat, my voice steady when I speak.
“Alya,” I say, keeping it even, “school is not today. It’s next week.”
Her face falls just slightly. Not a full collapse, but a flicker of disappointment I feel like a bruise on my own skin.
Lev, of course, has zero tact. “Told you it wasn’t today,” he says smugly, then promptly loses interest and starts poking at the corners of the room like he’s casing it for treasure.
Alya pouts. “But Papa…” She hugs her bear tighter to her chest, looking up at me with eyes too big, too soft. “Bella could take me when it’s time? Please?”
Her voice cracks on the last word, and damn it all, my resolve slips another inch.
Bella glances up, eyes wide, lips parted—and I catch it again: that flicker of warmth toward the children, protective, instinctive.
It hits me harder than it should. Like she’s already part of this household. Like she belongs here.
I push the thought away, burying it deep.
Not yet.
“Get dressed,” I say to Bella, my voice low and final. “You won’t be going anywhere like that.”
My gaze lingers deliberately before I turn for the door. I let her feel it—let her know exactly where my thoughts have been.
Then I leave them there, smoldering in the air between us.
Bella tips her head at me slowly, blue eyes sharpening with each passing second. Her voice, when it comes, is bone-dry.
“Okay. Firstly— excuse me —but I didn’t realize there was a full family meeting being held in my bedroom without, you know, notifying me.” Her eyes flick toward the kids, then back to me, unimpressed. “Decisions being made, apparently, without my attendance? ” She arches a brow. “And here I thought I was part of the royal court now.”
Then—as if to underline her point—she throws back the covers and rises to her feet.
It’s a casual enough movement. But Christ Almighty , the effect is anything but casual.
The thin slip clings to her body like it’s been painted on, and the second she stands, the shift of gravity sends her breasts bouncing lightly beneath the fabric, soft and full. Her hips roll as she moves, the silk hem flirting with the top of her thighs, her hair tumbling over her shoulder like some careless seduction straight out of a dream.
My throat goes tight. The room shrinks. The air shifts.
I feel her. More than see her. My cock stirs again, painfully aware of every inch of her exposed skin, every curve wrapped in scandalous softness.
Blyad. Time forgets how to move.
Alya tilts her head curiously. “Papa?”
Lev stares up at me, eyebrows raised. “Are you okay? Your face looks weird.”
I snap my eyes back to Bella’s, and the look she gives me is pure challenge. Daring me to say something. Daring me to look again.
I clear my throat. This is a disaster.
A sexy, half-naked, attitude-loaded disaster.
“We’ll discuss it later,” I say tightly, snapping my fingers once. “Out. Both of you.”
“But, Papa—” Alya starts.
“Now.”
They both scurry, Lev still glancing over his shoulder like he’s trying to solve a puzzle only adults understand.
I pause at the doorway, glance back once. She’s still standing there, defiant and chaotic and gorgeous in that barely-there slip, arms crossed beneath her chest like she doesn’t even notice what she’s doing to me. Maybe she doesn’t. That’s the worst part.
“Breakfast,” I say, voice clipped. “Seven-thirty. Sharp.”
Then I shut the door before I embarrass myself further. Or drag her back into that bed and undo every ounce of control I’ve got left.
The house is already awake by the time I make it to the kitchen. Anya and the other maids move quietly, setting plates and pouring coffee like they’re preparing for a royal audience. It’s too much, but routine keeps this place running. Keeps people sharp.
Lev sits at the table, legs stretched under it, foot tapping a steady rhythm against the marble. Always in motion, that one. If he sits still too long, he might combust.
“Papa, good morning,” Nikolai says, already in his uniform, neat down to the last button.
He slides into the seat beside Lev, spares him a glance, and, without saying a word, kicks him under the table. Lev grunts but straightens his posture, grumbling under his breath like he’s the victim of some terrible injustice.
Good.
A man should be reminded to sit like he means it.
The maids bring out the first round—fruits, neatly sliced, the good kind the children actually eat. Mango, berries, not that garbage hotel buffet melon. Then pancakes. Protein-heavy, just like I told them. The kids need fuel to carry the weight of our name, whether they know it yet or not.
I scan the table, same as every morning. No knives too close to the edge, nothing out of place. I trust my staff, but trust is never blind.
Alya is on my right, tapping her spoon against her cup in a steady beat. Energy burns in her this morning, bright and restless. She’s waiting for something.
Timur steps in through the side entrance like a storm cloud with legs, scanning the room as if he expects to find a body under the table. Knowing this family? Not an unreasonable assumption.
Then the door opens. And she walks in.
My blood jumps first—hot and fast, punching through my veins like I’ve been hit.
It’s not that her clothes are inappropriate. Technically, they’re fine—sharp, professional, like she’s ready to close a multi-million-dollar deal before lunch.
Black skirt, snug around her hips, high at the waist. Not scandalous, but enough to make a man pause. White blouse, the silk soft enough that when she moves, it hints at her shape underneath, clear as day.
Pizdets.
My jaw tightens before I even catch myself. She’s not doing anything wrong. She’s not even trying. But she doesn’t have to.
And she’s going to walk into her office wearing that—letting them look.
If anyone at her work stares too long, I’ll dig their fucking eyeballs out with my bare hands and leave them blind for the rest of their miserable life.
“Good morning,” she says, bright but cautious, testing the temperature of the room like someone dipping her toes into unfamiliar water.
As Bella moves toward the table, Alya pipes up, bright and certain. “Bella! Sit here next to me!”
Bella pauses just a fraction, then follows Alya’s invitation, slipping into the seat at my right beside Alya, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Her blouse shifts as she reaches for the coffee, silk brushing against her skin like a lover’s hand. My gaze lingers longer than it should. Longer than I allow it to.
For a breath, she holds my stare. A smile starts but doesn’t quite form, then she turns away, as if caught in something private.
Lev digs into his pocket and pulls out a sad-looking fabric pouch, threads dangling like it barely survived a school assignment. He holds it up, hopeful.
“Bella, do you know how to sew?”
She blinks at the sad little pouch, threads dangling like it lost a fight.
“Sewing’s not my superpower.” But she picks it up anyway, turning it over with a critical eye. “But I’ve patched enough of Julian’s ripped jeans to qualify as a battlefield medic.”
“Who’s Julian?” Lev asks.
The room stills. Bella’s fingers tighten on the fabric, just for a second.
“My little brother,” she says, too light. “Well… he’s not that little anymore now, and Lila, she’s my little sister.”
She doesn’t look at me. I don’t react. But the omission sits between us like a loaded gun.
Alya pokes the pouch. “Is this your school project? It looks like a rat chewed it.”
Lev gasps, clutching his chest. “Betrayal! It’s a wallet .”
Bella snorts. “For storing what? A single gum wrapper?”
Nikolai stands, wiping his mouth. “I’ll be late.” He nods at Bella—respectful but assessing. Always assessing.
She reaches out and adjusts his crooked tie with a quick flick of her fingers.
“Try not to terrify your teachers today.”
Nikolai freezes. No one touches him. No one . But he doesn’t step back. Just exhales through his nose. “They terrify easy.” Then he’s gone.
Alya bounces in her seat. “Bella! Papa said I can go to school! Real school, with other kids!”
Bella’s eyebrows lift. She glances at me, but I’m busy stirring my coffee, giving nothing away.
“If she has time,” I say, cool. Testing.
Her smile sharpens. “Oh, I’ll make time.” She taps Alya’s nose. “We’ll pick out your backpack. Something obnoxiously sparkly.”
Alya squeals.
The sound hits me like a physical blow. I’ve never seen her so happy.
Her entire face glows as she bounces in her seat, fingers clutching at Bella’s sleeve like she’s afraid this moment might vanish.
Bella doesn’t pull away. Just the opposite—she leans into Alya’s chatter, her body angled toward the girl as if they’re sharing secrets. Her fingers move swiftly as she tucks a loose thread back into Lev’s disaster of a wallet. No hesitation. No resentment. Just… natural participation, as if she’s been part of this morning ritual for years instead of days.
Dangerous.
She picks up her fork and cuts into the protein pancake, taking a small bite. The moment it touches her tongue, her face does something complicated—nose wrinkling, eyebrows lifting, lips pressing together like she’s trying very hard not to spit it out.
Lev catches it first. “That bad?” he asks, grinning.
Bella forces a swallow, reaching for her coffee like it’s a lifeline.
“I’ve had worse,” she lies, voice strangled. “Though I think my last tetanus shot was less painful.”
A laugh bursts from Lev, loud and startled. Even Alya giggles behind her hands.
And just like that—with nothing more than a sarcastic comment and a grimace—she’s one of them. Seamless. Effortless.
Too easy.
I set my cup down with a quiet click that cuts through the laughter.
“You and I,” I say, holding her gaze across the table, “still have matters to discuss.”
The children go still. The air changes.
Bella’s eyes meet mine—sea-blue and unflinching.
“Looking forward to it,” she says, sweet as poisoned honey. Then, just to prove she’s unshaken, she plucks a berry from Alya’s plate, pops it into her mouth, and leans back in her chair like she owns the damn table.
And the worst part?
In this moment, she does.