23. Chapter 23
23
Bella
T he most unlikely normal day.
On a normal day, I’d already be swearing at Betsy’s gasping, rattling engine while begging her to please, for the love of all things holy, survive one more client meeting. I’d be chewing the inside of my cheek, calculating which bill I could push to next week without the lights getting cut or which property tax notice could be safely ignored until it turned red and started flashing like a bomb about to go off.
Normal day: triple-booked showings, frantic voicemails from prospective buyers wanting to “sleep on it” while knowing damn well they’re ghosting me.
Normal day: scrounging for new leads, juggling Julian and Lila’s school chaos, dodging passive-aggressive texts from Peggy about the house.
Normal day: coffee that’s mostly desperation, and dinner that’s usually something fished out of the freezer five minutes before collapsing onto the couch.
Today?
Today, I am not behind the wheel of Betsy.
Today, I am being chauffeured like stolen royalty in an armored car that’s clearly worth a small fortune. The leather is too soft. The windows are too tinted. The sheer, purring quiet of the engine feels like a lullaby composed by a hitman.
I stare at my phone, hoping for something familiar. But all I see is an inbox clogged with chaos:
Peggy: “Reminder: Taxes due end of month.”
Paul (Mechanic): “Betsy’s done. Call me. Also: sorry for your loss.”
Julian: “Science fair tomorrow at 4.30 p.m. Lila’s freaking out about her volcano project.”
Elite Properties: “Client request: 3-bed, 2-bath, water views.”
I could laugh. Or scream. Maybe both.
“For the record,” I mutter, more to myself than to anyone else, “this is not how I thought my Tuesday would go.”
From my left, Konstantin shifts slightly. He doesn’t glance up from his phone, but I feel the weight of his attention all the same. It’s a gravity that pulls at me, even when he’s not looking. Even when he pretends not to notice.
“Do we need to discuss the school situation?” I ask, breaking the silence that’s stretched between us since leaving the estate. “About Alya? Because last time I checked, that’s a pretty major life decision that might warrant an actual conversation.”
He continues scrolling through his phone, thumb moving over the screen with maddening precision. “What’s there to discuss? You told her you would take her.”
“I—” My mouth opens, closes, opens again. “Are you serious right now? You’re the one who told her she could go to school in the first place.”
“And you’re the one who promised to take her.” He finally looks up, one eyebrow arched in that infuriating way that makes me want to either kiss him or push him out of the moving vehicle. “Did you not mean it? Should I tell her you’ve changed your mind?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Low blow, Belov.”
“Simply clarifying responsibilities,” he replies, but there’s a hint of something that might almost be amusement lurking in his expression.
“I meant we should discuss the logistics. The when, where, how of it all. You know, like normal people planning a child’s education?” I run a hand through my hair. “Or do you just point at things, and they magically happen in this world of yours?”
“Generally, yes.”
“Of course. Silly me.” I turn toward the window, watching the city blur past. “What was I thinking, suggesting something as radical as a conversation?”
The car slows for a traffic light, and I feel the absence of motion like an itch under my skin. Everything’s too still, too quiet. I glance back and find Konstantin watching me. Not glancing. Watching. His eyes track over my face like he’s memorizing the terrain, mapping valleys and peaks for future navigation.
And damn it all to hell, my body responds instantly, a hot ache blooming between my thighs so sudden and sharp it’s embarrassing. My pulse hammers in my throat. I cross my legs, pressing them together as if that might somehow dampen the completely inappropriate heat building there.
“Aren’t you going to ask me about what happened with my father earlier?” he says, his voice lower now, smoother.
I swallow hard. “What? You mean the part where I discovered I’m basically a checkbox on your ‘How to Become a Crime Boss’ to-do list? That part?”
“ Pakhan ,” he corrects. “The term is Pakhan .”
“Oh, pardon me. I didn’t realize we were being technical about my role as your career stepping stone.”
His laugh catches me off guard—a genuine sound, rusty around the edges like it doesn’t get much use. It changes his entire face, softening the hard planes and angles into something dangerously close to handsome.
“You are… unexpected,” he says, like he’s making a note to himself.
The traffic light changes, and the car moves forward again, but the moment lingers between us, fragile and strange.
“I need to see my siblings,” I say abruptly. “Julian and Lila. They need to know I’m okay, that I haven’t been kidnapped or murdered or whatever else they might be imagining.”
His expression turns serious. “That wasn’t part of our arrangement.”
“Well, I’m arranging it now.” I shift to face him fully. “Look, I just found out I was married off so you could tick a box on Daddy’s inheritance plan. The least you can do is let me see my family.”
“They’re fine,” he says dismissively. “I’ve had people watching them.”
“You’ve—” I stop, the words catching in my throat. “You’ve been having my brother and sister watched?”
“Of course. They’re your family. That makes them potential leverage against you.” He says this like he’s explaining that water is wet, a simple fact requiring no moral evaluation.
“That’s—that’s not how normal people think!”
“I’m not normal people.” His gaze fixes on mine. “And neither are you, not anymore.”
Something about the way he says it—not a threat but a simple truth—makes my stomach twist. Because he’s right. I’m not normal Isabella Marquez anymore. I’m Isabella Belov, wife of a man who casually admits to surveillance as if it’s a courtesy.
“Lila has a science fair,” I say, softer now. “And Her volcano isn’t working. She needs me.”
Konstantin studies me for a long moment, his face unreadable. “You care about them. Deeply.”
“Of course I do. They’re my family.”
“And this science fair is important.”
“Yes.”
He nods once, decision made. “Tomorrow. Four hours, supervised. My security team will remain at a distance.”
I should argue for more time, less supervision. I should demand rather than accept. But I’m too relieved to push.
“Thank you.”
“Does that satisfy you?” he asks, and there’s something in his tone that makes the question sound like it’s about more than just seeing my siblings.
“For now,” I answer truthfully.
His lips curve slightly. “A negotiator. My father would approve, despite his reservations.”
“Your father doesn’t approve of anything about me.”
“He doesn’t need to.” Konstantin’s hand moves, almost reaches for mine, then retreats. “I made my choice.”
The simple declaration hangs between us, loaded with meanings I can’t quite untangle. Before I can respond, something outside the window catches my attention. We’re turning onto a street I don’t recognize—definitely not the route to Elite Properties.
“Where are we going?” I ask, peering out at unfamiliar buildings. “This isn’t the way to the office.”
Konstantin returns to his phone, supremely unconcerned.
“I’ve decided to relocate Elite Properties.”
“You’ve what?”
“Your office. I’ve moved it. The old location was…” he pauses, searching for the word, “inefficient.”
“You can’t just—” I stop, staring at him in disbelief. “Actually, you can, can’t you? Because you own it now. You own everything.”
Including me, hangs unspoken between us.
The car pulls up to a gleaming high-rise, all glass and steel reaching toward the sky like an ambitious prayer. The driver steps out to open my door, and I sit frozen, staring at the building that apparently houses my new professional life.
“Welcome to your new office, Mrs. Belov,” Konstantin says, his voice so close to my ear I can feel his breath. “I think you’ll find it’s been… upgraded.”
I turn to find his face inches from mine, those storm-gray eyes watching for my reaction. And, in this moment, I realize something terrifying: I have no idea which is the real trap—the marriage contract or the way my traitor heart leaps when he looks at me like this.