Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
AVELINA
It’s Saturday morning, and I’m excited at the thought of our dinner date tonight. Matvey and Nikolai have offered to babysit—with Babulya hovering nearby, I’m sure, because I don’t think she trusts anyone when it comes to the kids.
After lunch, Viktor tells me he’s bought me a surprise and that it’s waiting in the bedroom for me.
I hurry upstairs, unsure what I’ll find. And as I enter the bedroom, I see a huge cream box tied together with a big blue bow. Emblazoned on the box is the name of one of Vegas’ most exclusive boutiques.
Running my fingers over the luxury packaging, I open it slowly.
Taking off the lid, I fold back the layers of delicate tissue paper to reveal a stunning dress. Sapphire silk that gleams like moonlight on water. I can tell just by looking at it that it must have been outrageously expensive.
I try it on immediately, pulling off my jeans and T-shirt and stepping into the slinky fabric.
I stand in front of the mirror, my breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. The dress is gorgeous—too gorgeous. It should make me feel like a queen.
But it feels…like it’s strangling me.
It’s too tight.
Everywhere.
My stomach, my hips, my breasts. It clings to every inch of me, highlighting everything I’ve spent years trying to hide.
I tug at the fabric, desperate to make it looser, but it doesn’t budge. The neckline slips lower, baring more skin, and a horrible, hot wave of shame crashes over me.
My throat burns. The mirror wavers as tears well in my eyes. I try to blink them back, but they spill anyway, slipping down my cheeks and onto the silk.
Stupid. I’m so stupid.
I slump onto the edge of the bed and press my shaking hand to my mouth to smother a sob. I wanted tonight to be perfect. Viktor went out of his way to plan this, and now I can’t even wear the beautiful gift he gave me without falling apart.
The door creaks open.
“Avelina?” His voice is low, careful.
I jerk my head up, horrified. “Viktor, don’t come—”
But he’s already inside the bedroom. His eyes narrow when he sees me, my arms wrapped tightly around myself like I can hold all my broken pieces together.
“What happened?” His voice is a growl, but underneath the roughness is something frighteningly tender.
I shake my head. “It’s fine. I’m f-fine.” But my voice cracks, betraying me.
He kneels in front of me. Viktor. The terrifying, untouchable man everyone fears, kneeling at my feet. “Tell me,” he says.
My words tumble out. “When I was at the skating academy, the coach used to say…stuff.”
“Like what?” he asks in a soft tone.
I shake my head. “It’s stupid…”
“No, it’s not,” he reassures me. “Please let me help you.”
I take a deep, shuddering breath. “He said I was…was fat. He told me that was why I couldn’t get a good enough height on my jumps.
But no matter how hard I tried, my body always held me back.
..” My chest heaves with the sobs I’ve been holding in for years.
“And this dress, it just—makes me feel like he was right. That my body is ugly.”
I can’t help Gennady’s words rushing through my mind…
“Call that a decent jump? You stupid cunt!”
“You are bursting out of that skating dress. Your body is fucking repulsive.”
“You keep stuffing yourself with food. You have no self-control. I’ll have to tell the staff to cut your calories again. From tomorrow, you’ll only be allowed six hundred calories a day. Keep messing up your jumps, and I’ll cut them even more, you fat fuck!”
Viktor goes very still, his jaw flexing like he’s barely holding back fury.
“He was wrong.” His voice is a rough whisper. “Your body makes me crazy for you every time I see it. You’re a real-life goddess. And I feel fucking lucky each day that I get to spend with you—like I’ve won the lifetime jackpot.”
He cups my face in his huge hands.
“You are beautiful. Strong. Perfect.” His thumbs sweep away my tears. “And I will destroy anyone who ever makes you feel like that ever again.”
A broken sound escapes me as I fall into his arms.
And Viktor holds me like he’ll never let go.
Later that afternoon, I take a pile of folded laundry upstairs to put away. Pushing open the bedroom door, I see another cream box. I halt in my steps. It’s bigger than the last one. My forehead wrinkles in confusion.
Setting down the clean laundry, I wipe my palms against my jeans before slowly opening the box.
There’s another sapphire blue dress.
But under it…
There are also…more of the same dresses. There are seven dresses in total.
“Those are all the sizes the boutique stocks.”
I whirl around at the sound of Viktor’s voice.
“I…I don’t understand,” I murmur.
He comes up behind me. “I’m so sorry, Avelina. I messed up before. I should have asked your dress size before buying the dress. I just tried to guess, and I got it wrong. I thought you’d exchange it if it didn’t fit, but I should have thought my plan through better—”
“You weren’t to know,” I say quickly, hating that he’s blaming himself for my insecurities.
“I hate seeing you upset. You can choose whichever size fits you.” He gestures to the box. “And I’ll give the rest to Goodwill.”
“But this must have…cost you a fortune,” I stutter, knowing that a single dress from this boutique must cost more than an average person earns in a month.
“It’s just money. And I don’t care what it costs to see you happy.” He shrugs. “Anyway, the seven spare dresses that don’t fit you will make seven other people happy and earn money for Goodwill, so it’s not a waste at all.”
I trace my fingers over the silk again, feeling the smoothness beneath my skin.
Seven dresses. Seven chances for someone else to feel beautiful.
It’s such a Viktor thing to do—fixing something with thoughtfulness instead of words.
And somehow, it makes my chest ache in the best possible way.
Because no one’s ever done this for me before.
Not Geliy, not anyone. No one’s ever looked at me—really looked—and tried to understand why a simple dress could make me spiral.
Why it mattered that it didn’t fit. Why it hurt to feel like my body was always a problem to solve.
But Viktor never makes me feel like that. He makes me feel seen. Like my body, my heart, all of me, is something worth cherishing—not apologizing for.
I think about the way his voice softened when he said he hates seeing me upset. The quiet sincerity of it. The way he always fixes the broken things I didn’t even realize were cracked inside me.
And his words make me smile up at him. At his generosity. At his thoughtfulness. And at the way he wants to see me happy.
And I realize how utterly lucky I am to have met a man like him.
The days are flying by, and the children are adjusting well to life at the compound. The dinner date was a success, although to be honest, I’m just as happy working outside in the garden with Viktor.
It’s mid-afternoon by the time I finish my work in the office, and the moment I open the door to the den, my little girl beams up at me like she’s just discovered a lifetime’s unlimited supply of sugar.
“Mama, look,” Sofia trills.
She’s kneeling on the rug, surrounded by a glitter explosion of stuffed toys, plastic tiaras, and costume jewelry. And in front of her sits Albert, who no longer looks like a dog. Instead, he looks like the canine king of a very questionable fairy kingdom.
Albert is wearing a sparkly pink diamante crown that’s already toppled to one side, a fluffy purple cape clasped under his chin, and…
oh no, is that blush on his cheeks? Sofia’s pink plastic tea set is also set out on the floor, obviously so that they can have a tea party together.
I’m not sure where Queenie is, but it seems that maybe she had the good sense to flee this madness.
I slap my hand over my mouth to smother the giggle bubbling up. “Oh my goodness.”
Sofia looks up at me. “Do you like it?”
“He looks very… royal,” I manage.
Albert just sits there, stoic, and tolerates it like a martyr, although he is enjoying lapping lemonade from a sparkly pink bowl.
But behind me, a low growl rumbles. “What the hell is that?”
I whirl around to find Grigory standing in the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene.
“Why is my dog dressed like a clown?!” He looks like he’s about to spontaneously combust. “Your…your child—” His hands flap helplessly, which is odd considering he usually moves like a lethal panther.
“She’s, she’s…defiled my dog!” Grigory has become awfully attached to and possessive over Albert in such a short time.
“Defiled is a bit, er, strong,” I say. “I’d call it…accessorized, don’t you think?”
“And what are those things on his ears?” Grigory cries.
“The doggy wanted to have his hair in pigtails,” Sofia explains, as if she knows all of Albert’s wishes and life ambitions. “He wanted to look pretty. So, I let him borrow my hair clips and hair bows.”
Grigory’s glare sharpens, but there’s a flicker of panic under it.
“He’s a guard dog. He’s supposed to intimidate intruders, not star in a Disney princess movie.
” He breaks off, visibly restraining himself as my little girl adjusts Albert’s tiara to the right.
“I can’t believe what you’ve done to Albert,” he wails.
“It’s not Albert,” Sofia pipes up. “He’s a prince, so you have to call him Your Royal Excellency or Prince Snugglefloof.”
“What?!” Grigory exclaims. “He’s a guard dog, not a prince!”
“Viktor says he’s a prince,” Sofia insists earnestly as she looks up at Grigory with her huge eyes. “And he’s definitely not a guard dog. He’s a golden retriever.”
Grigory glares at her. “What’s his breed got to do with anything?”
“Viktor says he’s the equivalent of a canine hoover. He’ll do anything for a treat,” Sofia replies, parroting what she’s heard Viktor say many times before.
“He’s perfectly trained,” Grigory grits out. “Sit!” he commands the dog, who obediently settles on his fluffy haunches at his feet.