Chapter 21 Alyona
Alyona
By the time I step through the front doors of The Lennox, my nerves are stretched so tight they hum.
The building itself doesn’t help. Everything is warm wood and stone, light and layered together in a way that feels intentional rather than decorative.
The scent of eucalyptus and just a hint of citrus hangs in the air.
It’s clean without being sharp, and soft light filters in from high windows making the whole place feel insulated from the outside world.
I pause just inside the threshold, fingers curling around the strap of my bag, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that I am here because of Kazimir Baranov.
Because he made a call.
Doors are opening for me that normally wouldn’t, and I’m all too aware of it. I don’t deserve this. I haven’t earned it.
The thought makes my stomach twist as I check-in at the front desk.
My name is already on the list, and my badge is already prepared.
No one looks at me strangely, raises an eyebrow, or asks pointed questions.
The woman behind the desk smiles warmly and tells me they’ve been expecting me.
Her tone is so easy, it throws me off balance.
I follow her deeper into the spa, past softly flowing fountains and wide corridors lined with pale stone.
The sounds are muted here, footsteps are absorbed by thick rugs, and voices are low and respectful.
Every surface looks touched by care rather than money alone, and I find myself slowing, taking it in despite my nerves.
Even though I’m here as an employee, I can feel how perfectly calming the environment they’ve created is.
I feel safe, quieter than I have in days. Safer than I have since I watched the man I shared a bed with one forbidden night get covered in blood; unflinching and unapologetic.
I keep waiting for the moment when someone will clock me as the Bratva boss’s fiancée. After all, we’re in and out of the news.
Power, Rockets, and Romance: Kazimir Baranov’s Engagement Marks a Rare Public Moment
Billionaire Aerospace King Off the Market: Who Is Alyona Demsky?
Beyond Quarterly Earnings: Kazimir Baranov Begins Planning the Baranov Legacy
That last one made me blush when Devin texted it to me. A legacy? At the time, I briefly imagined Kazimir as a father, but killed that thought quickly.
As I walk through The Lennox, no one gives me a second look.
Instead, a tall woman with sleek braids glances at me as we pass and says, “That color looks incredible on you,” nodding at my blouse like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
A younger aesthetician flashes me a grin and asks if I’m new, telling me she loves my smile.
The compliments land softly but steadily, and with each one, something in my chest loosens just a little.
No one looks at my body like it’s a problem to solve. No one looks at me like I need to shrink, which is all too common in this industry. You can have perfect skin and magic hands and still be judged for the space you take up.
When I’m introduced to the spa manager, I immediately understand why this place feels the way it does.
She’s in her late fifties, maybe older, with long white hair worn loose down her back and laugh lines etched deep around her eyes.
Her beauty isn’t polished or manufactured; it’s rooted in confidence.
It’s the kind that comes from knowing exactly who you are and not apologizing for it.
“Alyona,” she says, taking my hands in hers with a firm, grounding grip. “I’m Brook. Welcome.”
“Thank you for having me,” I say, the words reflexive, a little too eager.
She studies me for a moment, sharp, but not unkind, then smiles. “You’re here because we think you’ll be good at this. Not because of who you know.”
The knot in my stomach eases enough that I have to swallow.
The tour is overwhelming in the best way. Treatment rooms that feel like sanctuaries, not clinics. Saunas lined with cedar and slate. Hallways that open onto quiet courtyards where water trickles over stone. When we take the elevator up to the roof, I actually gasp.
Thermal pools stretch out under the open sky, and steam curls upward in lazy spirals.
The city feels far away from here, muffled and distant, and for the first time since arriving in Savannah, I feel something close to awe rather than anxiety.
There’s a comfortable little bar and seating area where guests can get anything from cleansing drinks to a healthy meal.
“This is unreal,” I murmur.
Brook smiles knowingly. “It should feel like an escape.”
I spend the day shadowing Brook, and then another aesthetician, I begin to hear whispers—not about me, but about him. Kazimir. I catch fragments as staff pass by, low and careful, but not fearful.
He helped someone’s cousin get out of a bad situation. He paid for a woman’s medical bills when insurance failed her. He stepped in when someone was being squeezed by the wrong people and made it stop.
There are darker stories too, but even those are spoken with a kind of resigned respect. The picture that forms is complicated and unsettling, and far more nuanced than the monster I’ve been trying to keep neatly boxed away in my head.
By the time I’m shown where I’ll be working, my initial cringe—the fear that I’d walk in looking like a kept woman playing at a career—has softened into something else entirely.
I’m not being indulged; Brook seems to actually value my skill set. She has suggestions for refining my technique, but she asks my opinion on spa matters too.
When Maribel, the aesthetician I’ll shadow for a week, claps her hands lightly and tells me to take a moment before my first observation session, I find myself smiling back without forcing it.
The reflection I catch in a nearby mirror surprises me, not because I look different, but because I look steadier.
For the first time in weeks, I don’t feel like I’m borrowing space.
I feel like I belong.
By the time I get back to the estate, the sun is already lowering into that hazy, honey-colored part of the sky that makes everything look softer than it really is.
The house is quieter than usual. Not empty, never empty, but subdued, like it’s holding its breath. My shoes echo faintly as I cross the stone floor, body pleasantly tired. I set my bag down and pause, one hand resting on the back of a chair, aware of a strange new sensation settling in.
Contentment.
It startles me enough that I almost laugh.
I don’t go looking for Kazimir right away.
I shower, letting the heat roll over me, letting myself feel my own body without flinching away from it.
When I step out, skin warm and damp, I don’t rush to hide.
I choose a soft dress that skims instead of clings, something easy, something that feels like me. I leave my hair loose.
When I finally make my way down the hall toward his rooms, my pulse begins to pick up. Is this crazy? Will he even want this?
I knock once, then push the door open before I can talk myself out of it.
Kazimir looks up from the desk where he’s reading, his glasses are low on his nose, and his sleeves are rolled up revealing the dark ink on his forearms. For a moment, neither of us speaks. His gaze travels over me slowly, not consuming, but attentive in a way that makes my stomach flip.
“You’re back early,” he says.
“I wanted to see you,” I reply, surprised by how steady my voice sounds.
Something shifts in his expression. It’s subtle, but unmistakable. He removes his glasses, sets them aside, and stands with measured grace.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” I say, and then, because it feels important, I add, “It was…incredible. The Lennox. I mean it.”
Relief crosses his face before he schools it away. “I’m glad.”
I step close enough that I can feel the warmth of him, the gravity he carries even when he isn’t trying. “I wanted to thank you.”
He studies me with sharp, searching eyes. “You don’t owe me—”
“I know,” I interrupt gently. “That’s not why I’m here.”
The silence that follows is charged, but not heavy. I reach for him before I can overthink it, my fingers brush the front of his shirt, it feels solid beneath. He stills completely, breath catching just slightly.
“Aly,” he murmurs, like a warning.
I tilt my head up. “Just let me.”
I kiss him first, soft and unhurried, giving him time to pull away if he wants to. He doesn’t. His hand comes up to cradle the back of my neck, thumb brushing over my skin and sending a shiver down to my heels.
I came here to thank him, but now those words have turned into something physical.
Heat pools low in my body, my confidence blooming instead of folding in on itself.
When I sink to my knees in front of him, his breath leaves him in a sharp exhale.
His hand tightens in my hair for just a moment before he forces himself to release it.
“Are you sure you want to do that, darling? You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
The pet name he calls me sends a rush of heat to my face and core. Licking my lips reflexively, I stare up at him.
“I want to try…if that’s okay. I’ve never…”
I bite my lip to shut myself up. Kazimir doesn’t need to know just how far I’ve gone with a man. I’ll keep that information to myself.
It’s different with him, my mind whispers.
For a moment, I worry that he’ll step away and decide he doesn’t want someone so inexperienced, but he doesn’t. Kaz’s hand returns to my hair tighter this time, his mouth drops, and he groans. He shakes his head in disbelief, but his other hand strokes my cheek.
“You need to tell me if it’s too much or if you want to stop. I won’t want to…”