Chapter 24 Nicole
Nicole
A red carpet lines the driveway in front of the twins’ Dragalevtsi mansion. After I confirm my name to the two bodyguards at the entrance, they mark me off their list.
I sashay forward, clutching the gift bag in my hand—two identical Cartier bracelets for the birthday girls.
A small group of photographers waits by the gate, their flashes going off the instant they spot my newest dress.
The deep burgundy clings to my curves, bold yet refined.
My usually strict hairstyle falls in loose, effortless waves.
I smile as I glide past them on four-inch black stilettos.
Pausing in front of a photographer, I strike a rehearsed pose: hip tilted, hand on my waist, chin slightly raised.
The “G” on my forehead sparkles, decorated with tiny silver gems that catch the light like mini diamonds.
I don’t even know why I’m bothering—only third-rate media are present, the kind people don’t actually follow.
Anyway, let them look. Let them shoot.
Gaetano’s games won’t break me.
Yet, the moment his name crosses my mind, a jolt runs through my body. My knees go weak, and I almost trip over my heels.
“Niki!” From the yard, Boyana rushes over, holding a glass in each hand. “Wow! You are a goddess!”
She shoves champagne into my hand and grabs the other, pulling me toward the pool. Her gaze lands on the “G” on my forehead. “Honestly, at first I thought that fashion thing was kinda weird, but the sparkles totally work! I might get one too…”
I press my lips together but say nothing. Instead, I greet the Karaivanov twins and two old classmates who are swaying to the low house beat, next to a tall table near the pool.
Kiril Karaivanov—Misha’s ex—stares at me with that familiar intensity.
No, thanks. He’s the type of guy who acts like a teen his whole life: oversized T-shirt with rolled-up sleeves, jeans three sizes too big, a baseball cap, a massive chain around his neck, and designer sneakers.
I’m pretty sure Misha was into him because he had a twin, and she thought the four of them could live happily ever after together.
“What’s the ‘G’ for?” he asks.
I lift my chin, bracing myself against the satin-draped table. “On behalf of the person who started the trend.” I grab the glass in front of me and take a long sip, my gaze flicking toward the corners of the yard.
“Oh, right! I’ve heard of it!” Boyana twirls a lock of her hair. “Everyone in the U.S. is wearing that to parties now. Who was the designer again? G, G…”
“Gaetano?” I offer, raising a brow. I don’t know whether I want to laugh or break down crying. Maybe both.
“Yeah, that’s him.” Camelia, a girl from our high school class, nods. “Some Italian guy, right? I think I saw something about him on TikTok.”
Kiril Karaivanov shakes his head. “I’ll never understand women’s fashion.”
“Preach!” his brother Samuil chimes in, waving his hand in support.
At least he gives off the vibe of a grown man, with his white shirt unbuttoned just enough, skinny jeans, and polished shoes.
“You wear strange stuff on your face, shoes you can’t walk in, clothes that don’t keep you warm, but hey, that’s fashion. ”
Boyana leans forward, reclaiming the attention. “It’s called suffering for beauty! There’s nothing more satisfying than looking perfect, even if you’re hypothermic or your legs give out after four hours in heels.”
“That’s just insane,” Samuil replies flatly.
I raise my glass to him. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to keep up with trends now and then. If your brother did, he’d know Eminem hasn’t been ‘in’ in years.”
Laughter ripples around the table, even from “Eminem” himself.
He winks at me. “Baroness, hip-hop is forever. I’m sure you’re into it. You just pretend not to be.”
“Sure. If I’m three drinks in and you’re the last man on Earth.” I take another sip.
He leans his elbows onto the table. “So you’re saying there’s a chance?”
I almost choke on my drink from laughing.
The laughter cuts off as the speakers blast to full volume. A dramatic score floods the yard, drawing everyone’s attention to the main veranda. The French doors swing open with theatrical flair.
Misha steps out first in a shimmering silver gown. Half a beat behind her, Marie follows, wearing the same outfit in gold.
“Welcome to the party of the year!” Misha announces into the microphone. “We hope you’re thirsty, because tonight there will be champagne, sin, and a little more courage than usual.”
“After all, it’s not every day you turn twenty-one,” Marie adds.
“Or as we love to say… It’s time for legal mischief.”
Cheers ripple through the crowd. Applause. Someone raises a glass.
I glance at Boyana, expecting her to roll her eyes in sync with me. Instead, she whistles along and bounces in place as if superstars just emerged on stage.
After basking in the spotlight on the veranda and soaking up compliments, the twins head over to our table. We share quick hugs and air kisses.
“Oh, you’re all so gorgeous!” Misha’s voice reaches that high note she reserves for when she’s either thrilled or seeking attention.
Her eyes land on Kiril, who’s lounging an elbow away from me, swirling his drink.
She laughs loudly at something Samuil says, then tilts her head to Kiril, waiting for his acknowledgement.
Oblivious, he leans toward me. “Baroness… if you’re in the mood for some privacy, I’ve got a thing in my pants that’s soft and smells amazing.”
I take a sip from my glass. “Tell me you didn’t just call your dick aromatic.”
He chuckles and nods toward the edge of his pocket, where a small green packet is peeking out. “I’m talking about weed, baby.”
“Nicole! Wait, is that real on your forehead?”
Anger slithers up my spine at her mocking tone. I force my lips into a faint curve and meet Misha’s gaze. “New trend.”
Kiril gestures at me with his thumb. “Apparently, some Italian guy came up with it.”
“Oh…” Marie’s mouth rounds into an O.
“What does the ‘G’ stand for?” her sister asks. “Wait, don’t tell me—let me guess! Hmm… ‘Gorgona’?” Her lips stretch into a wide grin.
Boyana glances between us, confused. “What’s that?”
“A winged female monster with snakes for hair!” Marie yells and claps her hands.
“Almost like our very own ‘Little Baroness’!” Misha lifts her glass.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. This is the second time in a week that these bitches have tried to laugh at my expense. What the hell is going on?
“Wait, wait! What if it’s for ‘Godzilla’?” Marie giggles. “Such a mysterious backstory behind that thing.”
“Maybe it’s for ‘gorgeous’?” Misha adds with fake innocence, but the smirk playing on her lips gives her away.
“Or ‘gross’?” Marie whispers, cupping a hand to her mouth in mock horror.
I press my lips into a thin line. “It stands for ‘genius,’ actually. I figured you’d catch on faster, but I guess… you’re not that genius.”
The table bursts into laughter as the twins exchange looks. I straighten my back, prepared for the next shot but the hyenas know when to stay quiet. Still, the bitter taste remains in my mouth for the rest of the night.
By 9:30 PM, the band is playing and the pool is full of drunk seniors, but I can’t loosen the knot in my stomach. The dinner with Daniel Deliberov is coming up soon. That alone is enough to nauseate me, coupled with the fact that Gaetano might show up and make everything worse.
I lift my glass, an imaginary scene unfolding in my head. I’m sitting across from Daniel while my father explains what a valuable commodity I am. Nodding enthusiastically, while still grinding my teeth.
And then Gaetano strides in. Elegant frame. Dark aura. Approaching the table with a prowl that hints at danger. Just the image of his face is enough to set off a twitch deep in places I don’t want to name. I squeeze my thighs together. It doesn’t help.
I head inside. The AC hums through the house, offering a brief sense of relief. I find the bathroom downstairs, desperate to splash some water on my face. Until I catch my reflection and the sight of my perfectly made-up face. With a sigh, I settle for plunging only my hands under the icy stream.
The door opens behind me, and the mirror shows Boyana. She clicks her heels across the tiles, holding a drink. She scans me—from the outfit to my face— and for a moment, her smile flickers… but it quickly snaps back into place. “I’m collapsing! This party is everything!”
“Mm-hmm.”
She tosses her clutch onto the counter and fans herself with one hand. “You okay, Niki? You’ve got this… weird look on your face. Did you eat a toxin or what?”
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I’m the same as always, but there’s a difference in my eyes. A spark that makes the warm brown hues of my irises glow like fire.
Maybe I’ve had a bit too much to drink.
Or maybe I’m just done pretending everything’s fine.
I turn toward Boyana. “What was that with the twins?”
Her lips part, reminding me of a lifebuoy thrown too late. “What do you mean?”
“Since when do they think they can joke at my expense?”
“I…” Boyana frowns. “I need to tell you something. You didn’t hear it from me, right?”
I swallow the growing discomfort in my throat. “What is it?”
She glances at the door. “The twins are saying your dad’s in serious trouble. That things are going to get so much worse now that Deliberov’s dead. But… you know how the twins are. They feed on gossip…”
“And?”
“And… their mother supposedly said Deliberov was a key partner to your father. Like, your dad depended on him. That without him, his projects would collapse. Her exact words: ‘collapse.’”
A chill runs down my spine, followed by the slow burn of anger building beneath my skin. “The twins’ mother is an ex-mistress of you-know-who, and she barely knows anything beyond how to keep her legs open!”