13. Father, You Must Be Out of Your Mind!
Father, You Must Be Out of Your Mind!
Zhenya Romanov
Looking back, I couldn’t pin down the exact moment Nikolai became someone I would protect with my life.
Maybe it was after the Honorary gathering. Maybe Thailand. Or maybe it was just the first night he fell asleep beside me without flinching.
Or maybe there was never a single turning point at all.
Whatever it was, his safety had quietly become my absolute responsibility. Which was why every muscle in my body was locked tight as I sat across from Dmitry Romanov, Nikolai beside me, listening to words no father had any right to say.
“Leave the boy,” Dmitry said, his tone entirely level, “and your position as heir stands.” He rested his hands on the table. “I will not have the Romanov name tied to someone mentally unstable.”
It had only been a week since the board voted in my favor, and I’d thrown myself into Romanov Insurance from day one. Mikhail had gone suspiciously quiet—a detail I should have paid closer attention to.
I should have questioned why Father insisted on a family lunch out of nowhere. I should have wondered why he specifically asked for Nikolai to come along.
I had no idea Mikhail had already tracked down Nikolai’s medical records. Or that he’d delivered every single page straight to Dmitry.
Father’s choice of restaurant was entirely on brand: private, quiet, and expensive enough that no one dared eavesdrop.
Lev held the heavy glass door for us before heading back to the car. Nikolai walked beside me in a cream turtleneck and beige pants.
Earlier, he’d been so nervous he had cycled through half his wardrobe before landing on this outfit. Now, he was looking around with quiet curiosity, completely oblivious to why Father had summoned us.
The hostess led us to a private dining room in the back. Father was already there, an untouched cup of black coffee sitting in front of him. He didn’t bother standing when we entered.
“Father.”
He offered a sharp nod, then moved his eyes to Nikolai. Nikolai bowed politely. “Good afternoon, sir.”
Father studied him in silence, long enough that the air grew uncomfortably heavy—before gesturing to the empty chairs. “Sit.”
Lunch was served almost immediately. The only sound in the room was the clink of silverware against fine porcelain. Nikolai tried to make conversation once or twice, but Father shut each attempt down with one-word answers.
It wasn’t until the plates were cleared that Father set his napkin down, folded his hands on the table, and looked across at me.
“I’ve reviewed the file Mikhail sent.”
My stomach dropped. “What file?”
He bypassed the question entirely, turning his attention straight to Nikolai. “Tell me… how long have you been receiving treatment for your disorder?”
Nikolai dropped his fork. The metallic clatter rang out like a alarm. He stared down at the linen tablecloth for a long moment before asking softly, “…I wasn’t aware my medical records were public.”
“They aren’t,” Father replied, his tone as cold and detached as a deposition. “Mikhail simply believed I had a right to know.”
He look back at me. “Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Know. Did you know about his diagnosis before bringing him into this family?”
“Yes.” The word left my mouth without a second’s hesitation.
Father’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “You knowingly tied yourself to someone unstable.”
“I knowingly tied myself to Nikolai.”
“The board,” Father continued, ignoring the distinction completely. “The shareholders. The press. Do you have any idea what happens if this leaks?”
“I do.”
“And you kept going anyway.”
The room went dead silent. Father turned back to Nikolai, his voice dropping into a tone of gentle pity—which somehow felt infinitely more venomous than anger.
“Young man… do you honestly think this is fair to him?”
Nikolai slowly raised his head.
“You require lifelong care,” Father said smoothly. “You have a documented history of dissociation. What happens when your condition flares up again? What happens when the press finds out the heir to Romanov Pharmaceuticals is marrying someone with a psychiatric file an inch thick?”
Under the table, Nikolai’s fingers tightened into a white-knuckled fist. I reached over, covering his hand with mine. He stiffened for a fraction of a second before interlacing his fingers tightly with mine.
Father caught the movement. Of course he did. He let out a slow sigh.
“You’re a polite boy. I don’t dislike you. But affection doesn’t rewrite reality.” He looked back at me. “Leave the boy. Your position as heir stands, Romanov Pharmaceuticals remains yours, and so does Romanov Insurance. But I will not allow this family’s name to be attached to instability.”
I felt Nikolai’s hand start to slip out of my grip. He tried to pull away, but I locked my fingers around his, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t doing this alone.
Something inside me finally snapped.
My chair shrieked against the floorboards as I stood up. “You told me to bring home a husband.”
Father didn’t even flinch. “I did.”
“And I did. I brought home the man I love. And now”—a harsh, humorless laugh escaped my chest—“now you’re ordering me to toss him aside because his past doesn’t fit your sanitized version of the Romanov name?”
“I am telling you to be rational.”
“No.” I slammed both hands onto the table, leaning forward.
“You don’t get to lecture me about rationality.
You spent decades sleeping your way across Moscow.
You humiliated my mother. You married your mistress.
You’ve spent your entire life tearing this family apart piece by piece, and somehow Nikolai is the liability? ”
Silence dropped over the room like lead. No one moved. Father’s jaw set into a hard, rigid line. “Watch your tone.”
“My tone?” I scoffed. “My tone is what bothers you? You ordered me to get a man, I obeyed, and I fell in love. The second he doesn’t meet your standard of perfection, you expect me to discard him.”
I gestured toward Nikolai without breaking eye contact with my father. “He isn’t something I trade out when the market shifts. He is my future. And if you think I’m choosing a company over him, then you’ve never known a single damn thing about your own son.”
The air was completely sucked out of the room. Nikolai looked like he had stopped breathing altogether.
Then, the oak door swung open.
“Apologies,” my mother said, stepping inside as she peeled off one glove. “It seems I’ve walked into something.”
Her eyes swept the room—taking in Father’s stone face, my white knuckles on the table, and Nikolai frozen in his seat before settling on me.
“…What happened?”
Father spoke up before either of us could. “I presented Zhenya with a choice.”
Mother remained standing. “What choice?”
“He can keep the boy, or he can remain my heir.”
She let out a dry, disappointed laugh, slowly pulling off her second glove. “I spent twenty-three years married to you, Dmitry, and somehow you still find ways to astonish me.”
Father’s face didn’t budge. “I am protecting this family.”
“No,” she said, stepping toward the table. “You are protecting your ego.”
“I built this empire.”
“We built it,” she fired back. “You seem to forget that Romanov Medical only exists because of me. You expanded it, but I created it.”
Dmitry said nothing.
She placed both hands flat on the polished table, leaning in slightly.
“Tell me something. When you were sleeping with Dominika, were you protecting the family name? When you divorced me in secret while letting the press believe we were still happily married, was that for the family name? When you married Irina before the ink on our papers was even dry—was that for the Romanov name too?”
A muscle twitched on Father’s face, but he kept silent.
“You’ve spent thirty years demanding everyone else preserve an image you shattered yourself,” she continued without a trace of mercy.
She glanced at Nikolai, then looked back at Dmitry.
“You are asking our son to throw away the only person he has ever genuinely chosen, all while pretending this is about reputation. It isn’t. It’s about control.”
She took a deliberate step closer to him. “And there’s one minor detail you seem to be overlooking.”
Father finally spoke, forcing the words through a clenched jaw.
“What?”
“Zhenya is going to do whatever he wants. Threatening to strip his inheritance when he’s already worth billions on his own is almost laughable.
” Dmitry’s eyes narrowed, but Mother just offered a cold, elegant smile.
“So if he chooses to marry that young man… the only person standing here with a problem is you.”
Before Katerina could say another word, I reached for my napkin, folded it once, and set it beside my untouched plate.
Father tracked the movement. “You’re leaving?”
I stood up. “Yes.”
A shadow fell over his face. “I wasn’t finished.”
“Well I am.”
“Sit back down Zhenya.”
I offered him my first smile of the conversation. “…No.”
The table went dead silent. Nobody moved.
Father’s voice dropped to a low rumble. “I don’t believe you understand the position you’re in.”
“I understand it perfectly.”
“You stand to inherit everything.”
“I already have everything I need.”
“You’ll regret saying that.”
“I won’t.”
Under the table, I reached for Nikolai’s hand. His fingers slipped into mine almost instinctively, though he kept his gaze locked on the floor. I couldn’t tell if it was shame or heartbreak keeping his eyes down, but neither emotion belonged to him.
Father followed the gesture. “You’re choosing him.”
“I already did.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’d throw away generations of work for someone you’ve known less than a year?”
I met his gaze without blinking. “No. I’m walking away because somewhere along the line, you convinced yourself the Romanov name was something I couldn’t live without. If you want to strip away what the company owns, that’s your right. But don’t mistake that for taking anything away from me.”
For the first time in my life, Father had nothing to say.