9. What Changed?
What Changed?
Zhenya Romanov
I checked the clock. It was well past eleven, and Nikolai had spent the last fifteen minutes trying and failing to hide his yawns.
“You should sleep.”
He glanced at the time, then back at me. “…You’re probably right.”
For once, he didn’t put up an argument. He stood, walked over, and wrapped his arms around my neck. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
I watched him head upstairs, the apartment settling into total silence behind him.
I stayed on the sofa, my thoughts drifting back to Fyodor. He knew Nikolai frighteningly well. Every habit, every trigger, every weakness. Yet Nikolai retained none of it. He was left to carry the wreckage of decisions he had no memory of making.
Eventually, I got up. The day had gone on long enough.
By the time I finished drying my hair and stepped into my bedroom, exhaustion had settled deep into my bones. I was reaching for the bedside lamp when a hesitant knock sounded against the half-open door.
Nikolai stood in the doorway in a pair of green pajamas, his hand resting on the frame. He looked almost embarrassed to be there.
“…Can I sleep in here tonight?”
I paused.
“I don’t really want to be by myself,” he added, keeping his voice low.
Ever since he’d come back, he’d stayed closer—reaching out without thinking, holding on just a little longer, as if he still needed physical proof that I wasn’t going to vanish.
“…Of course.”
Relief softened his features immediately. “Thank you.”
He climbed onto his side of the mattress without another word, turning toward the lamp. I stepped into the bathroom to brush my teeth, and by the time I walked back out, he was already out cold. Just like that.
I switched off the light and slipped beneath the covers beside him.
* * *
I should not have agreed for him to sleep here.
Now he was lying beside me, his back pressed to my chest, dark hair spilled across my pillow. My arm was draped over his waist, my legs tangled with his. Every point of contact felt like a slow burn.
He’d been asleep for nearly two hours while I lay awake counting the rise and fall of his ribs, memorizing the soft, quiet noises he made in his sleep. It was agonizing, and yet I didn’t want to be anywhere else.
Then he shifted.
A small, unconscious sound hit the back of his throat. He pressed back slightly, the curve of his hips settling firmly against my groin.
My lungs locked up.
He’s asleep. He has no idea what he’s doing.
I repeated it like a mantra, but he shifted again—a sleepy turn searching for warmth. He was entirely unguarded, trusting me completely.
And my body reacted anyway. The heat bloomed fast, my cock hardening against the cleft of his backside, thin sleep pants doing nothing to blunt the friction.
My jaw clenched until my teeth ached. My hand tightened on his waist, pulling him closer before my brain could catch up with the impulse, the sudden pressure sending a jolt straight down my spine.
Fuck.
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper.
He moved again, another lazy, unconscious tilt of his hips against mine, every line of his body pressing through the fabric. My breath hitched. My pulse hammered in my ears, every instinct screaming at me to close the remaining distance.
No.
The thought cut through the heat like a blade.
I forced myself to look down at him—the relaxed line of his mouth, the dark lashes resting against his cheek, the utter peace on his face.
He felt safe here. He had walked into my room, into my bed, because out of everyone in his world, he trusted me not to cross a line. That trust wasn’t something to take advantage of.
It was something to deserve.
I realized then that I would tear the room apart before I proved him wrong.
Slowly and carefully, I moved. Not closer though every nerve in my body protested. I shifted my hips a fraction of an inch, putting space between my aching body and his. It took everything I had.
I slid my hand up from his waist, over his shoulder, and cupped the back of his head. My thumb found the soft hair at his nape, stroking in a steady rhythm.
“Shh,” I rasped, the words barely carrying in the dark. “I’ve got you. Close your eyes.”
Outside, the city slept. Inside my room, my heart is a wreck.
An ache I wouldn’t trade for anything.
* * *
Dawn arrived quietly over Moscow, the city lingering in that pale, undecided space between night and morning. Streetlights still glowed against the cold sky while the first faint rays of sunlight pushed through the dark.
It was always the best hour of the day—the only time the world seemed to pause before demanding something from everyone.
Slipping out from under the covers without a sound, I left Nikolai asleep. He had one arm wrapped tightly around my pillow, two buttons of his pajamas undone at the neck.
Downstairs, Olga was already moving quietly around the kitchen.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Don’t wake him.”
“Of course not.”
I paused at the doorway, turning back for a second. “If he asks, tell him I’ll be back before lunch.”
“Yes, sir.”
I made it a step further before stopping again. “Make him oats for breakfast.”
* * *
The basketball court sat just a short drive from the penthouse.
It had been a weekend ritual for years: heading out before Moscow fully woke. Not out of any deep love for the workout, but because it was the single hour of the week that belonged entirely to me—free of board meetings and Romanov politics.
Just a basketball. And Alexei.
Surprisingly, he had arrived first. A ball bounced lazily under one hand while he leaned against the chain-link fence in a black sleeveless jersey and shorts, a wide grin spreading across his face the moment I walked up.
“Romanov.” He made a show of checking his watch. “Held hostage in bed? I don’t think you’ve ever shown up after me.”
“It’s six twenty in the morning, Alexei.” I set my gym bag by the bench. “Far too early for your nonsense.”
“It’s never too early.” He pulled me into a brief, solid hug before stepping back. “Long time, brother.”
“You’re the one who abandoned Moscow.”
“For Taiwan,” he corrected. “Business.”
I gave him a look. “Business?”
“And pleasure.”
“Predictable.”
For the next forty minutes, we ran the court until the morning chill burned off. Alexei hadn’t lost his step, and neither had I; the score stayed close enough that we stopped tracking it halfway through.
When my final shot went through with a clean swish, Alexei groaned dramatically. “I hate you.”
“You’ve said that since university.”
“And meant it every time.”
I chuckled quietly, turning toward the bench to pull a Cuban from its case. After clipping the end, I lit it, letting the first long draw settle my breathing. Alexei joined me a moment later, draping a towel around the back of his neck and grabbing my water bottle without asking.
I watched the smoke drift into the cool air before speaking, my eyes fixed on the empty court.
“Alexei…”
“Hm?”
“…what’s it like being with a man?”
The water bottle stopped midway to his mouth. He lowered it slowly.
“…Say again?”
I kept my gaze forward. “Is it… the same as being with a woman?”
Silence stretched across the court—long enough that I finally looked over. Alexei was staring at me as if I’d just announced a sudden move to a monastery.
Then, with extreme deliberation, he reached out and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead.
I frowned, pulling back. “What are you doing?”
“Checking for a fever.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He dropped his hand, his eyes narrowing. “Who are you… and what have you done with Zhenya Romanov?”
“Can you be slightly less dramatic for once? It was a simple question.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You just dropped a bomb.”
“I asked a question.”
“You’ve rejected more women than I’ve ever dated,” he said, throwing his hands up.
“I fail to see how that’s relevant.”
“You once told me relationships were a waste of billable hours.”
“I remember.”
“You mocked me for canceling a dinner because of a date.”
“I did.”
“And now…” He leaned in, peering at me. “…you’re asking what it’s like to sleep with a man?”
“I asked what it’s like being with one.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s significantly worse.”
“How?”
“Because that’s not a physical question.” He jabbed a finger toward my chest. “That’s a question asked by someone who already has a very specific man on his mind.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“You’re not even trying to deny it. It’s Nikolai, isn’t it?”
“You’re assuming.”
“Am I?” He leaned back against the bench, folding his arms. “Zhenya, in the fifteen years I’ve known you, you’ve asked me precisely three personal questions.”
“I doubt you’ve kept count.”
“Oh, I have.” He held up three fingers, ticking them off one by one. “‘Should I buy the Ferrari or the Aston Martin?’ ‘Would this watch make a decent birthday gift for Katerina?’ And now: ‘What’s it like being with a man?’”
I took another slow draw from the cigar, exhaling the smoke upward. “Just answer the question, Volkov.”
Alexei didn’t say a word, his grin slowly dying off as he stared.
“You know…” His voice lost its usual playful edge. “I don’t think this conversation is really about men in general anymore.”
“It isn’t the same,” he started again. “Not because they’re men,” he shrugged.
“Because every person is different. I’ve dated women I would’ve crossed the street to avoid after a week, and I’ve dated men I would’ve followed to another continent.
Gender never decided whether I fell in love—the person did. ”
Alexei took another drink of water. “You know what the biggest difference actually is?”
“What?”
“The first time.” He looked at me directly.
“The first time you’re with a man, your brain won’t stop asking stupid questions.
Is this weird? Am I doing this right? Do I actually like this?
” He chuckled softly. “Then somewhere along the line, you stop overthinking. You just kiss them. And if you’re crazy enough about them, you stop remembering they’re a man. You just see them.”
I stayed quiet, processing that.
Alexei smiled knowingly, giving my shoulder a sharp nudge. “So… did something happen?”
“No.”
“Did you kiss him?”
“None of your business man.”
“Did he kiss you?”
I looked away toward the far end of the court.
Alexei let out a laugh.
A second went by, and his voice dropped to a level tone. “How is he holding up? I gathered the burial was yesterday.”
“He’s better.”
“That’s good to hear.”
I nodded once. “He slept peacefully last night.”
Alexei raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing you didn’t.”
I exhaled a long breath. “I’ll survive.”
He studied my face for a second before shaking his head.
“You know… I’ve never seen you worry about anyone like this. You skipped meetings for him. You nearly triggered a full family war over him. And now you’re sitting on a park bench asking me questions you would’ve laughed at three months ago.”
“I asked a simple question—”
“I don’t think you came here looking for answers, Romanov.”
“What do you mean?”
He stood up, spinning the basketball on one finger. “I think you already know the answer. You’re just hoping I’ll tell you you’re wrong.”
I stared at the wisps of smoke rising from my cigar. “…Am I?”
“No,” Alexei answered, so quickly and firmly it caught me off guard. “You’re not.”
He tossed the ball straight at my chest. “Come on. We’ve already skipped our cooldown because of your identity crisis.”
I snorted.
Alexei grinned. “There’s the miserable billionaire I know.”
* * *
Romanov Medical Hospital stood exactly as it always had: quiet and sprawling. Mother’s office occupied the top floor.
She was on a call when I walked in, so I helped myself to the snacks on her counter and waited.
Setting her phone down, she spun her chair around to face me.
“Good day Mother.”
“Good day to you too Zhenya.”
“You asked to see me. I assume this is about the pominki.”
“You’re right. Why the sudden interest in Romanov Insurance?”
I offered a faint smile. “I have no interest in Romanov Insurance.”
One of her eyebrows arched. “No?”
“I have an interest in its owner’s brother. I want Mikhail to stay exactly where I can see him,” I added.
Mother studied my face. “You think he’ll run?”
“He already did once.” I glanced out the window at the city below. “The moment Babushka collapsed, he vanished from Moscow. He only came back because Father demanded every Romanov attend the funeral.”
She stayed quiet, letting me finish.
“If Romanov Insurance is under threat,” I said, turning back to her, “he won’t leave again.”
A flash of recognition crossed her face. “So this isn’t about the firm.”
“No.”
“It’s about Mikhail.”
“Entirely.”
“And after that?”
A sudden grin pulled across my lips.
“Romanov Insurance happens to be the second-largest shareholder in Romanov Energy and Oil.”
The warmth drained from Mother’s face.
“If the board approves my petition,” I paused deliberately, “those voting shares fall under my control.”
“You’d sell them?”
“Without hesitation.”
She held my gaze for several quiet seconds. “Mikhail will be furious.”
I leaned back in the chair. “Wonderful.”
She watched me closely, though her eyes held no real disappointment. “I assumed the stunt at dinner was purely to humiliate him.”
“That was just a perk.”
“And Inessa?”
“A necessary piece on the board.”
Her gaze narrowed slightly. “You once loved her.”
“The past is the past, Mother.”
She rose from her desk and walked toward the window, looking out. “Mikhail won’t surrender quietly.”
“I don’t expect him to.”
“Neither will Irina.”
“I’d be disappointed if she did.”
“There’s another issue,” she said, turning back. “The board won’t approve a takeover simply because Zhenya Romanov asks for it.”
“I’m aware.”
“They’ll want justification. They’ll demand proof that Vladimir is genuinely unfit to manage the company.”
“I already have it.”
Mother shook her head slightly, studying me. “You had this entire case prepared before you even arrived at the white manor. When exactly did you become this terrifying?”
I smirked. “I learned from the best.”
She reached for her handbag on the desk. “Enough business for today. You look like you’ve barely been eating.” She walked around the desk, sliding her strap over her shoulder. “I’ve already booked a table.”
“I take it I’m paying?”
“Let’s go.”