Chapter 10 - Mila
I’ve never felt more like I’ve overstayed my welcome than I do right now.
It’s not because anyone is being rude or ignoring me, and it’s not that the women around me aren’t warm, curious, and more genuinely kind than I’m used to.
They talk to me like I’m interesting, they laugh with me like I’ve always been in this fold of theirs, and they don’t ask me questions that end up being traps. They’ve asked more about me than anyone has in a long time, and there’s something so painfully normal about it.
But to me, it isn’t normal.
I’m in a luxurious living room decorated in soft pink while their kids keep each other occupied, surrounded by women who look at each other like they belong to something far bigger than themselves. Something about it makes my heart ache.
I’ve never had this.
For me, family always came with obligation, and we rarely had these kinds of gatherings just for the sake of celebrating something. I’ve never been welcomed into something so easy and comforting.
And yet, they do it like this isn’t out of the ordinary. Here, a pregnant woman can glow with attention while her sisters pass around gifts and dote on her because she matters to them.
It’s all so startling to me, and yet…it’s appealing too.
Even if they haven’t made a single comment about me being here with Ivan, I can tell they don’t really know why I’m here.
They know my name, and they probably know something about my family, but they surely don’t know I didn’t exactly come willingly.
They probably don’t know that I’m a bigger problem than anyone else lets on.
So I play my part, just not because Ivan asked me to.
At first, I smile and answer questions to fit in and seem polite, and I let myself be included because I don’t want to draw more attention to myself by rejecting it. And, against my better judgment, part of me wants to know what this feels like, even if I have no right being here.
Surprisingly, even Ivan seems a bit different, not that I know him all that well.
But he seems less sharp around the edges, and more like he’s an active participant rather than just someone looming.
He stays near without entirely hovering, and in a way, his watchful gaze feels more restrained than before.
There’s some tension in the way he stands nearby and seems a bit lost in thought while the others are distracted. But when one of the kids talks to him, he softens fractionally, jumping back into uncle mode without needing to try.
By the time all the gifts are opened and the cake is eaten, I feel completely wrung out. Even if they treated me like one of them, I’m not a Lukov.
Once the event ends and everyone says their goodbyes, Ivan's shift is immediate.
On the drive home, he barely speaks, and while that isn’t entirely surprising, it’s the tight grin he has on the steering wheel that catches my attention, along with the faint irritation leaving him in waves.
Initially, I question if I did something he didn’t like at the baby shower, but the longer I wait it out, the more it doesn’t seem directed at me.
I’m half tempted to stay quiet just to avoid having to speak with him, but once we reach the condo and the door locks behind us, I glance at him.
“Do you even know what you’re doing?”
The question isn’t meant to be accusatory, even if it sounds that way, but Ivan’s jaw clenches again, and he doesn’t ask for clarification, like his mind was already there. “Yes.”
“That didn’t sound very convincing.”
Ivan pulls in a breath to steady himself, then he looks at me, seeming like he can’t tell if he should be glad or annoyed that it’s just us now. “You didn’t see what I had to deal with.”
“Today didn’t go the way you expected, then,” I murmur, wondering just how far I should dig this hole of mine. “Yet, you still chose to bring me anyway.”
Ivan doesn’t say anything, and instead, he heads towards the kitchen with irritation nipping at his heels.
The temptation to ignore him like he’s ignoring me in favor of disappearing into the spare room is strong, but I did what he asked today, and the least he can do is be upfront with me.
“You can’t keep doing this,” I say, following until I reach the kitchen island. “…Dragging me into situations you can’t control.”
He huffs out a humorless breath, pausing with the fridge door open. “You think that’s what this is?”
Bracing myself, I speak as evenly as I can. “I think you’re improvising, and that scares me.”
After grabbing a bottled water, he looks at me sharply. “You’re scared?”
“Yes, I am,” I utter, feeling the never-ending stream of tension coursing through me. “Because you’re making decisions for me when you don’t even know how they’ll unfold, and you expect me to be grateful for it.”
With frustration bleeding through his carefully crafted control, Ivan scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“And I’m trying to keep myself together.”
Finally, something shifts in Ivan, like the seams are beginning to pull apart, and he puts his hands on the countertop. “Jesus Christ, Mila…do you ever stop pushing?”
Pausing, I watch him closely, not knowing if I’ve gone too far or if I’m finally getting somewhere, honest with him.
He forces out a breath and shakes his head, muttering, “You were the same with your brothers, too.”
At that, I blink back at him, feeling as if something grips hard at my chest. “What?”
Ivan stops then, and neither of us says a word for a long stretch.
In the contemplative silence, my mind drifts back to all the times he mentioned things to me that sounded just vague enough to not be too alarming, yet too personal to be a coincidence. How he always says it like he knows me better than I know myself.
That train of thought halts me completely, and I don’t look away from him.
“Ivan…what aren’t you telling me?” I ask, leaving enough room for him to answer. But when he hesitates, I add, “What’s going on?”
When the quiet space between us becomes almost agonizing, I’m prepared to demand more from him when he finally exhales, looking down at the floor like a child caught taking something they shouldn’t have.
“I looked into you. Before our paths ever crossed.”
My pulse falters, and my brows furrow, but I can’t manage the right words for a moment like this.
“After your dad died, I gathered intel,” he continues, absently drumming his thumbs against the marble before meeting my gaze. “On your family and you. Your brothers vanished, and I needed a starting point. It was necessary.”
“Necessary?” I question, voice rising. “You stalked me because it was necessary? That’s supposed to justify you following me?”
Ivan doesn’t deny it, and that burrows even deeper under my skin. “I watched to understand the situation.”
“You followed me. Watched me. You invaded my life without my knowledge.”
“Yeah, I did, and you aren’t the first,” he returns, allowing his own anger to rise to the surface. “You wouldn’t get it, but keeping tabs is par for the course.”
My brows pinch together, hating how easily he says it. “If I don’t understand, then explain it. Tell me why. Tell me what this is all about.”
“You want to know…truly?” He asks, tone cold enough to reveal just how far this goes. “You want me to tell you why I had to watch you?”
“Yes!”
“Your family took Elena and threatened to take her away from us, and away from Wyatt, so we killed your dad, Mila,” he says, laying it all out with a sharp edge to every syllable.
“He died by our hands, not some criminal on the street. Your brothers fled like cowards, and after months of nothing, I caught sight of you, coming and going without them knowing. You led me straight to them.”
Completely stunned, feeling like I’ve been smacked over the face, I don’t say a word as I stare at him. The more he says, the less it sounds real.
“That’s why your brothers need Maksim to deal with their ‘Lukov problem’…
because we’ve been on their asses ever since,” he continues, eyes narrowing.
“And don’t misunderstand me. I was nearby when you fled your brothers, but I didn’t set out to take you.
You ran by me. Maybe I should’ve stopped watching after I located your brothers, but I didn’t.
That’s how I know more about you than I should. ”
I don’t say anything for a while as I try to process everything at once, unable to address everything.
They killed Dad. Not some unknown villain in the streets, but a Lukov. And after all of it, he has been stalking me ever since.
It’s all so crushing, making me feel like I was never clean with his eyes on me without my knowledge. Yet, the way he said it doesn’t escape me, and neither does the way he looks at me.
There’s even more beneath it all, even if he won’t say it outright.
“You liked watching,” I murmur, barely loud enough to hear.
Ivan clenches his jaw, and his attention on me becomes even more intense. “Careful, Mila.”
“Why, because I’m right?”
The kitchen somehow feels impossibly small in this moment, like all the oxygen has been pulled away, leaving behind the kind of volatile state I’m more used to enduring.
Then, Ivan says with a note of finality, trying to force the conversation to end here, “It doesn’t matter. I’m not letting you go, even if I overstepped. You’re not leaving.”
The way he tries to control even this makes my blood boil. After everything he just told me, he still assumes I have no right to question him.
“I hate you.”
His expression hardens, though he doesn’t seem all that surprised. “Get some sleep.”
Turning away from me before I can insist on continuing this conversation, Ivan heads in the direction we came from with his shoulders tight. Everything is still unresolved, with even more damning information hanging between us now.
I furrow my brows. “Where are you going?”
But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he opens the door and closes it roughly behind him, allowing the lock to click into place.
Then, the condo goes deafeningly quiet, and I stand there for far too long without a clue of what to do next while my hands shake.
His family killed my dad. He watched me, followed me, and allowed himself to know me without my permission.
That violation settles deep within my chest, and I don’t know how I can even begin to free myself of it.