2. Alexei
ALEXEI
The drive back to the mansion passes through quiet streets where streetlights slide across the windows and disappear again. I sit in the front passenger seat beside Luka while Maggie and Ivy occupy the back. Every few minutes, I check the rearview mirror. The sight remains the same every time.
Ivy stays tucked against Maggie's side, her small fingers locked around her wrist. She isn't seeking simple comfort but reassurance that Maggie is still here. Each time the vehicle slows or turns, her grip tightens as if she’s afraid Maggie might disappear the moment she looks away.
Maggie doesn't attempt to pull free. She sits quietly with one arm wrapped around Ivy's shoulders, smoothing through her curls at regular intervals.
The motion appears instinctive now. I find myself staring at them before forcing my attention back toward the road ahead.
Grief occupies every available space inside the SUV.
Irina should be here.
The thought rises abruptly and grips me hard.
For years, she held a place in this family's life that no employee ever could.
She knew Ivy's favorite bedtime stories, how many strawberries she preferred sliced into her cereal, which nightmares needed lights on, and which needed an extra blanket.
She attended school performances, doctor appointments, birthday parties, and countless ordinary afternoons that now feel far more valuable than they did this morning.
Now she's gone.
I drag a slow breath into my lungs and force myself to keep looking forward through the windshield, pushing the thought aside before it digs deeper.
The estate gates finally come into view. The steel bars slide open automatically as the SUV approaches. Additional security vehicles already occupy the circular driveway. Two men stand near the front entrance while another pair patrols the perimeter beyond the fountain.
It’s not enough. Nothing feels like enough tonight.
Luka parks near the front steps. As soon as the vehicle stops, Ivy's eyes snap open. Fear flashes across her face before she turns toward Maggie.
“It's okay,” Maggie murmurs, brushing a strand of damp hair away from her forehead. “We're home.”
Home.
The word echoes strangely inside me. I exit the vehicle first and circle to open the rear door.
Ivy refuses to release Maggie's hand. Eventually, Maggie climbs out beside her, and together they cross the front steps while security personnel move around us. No one attempts a conversation. They’re not foolish enough to mistake tonight for a normal evening.
The front doors open before we reach them, spilling warm light across the marble foyer beyond.
Under normal circumstances, the house feels welcoming despite its size, filled with familiar sounds and quiet activity.
Tonight, an uneasy silence hangs over every room.
The staff knows what happened. They know Irina is gone.
The truth shows plainly on their faces as we step inside, grief and shock shadowing expressions that usually brighten at the sight of Ivy.
Mrs. Bennett stands near the foyer with red-rimmed eyes. The housekeeper lifts a hand to her chest when she sees Ivy before quickly looking away.
The sound of nails clicking across the floor draws my attention toward the hallway.
Daisy appears first, followed closely by Winston.
Both dogs make a beeline for Ivy. Winston's usual enthusiasm is nowhere to be found.
He brushes against her legs and remains there while Daisy sits beside her, leaning into her knee.
Ivy reaches down automatically, burying one hand in Daisy's fur. Some of the strain leaves her shoulders.
“I'm tired,” she whispers.
Maggie crouches in front of her.
“I know, sweetheart.”
The tenderness in her voice reaches places I would rather leave untouched.
“I think a bath might help,” Maggie murmurs, resting one hand against Ivy's cheek.
Ivy nods weakly. “Will you stay?”
Maggie reaches for Ivy's hand. “Of course I will.”
Relief washes across Ivy's face.
A painful sensation twists through me. I’ve spent six years protecting my daughter from every danger I could identify. I built walls around her life, hired security, and monitored every threat. Yet tonight the person she needs most isn’t me.
The realization stings, but I understand it completely. Maggie saved her. When violence erupted inside that hallway, Maggie ran toward my daughter while everyone else scrambled to survive. I would cling to her, too.
Maggie guides Ivy toward the staircase. Daisy falls into step beside them while Winston trails close behind. They disappear up the stairs as Luka steps beside me.
“She's holding together better than I expected.”
I know he means Maggie. “She's doing it for Ivy.”
We stand in silence for several moments before I force myself to move. Calls are waiting. Security reports. Questions with no answers. But instead of heading to my office, I walk upstairs.
The hallway is quiet when I reach the second floor.
I stop outside Ivy's room and listen. Water runs beyond the partially open bathroom door while Maggie's voice carries faintly into the hallway.
I can't make out the words, only the soothing cadence and calm reassurance woven through every syllable.
Then Ivy speaks. “Don't leave.”
The plea is small enough to break a man's heart.
There’s a pause, then Maggie answers. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, baby.”
The promise is simple, yet it eases the desperation in Ivy's voice enough for me to hear the difference.
“Okay,” she mumbles.
I close my eyes briefly. When I enter the bedroom several minutes later, the sight waiting inside leaves me motionless near the doorway.
Maggie sits beside Ivy on the mattress, helping her button her pajamas. Freshly washed curls tumble around Ivy's shoulders. Her cheeks remain blotchy from crying, and exhaustion shadows her eyes, but she looks cleaner now. Safer. More like a child again.
Maggie notices me first. “Bath accomplished.”
A faint attempt at humor. The effort alone earns my admiration.
Ivy crawls beneath the blankets before looking between us. “Can we read?”
The question is small and uncertain, as though she's unsure whether normal bedtime routines are acceptable tonight.
I cross toward the bookshelf without a second thought. “Yes.”
A tiny spark of relief brightens her face.
“You can pick,” I tell her.
She considers the shelves seriously before pointing. “The rabbit one.”
I pull the worn hardcover free. The corners are bent from years of use, and the cover bears the familiar signs of countless bedtime readings.
I lower myself into the rocking chair beside the bed and open the book. “Ready?”
“Wait,” Ivy says.
I glance up. Ivy looks between Maggie and me, then chews lightly on her bottom lip. “I want Maggie to read it.”
The request catches me off guard. For a moment, I simply look at her. “Maggie?”
Ivy nods. “But I don't want you to leave.”
The reason becomes clear. It isn't the story she's worried about but making sure the two people she feels safest with remain where she can see them.
I close the book and hold it out to Maggie. “Then Maggie reads.”
“And Papa stays,” she reminds me.
Despite everything, the corner of my mouth lifts. “Of course.”
The tension leaves her shoulders. Maggie climbs onto the bed beside her while Winston jumps onto the mattress and curls against Ivy's legs. Daisy circles twice on the rug before dropping down beside the bed with a heavy sigh.
I return to the rocking chair near the window.
Maggie opens the book and begins to read. Her voice fills the room in a way I don't expect. There’s nothing dramatic about it. Only comfort, reassurance, and a sense of safety that reminds me of a time when life felt simpler.
I watch Ivy as Maggie continues reading.
At first, she remains rigid beneath the blankets.
Then her breathing slows, and her fingers loosen around Maggie's sleeve.
Every few minutes, Maggie pauses to show her an illustration.
Ivy responds with a nod or small smile before sinking deeper into the pillows.
Halfway through the book, Ivy inches closer until her shoulder rests fully against Maggie's side. Maggie never misses a word. She adjusts her position and continues reading while one hand slips into Ivy's hair.
Another page passes. Then another. Eventually, Ivy leans completely against her. Watching them together feels so natural that it's difficult to remember how recently Maggie entered our lives.
Maggie notices my attention on them but continues reading, her voice growing quieter as the rabbit finally finds his way home. By the time she reaches the last page, Ivy has fallen asleep. The room is silent except for the soft rhythm of her breathing.
She closes the book carefully. Neither of us speaks while we watch her sleeping peacefully. For the first time since the shelter, the relentless pressure crushing me eases just enough for me to breathe.
Shadows ring Maggie’s eyes, and her hair is still damp from the quick shower at her apartment, but she keeps one hand in Ivy's curls and the other near the edge of the blanket, ready to respond if Ivy stirs.
I stand from the rocking chair and make my way across the room, the silence remaining undisturbed.
“You should get some rest,” I tell her, keeping my voice low.
She looks down at Ivy, then back at me. “I can try,” she whispers.
She sounds exhausted rather than convinced. I know that look. She wants to leave because she thinks she should, not because she believes Ivy is ready for it.
“Maggie,” I murmur.
She shakes her head, as though she already knows what I'm about to say. “I know.”
Slowly, Maggie eases her arm from beneath Ivy. Her hand barely leaves my daughter before Ivy wakes with a startled breath. She doesn't glance around or orient herself. Her attention goes straight to Maggie.
“No.” Ivy's voice breaks. “Don't go.”
Maggie freezes and she looks as shaken as Ivy sounds. “Hey, sweetheart, I'm right here.”