Paint splattered across the canvas like blood on silk.
"Ahhh!" Nova Volkov screamed, her voice echoing through Nikolai's villa.The vibrant colors of crimson, turquoise, and gold that once danced across her painting were now an ugly smear dripping off the edge of the easel. Her breath caught in her throat as she rushed forward, skidding slightly on the marble floors of her studio. "Oh my God," she gasped, falling to her knees in front of the ruined masterpiece.
It wasn't just any painting. This one had taken her three weeks—three full, torturous, caffeine-fueled weeks. Each stroke had been intentional, each hue blended with the precision only her chaotic mind could orchestrate. And now? Gone. Destroyed. Murdered by toddler hands.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" she snapped, spinning around with wild eyes to face the culprit. "Do you have any idea how long I worked on this? How many times I cried over it? How many brushes I ruined?!"
Standing near the doorway, with a splotch of blue on his cheek and guilt written all over his chubby face, was Andrei Volkov—her eight-year-old little brother. He looked down at his small paint-covered hands, his bottom lip starting to tremble like an earthquake was building in his chest.
Nova's eyes widened. "Oh no. You better not. Don't even think about it."
But it was too late. The tears had already begun to pool in his big brown eyes.
"Daaaaad!" she hollered like a banshee in distress, turning toward the open hallway. "Your son committed a war crime in my studio!"
Heavy, urgent footsteps echoed down the hallway until the tall, imposing figure of Nikolai Volkov appeared in the doorway. Dressed in black slacks and a fitted white button-up rolled to his forearms, he looked more like a mafia kingpin than a father rushing to handle toddler drama. But his expression softened the second he saw Nova's panicked face and the smudged canvas behind her.
"Sweetheart, is something wrong?" he asked, eyes scanning the chaos.
Nova flung an accusatory hand in Andrei's direction. "Dad, look what your son did! He singlehandedly destroyed my masterpiece! That was for the Midnight Dreams exhibit next week! Now it looks like Picasso threw up on it."
Andrei sniffled. "I just wanted to play with you."
"Does this look like a playground to you? This is my studio. My sacred space! Go watch Cocomelon or chase the dog or build a pillow fort—anything but this!"
Nikolai crouched beside her, examining the painting with a slightly furrowed brow. "Okay, okay. Let's not panic. Maybe we can salvage it. Add a few strokes, maybe turn it into something abstract."
Nova shot him a murderous look. "Salvage it? Are you kidding me? This—" she pointed dramatically to the dripping colors, "—was a cosmic phoenix rising through the obsidian void. Now it looks like a pigeon flew into a wet window."
Footsteps padded down the hall again, this time slower. A new voice joined the chaos.
"What's going on in here?" Elara Volkov asked as she entered, her hand resting on her heavily pregnant belly. Her long black hair was tied in a messy bun, and a red lollipop stuck out of her mouth as if it were part of her daily uniform. She leaned against the doorway, eyeing the war scene in front of her with mild amusement.
"Mom, your son ruined my painting. I'm filing a restraining order." Nova's voice cracked with emotion. "If the baby in your belly turns out to be another boy, I'm moving to a desert island with no Wi-Fi and no children."
Elara raised an eyebrow, pulling the lollipop out of her mouth. "Blame your father. The chaos runs in his blood."
Nova turned to Nikolai with a hand on her hip. "Well reprogram your husband, because I'm not dealing with a second Andrei. I swear, I need holy water. Where's a priest when you need one?"
Andrei let out a loud sob, causing all three adults to wince.
"Okay, okay, that's enough," Nikolai muttered, lifting the crying child into his arms. "It was just an accident. He didn't mean it."
Nova rubbed her temples. Her curls were falling loose from her ponytail, and she could feel a stress headache pulsing behind her eyes. "Tell that to the deadline I'm going to miss. The exhibit organizer already thinks I'm too dramatic. This is going to prove her right."
Elara stepped into the room, gently patting Nova on the shoulder. "You'll paint something better. You always do."
Nova shook her head. "Not like that. That one was special. It... felt like me."
Elara's gaze softened. "And you're still here, aren't you? That means the art is still in you. You'll birth another masterpiece. Just like I'm birthing another unpredictable Volkov boy."
"God help us all," Nova muttered, slumping onto her paint-stained bean bag in the corner.
Nikolai turned to Elara. "You know, when we found out she was pregnant, I was hoping for twins. Imagine two more of him running around."
"I will divorce you," Elara deadpanned.
"Third time's the charm," he said with a smirk.
Nova watched them with narrowed eyes. "This family needs a reality show. Or therapy. Probably both."
Andrei, now slightly recovered from his meltdown, peeked over Nikolai's shoulder and said, "I'm sorry, Nova. I really just wanted to play with you. I missed you."
Her heart cracked a little at that.
Nova sighed. Loudly. Dramatically. "Fine. You get one hug. But only one."
Nikolai lowered Andrei to the floor, and the little boy scampered over, flinging his arms around her with surprising force. She hugged him back, grumbling the entire time.
"Don't get paint on me. Or tears. Or snot. Ew, Andrei—what did I just say?!"
Elara laughed softly, already heading out the room. "I'm going to take a nap before the next tantrum. Might be mine. Might be the baby's. Who knows."
Nikolai followed her out, leaving Nova in the middle of the room, surrounded by brushes, paint tubes, and the remains of her once-beautiful phoenix.
Andrei pulled back and looked at the canvas. "It still looks kinda cool. Like the phoenix is... hiding."
Nova raised an eyebrow. "Hiding, huh? Like waiting to rise again?"
He nodded earnestly.
Nova looked at the painting, really looked. The smears and spills weren't entirely hopeless. Maybe it could be reborn. Maybe the mess was part of the magic.
She glanced down at her brother. "Okay. New rule. You can play in my studio... but only if you're my assistant."
Andrei's face lit up. "Like a sidekick?"
"Exactly. Sidekick Andrei. Now go get me the gold paint. Let's see if we can resurrect a phoenix."
As her brother dashed off with the excitement of a child who had just been knighted, Nova smiled for the first time that day. The phoenix would rise again.
But next time, she was locking the damn door.
--------------
The phoenix had indeed risen.
Nova stared at her restored painting with arms crossed over her paint-smudged hoodie. It wasn't perfect, but it had... something. A rawness. A rebirth of sorts. The golden accents shimmered subtly where she and Andrei—well, mostly she—had fixed it. She nodded to herself.
"Alright," she muttered, wiping a streak of blue off her cheek, "Time to put you somewhere safe."
She climbed onto the small step ladder and carefully hung the canvas above the others—at the top of her studio wall. Far away from curious little hands. Satisfied, she placed her hands on her hips and turned to Andrei.
"Okay, you did great, little sidekick."
His chest puffed with pride. "Really?"
Nova grinned. "Yep. You stayed out of the way like a professional assistant. I might just give you a promotion."
Andrei giggled. "Can we go see Grandpa Mikhail now?"
She glanced at the clock. "Sure. Let's go say hi to the old man."
---
After a quick shower and a fresh outfit—black jeans, an oversized graphic tee, and a chunky sweater—Nova tied her curls into a high puff and called out to the living room. "Dad! Andrei and I are going to the mansion!"
Nikolai looked up from his tablet where he was reviewing some very likely illegal business spreadsheets. "The Volkov mansion?"
"Yeah. Gonna see Grandpa Mikhail and the rest. Grandma Natalia probably misses me."
"As long as you're back before midnight," he said without looking up.
Nova rolled her eyes dramatically. "Ugh, what is this, Cinderella?"
Elara walked in from the kitchen, popping another lollipop into her mouth. "Ignore your father. Have fun. And don't let Mikhail make you drink any of his weird herbal shots."
Nova grabbed Andrei's hand. "No promises."
---
They drove through the long stretch of winding roads that led from their private villa to the original Volkov mansion—an imposing estate with wrought-iron gates, tall spires, and marble lions flanking the grand staircase.
But halfway there, Nova glanced at Andrei in the backseat, swinging his legs. "You hungry?"
He nodded instantly. "Starving."
She smirked. "Alright. Let's make a detour."
---
The café was a cozy little spot tucked between a florist and a boutique bookstore. Its windows glowed warmly, filled with shelves of pastries and golden light. A hanging chalkboard sign read Bloom & Brew.
Nova pulled in, parked, and led Andrei inside. The moment the bell chimed above the door, the rich aroma of coffee and vanilla wrapped around them.
Behind the counter stood a young man—maybe twenty-one, with a shy posture, dark curls, and a soft jawline. He looked up the moment they entered, and his eyes widened slightly.
Nova, with all her usual flair, strolled to the counter. "One cappuccino. Extra foam. And... what do you want, Sidekick?"
"Chocolate croissant!" Andrei chirped.
"And one of those for the little menace," she added.
The barista blinked. "You're... Nova Volkov."
She raised an eyebrow. "And you are?"
He flushed. "Andrew. I work here. Uh... sorry. It's just—I recognize you. Or well, not you exactly. Your mom. Elara Volkov. She's kind of... my design idol."
Nova tilted her head, amused. "Ah. So you're into furniture and dramatic wallpaper?"
He smiled sheepishly. "I'm studying interior design. Part-time barista, full-time dreamer, I guess."
Nova grinned. "Well, lucky you. You're making coffee for the daughter of your role model."
Andrew looked like he might combust.
"Oh, and your name's Andrew?" she added. "That's dangerously close to Andrei. I can't deal with two of you."
Andrew laughed nervously. "I... promise I'm much quieter."
Nova leaned on the counter, eyes gleaming. "That's exactly what someone named Andrew would say."
As he turned to make her drink, Nova watched him with a growing smirk. Maybe this day wasn't so bad after all.
Andrei reached for his croissant and whispered, "He's blushing."
Nova winked. "I know. It's adorable."