Damian's mother sat in her private lounge scrolling through updates on her tablet.
A video popped up on her feed—the scene from the boutique. Isabel's shrill voice, the clash, the manager's intervention, then Elena's words to isabel and Tatiana by her side, her chin held high despite Isabel's venom.
The woman paused the video. Her eyes lingered on the Elena—bright-eyed, fragile yet unyielding.
There was something about her energy, her spark, that pulled at the her chest. She liked her instantly.
Her finger hovered for only a moment before she hit call.
Tatiana, still sprawled in her room painting her nails, nearly jumped when her phone lit up with her aunt's name.
She answered quickly, voice sweet and nervous. "Hello, Auntie."
"Tatiana," came the warm but curious voice on the other end. "I just saw a video. You were shopping today, weren't you? Who's the girl with you? The one Isabel was barking at?"
Tatiana froze, her nail brush clattering against the table. She bit her lip. "Um… she's… she's a friend," Tatiana stammered.
"She has spirit," her aunt chuckled. "I like her. You must bring her around one day. Tell me, what's her name?"
Tatiana's throat went dry. Her eyes flicked toward her door, panic welling. "Auntie, I—I'll call you back," she rushed out, and before the woman could could press further, she hung up.
Her heart racing, Tatiana jumped up and ran straight to Damian's study. She didn't even knock, just pushed inside.
He was at his desk, sipping whiskey, his expression dark and unreadable after his earlier fight with Elena.
"Cousin," she blurted breathlessly, "Aunt saw the video. She saw Elena. She called me asking who she is. She says she likes her energy. Damian, what do I do?"
Damian's jaw tensed. Slowly, he set his glass down with a quiet clink. His eyes lifted, sharp and commanding.
"You don't say a word," he ordered coldly. "Not about Elena. Not about her staying here. Not to anyone."
Tatiana swallowed. "But Aunt—"
"I mean it, Tay." His voice dropped lower, carrying a weight that silenced her instantly.
"Elena is mine. No one outside this house needs to know a damn thing."
Tatiana blinked, caught between curiosity and unease. She nodded slowly. "Fine, cousin. But you can't hide her forever."
Damian leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Watch me."
***
The next morning, Elena did everything she could to avoid Damian. She dressed quietly, slipped her phone into her pocket, and prayed she could make it downstairs before he found her.
But luck was never on her side—not when it came to Damian Volkov.
The moment she stepped out of her room, his tall shadow loomed. His hand shot out, dragging her against his chest with a force that stole her breath.
"Damian—let me go," she hissed, her palms pressing against his hard chest.
"No," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, his tone taunting.
"Why would I let go when you feel so warm pressed against me?"
Her pulse hammered. "Because I said so."
He smirked. "There it is again—your sharp little mouth. Do you know what I should do every time you sass me, cupcake?"
She didn't answer, her face burning. She wasn't going to laugh at his teasing not this time.
He smirked wider when she turned her face away, clearly trying to hide how flustered she was.
He guided her downstairs with his hands on her waist, ignoring her weak attempts to wriggle free.
When they reached the dining hall, she immediately asked, "Where's Tatiana?"
The butler bowed. "She went for a run, miss."
Damian leaned back in his chair, his gaze locking on her. "Hmm. I think I'm going to make Tatiana leave."
Her eyes widened. "What? Why?"
"Because you two are bonding too much. And now you've forgotten about me." His voice was casual, but his eyes glinted with mischief.
"No, Damian, please don't," she blurted, panic rising in her chest.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "Then come sit on my lap so I don't make Tay leave."
Her lips parted in shock. "I—I can't."
"You can," he countered smoothly. "Or Tatiana leaves by this evening."
Her heart pounded in her throat. She stared at him, at that arrogant smirk, at the challenge in his eyes.
Then, with trembling reluctance, she moved closer, sliding awkwardly onto his lap.
His arms instantly wrapped around her waist, pulling her snug against him as if she belonged there. "Good girl," he whispered, lips brushing her hairline.
Breakfast was served, the clinking of silverware the only sound until the dining room doors opened.
A man entered dressed in the crisp black suit of someone who worked for the Volkov family.
Elena stiffened, trying to stand, but Damian's arm tightened around her waist, holding her firmly in place on his lap.
The man bowed. "Sir, your mother sends this. She said she prepared it herself."
He carefully placed a covered dish on the table before stepping back respectfully. "She hopes you enjoy it."
Damian gave a short nod. "Leave."
The man disappeared as quickly as he'd entered. Damian reached forward, sliding the dish closer, the rich aroma filling the air.
He lifted the lid—it was one of his favorite meals, made with care.
"Ah, she remembered," he muttered almost to himself. Then he turned his eyes on Elena, still perched on his lap, squirming slightly.
"Do you want to have a taste?" he asked, spoon in hand.
She shook her head quickly. "No."
His smirk deepened. "I wasn't really asking."
With deliberate slowness, he scooped up a bite and, despite her turning her face away, nudged the spoon against her lips. "Open."
Her chest rose and fell in defiance, but eventually she parted her lips just enough. He slipped the food in, watching her cheeks flush as she chewed.
"My mother made this," he said softly, almost proudly, though his gaze was fixed on her mouth.
"It tastes so nice" she replied.
The door opened again, and Tatiana breezed in, cheeks flushed from her run.
She froze only a second at the sight of her cousin with Elena still perched on his lap, before rolling her eyes dramatically.
"Of course," she muttered. "You two couldn't wait until after breakfast?"
"Tay," Damian said flatly.
She ignored him and crossed the room, leaning over the table. "Aunt sent this?" Her eyes lit up.
Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed a spoon and scooped herself a mouthful, humming happily. "Mmm. Aunt always makes the best. She really spoils you, Damian."
Damian's hand slid higher up Elena's thigh under the table, hidden from view. His voice was calm, almost casual. "Maybe she spoils us both."