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The Volkov family estate was grand, older than Damian's mansion, filled with the kind of silence that made even the staff move carefully.
At the dining hall, Damian's mother, Irina Volkov, sat sipping her tea while Grandfather—the patriarch everyone feared and respected—read a thick old book at the head of the table.
The door opened, and the man sent to Damian's mansion stepped inside, bowing low. His face was tight, like someone who carried a secret too heavy to hold.
"What is it?" the Grandfather asked without raising his eyes. His voice was commanding, gravelly, the kind that carried weight even in its calmest tone.
The man swallowed. "It is about Master Damian."
That got both their attention. Irina set her teacup down gently, brows furrowing. "What about my son?"
The man cleared his throat nervously. "The… lady from the video. The one involved with Miss Isabel at the boutique."
Irina's fingers curled around the porcelain. "Yes? What of her?"
"She—she was seen inside the Master's mansion. On his lap, during breakfast. He fed her breakfast."
The room stilled.
Irina's eyes widened, her lips parting. "On his lap?" She pressed a hand to her chest. "Oh my god. That means… Tatiana lied to me."
The young lady is living under the same roof as Master Damian."
Irina leaned back in her chair, a rush of emotions coloring her face—shock, then dawning excitement. "He never brings anyone home. Never. And now… he has her, in his house, in his arms?"
She almost smiled, though disbelief lingered in her voice. "Could it be—after all these years—my Damian has finally let someone in?"
The Grandfather stroked his chin, thoughtful but guarded. "How did I miss this? My own grandson, hiding a girl right under my nose." He chuckled, low and dangerous. "That boy thinks he can outsmart me."
Irina leaned forward, her eyes soft with hope. "I must meet her. If he keeps her close, she must be important. Perhaps… perhaps they're in love."
The Grandfather's laugh was dry, sharp. "Love? My grandson doesn't believe in such weakness. Not after Isabel."
Irina frowned, her maternal instinct flaring. "You call it weakness, I call it life. I want to meet this girl. If she has made her way into his heart, I want to see her with my own eyes."
The Grandfather smirked, eyes glittering. "Then let us watch and wait. If she truly matters to Damian, he won't be able to hide her for long."
Irina's hand curled into a fist on the table, determination written across her face.
"No, I won't wait. This time, I'll be the one to confront my son. Damian will not shut me out of this."
And for the first time in years, the thought of her cold, distant son finding warmth made Irina's heart race with hope.