Later, Elena found Tatiana in the grand lobby, sitting on one of the velvet couches scrolling through her phone.
Elena's footsteps were quick, her expression pale with nerves.
"Tia," she blurted, clutching her fingers together, "Damian—he just told me I have to meet his mother."
Tatiana arched a brow, hiding her smile behind her hand. "Mm. Yes. I know."
Elena's panic spilled out in a rush.
"Is she nice? Is she cold like him? What if she hates me? What if she asks why I'm here? Oh God, what if she—what if she—"
Tatiana laughed softly, patting the seat beside her. "Relax, Elena. Take a breath before you faint."
Elena sat, back stiff, heart hammering. "You don't understand, Tia. He barely tolerates me most days, and now I have to meet the woman who raised that—"
"what if she's worse?"
Tatiana set her phone aside and leaned closer, her tone softening with genuine warmth. "Elena, listen to me. My aunt is… wonderful. She's not cold like Damian, not at all.
She's sweet. Gentle. The kind of woman who makes you feel like you belong in the room the moment she smiles at you.
And trust me—when she likes someone, she really likes them."
Elena blinked, surprised. "Really?"
"Really." Tatiana reached over, squeezing her hand. "And Grandfather? He's strict with Damian, but with us? He melts for the women in this family. You'll see. You don't have to be scared. They're nothing like him."
Elena bit her lip, her chest loosening a little. "So… they won't hate me?"
Tatiana grinned, playful again. "Hate you? Elena, they'll probably love you more than him. Which, if you think about it, is the real revenge."
Elena's cheeks flushed at the thought, her nerves shifting into a nervous laugh. "You're terrible."
"Terrible? No. Honest." Tatiana winked, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. "So relax, cupcake. Aunt will adore you.
And if Damian gives you trouble about it—just remember, he can't control everything."
Elena laughed despite herself, some of her panic ebbing, though her heart still fluttered at the thought of meeting the family behind the ice-cold man who kept stealing her breath.
***
Damian sat in the dimly lit lounge of his private office, a crystal glass of whiskey in his hand, but he hadn't touched .
His jaw was tight, his fingers drumming slowly against the armrest of the leather chair.
The silence in the room was thick, almost suffocating, broken only when the door creaked open.
Viktor strolled in, his usual careless grin in place, but it faltered the moment he caught sight of Damian's face.
"Who was the man that just left your office?"
Damian didn't respond at first. He set the glass down carefully on the table, leaned forward, and folded his hands together.
His eyes gleamed with that familiar darkness Viktor had learned not to underestimate.
"I had someone dig deeper into my father's death," Damian finally said, his tone cold, controlled. "I've always suspected it wasn't as simple as everyone made it out to be."
Viktor's eyebrows rose, the playfulness gone. He sank into the chair opposite him. "You're telling me this now? After all these years?"
Damian's gaze hardened, distant as if he were reliving every unanswered question that had haunted him since he was a boy.
"I've been searching quietly. Waiting. Paying off investigators, pushing strings in the underground. And I haven't gotten anything."
Viktor leaned forward, interest sharpening. "What kind of something?"
Damian's lips curled into a grim line. "Evidence that his death was no accident. Someone arranged it. Paid for it."
His hands tightened into fists. "I have names—possible ones—but nothing solid yet.
The report traced money moving between companies, ghost accounts. Someone powerful tried to erase the trail. But no one erases everything from me."
Viktor exhaled, shaking his head slowly. "So you've been carrying this alone? All this time?"
Damian's eyes flicked up, sharp as steel. "I don't trust anyone, Viktor. Not in this family. Not with this. But now I can't ignore it.
Whoever killed my father thought they buried him and the truth with him. They underestimated me."
Viktor studied him for a long moment, then smirked faintly though his tone was serious.
"You know, Damian, sometimes I think you're made of stone. But this? This isn't just about revenge. This is personal."
Damian leaned back in his chair, the whiskey glass finally raised to his lips. He took one slow sip before speaking again, his voice lower, more dangerous.
"It is personal. And I won't stop until I find the one who ordered it—and I destroy them. Piece by piece."
The air between them was heavy with the weight of his vow. Viktor sat back, exhaling a quiet whistle, then finally said,
"Well, damn. Remind me never to get on your bad side, brother."
Damian's lips curved into the faintest of smirks, though his eyes were still cold. "You already are, Viktor. You just don't give me a reason to finish it."
***
Elena and Tatiana slipped into the kind of restaurant that dripped old money. Gold accents shimmered along the chandeliers, velvet chairs hugged the tables, and the waiters moved in silent choreography with trays of champagne and porcelain.
Elena felt slightly out of place in her simple dress, but Tatiana walked in like she owned the marble floor beneath her heels — chin high, eyes daring anyone to test her.
They were halfway through their pasta — Tatiana telling a ridiculous story about her aunt's driver who once backed into a fountain.
"Elena," Tatiana whispered under her breath, narrowing her eyes before plastering on a false smile.
The woman standing there was tall, perfectly manicured, with the kind of face that lived for gossip columns. Isabel's friend.
Tatiana had met her plenty times because she was always with Isabel — the type who would call it a "gala" just to make it sound more expensive.
"Tatiana, darling," the woman purred, leaning forward as though they were old confidantes. "How long has it been? You're looking… well."
Tatiana smiled with the sweetness of cyanide. "Better than ever. And you?"
The woman's eyes flicked to Elena — slowly, deliberately.
"And who's this?" The girl from the boutique"
Her voice sharpened. "Oh. You're the foolish girl that uttered those words to my best friend.
Elena's fork clinked against her plate as she set it down gently. She smiled — not sweetly, but like a knife sliding from its sheath.
"And you are Isabel's loyal lapdog. Funny how you came running the moment you smelled her name on the air." Tatiana said.
The woman blinked, caught off guard. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Tatiana said, her voice cool silk with steel beneath.
"You wear her perfume, mimic her walk, and cling to her name like a leash around your neck especially when she was dating my cousin. I'm surprised you didn't come crawling in on all fours."
Tatiana said and Elena burst out laughing, unable to stop herself. "Oh, she's good. Tatiana, bravo."
She leaned forward, her own eyes glittering as she added, "And since you clearly enjoy being ordered around, I think it's best you scurry back to your mistress and you obviously look like the foolish one" Elena uttered this time.
The woman's face turned scarlet, her perfect lips parting in shock. People at the nearest tables glanced over.
She sputtered something inaudible, clutched her clutch bag like a life vest, and nearly tripped over her own heels as she stormed away.
Tatiana smirked, sipping her wine as though nothing had happened. "Well," she said, patting Elena's hand. "That was fun. We should do this more often."
***
When they returned home, the atmosphere shifted instantly.
The mansion's vast doors opened to reveal Damian off the main hall, where Viktor was sprawled lazily in an armchair, spinning a crystal glass in his hand, while Damian stood like a statue near the desk.
"Elena!" Viktor said with exaggerated delight, hopping up as if she were the most important guest of the night. "There she is. Our queen returns."
Elena smiled faintly at Viktor but it didn't reach her eyes. Damian noticed. He always noticed. His gaze cut to her, sharp as a blade.
"Why is your face like that?" Damian's tone was flat, commanding, as though her mood were an inconvenience.
Elena didn't answer. She simply brushed past him, her heels clicking softly on the marble as she walked toward the staircase.
For once, she didn't care that he was watching. She didn't even turn her head.
Viktor watched the whole thing with barely contained glee, his eyes darting between the retreating Elena and Damian's stiff form.
Then, with the perfect timing of a comedian, he clapped his hands together.
"Ohhh," Viktor said, smirking. "She ignored you. Damian Volkov, feared by half of Europe, dismissed by a girl in heels. My friend, I think I just witnessed history."
Damian's jaw tightened. He gave Viktor a look that could have killed another man.
But Viktor only chuckled harder, sprawling back into his chair like a man who had just been fed the best entertainment in weeks. "God, I love her already."