An hour later, Elena and Tatiana slid into the backseat of a sleek black car.
The driver started the engine, and the mansion gates opened slowly behind them.
Elena sat stiff, her fingers knotted in her lap. She was pale, lost in her thoughts about what Damian's mother might be like.
Tatiana, noticing her tension, decided to change the atmosphere. She leaned back casually, a mischievous smile tugging her lips.
"So," she began, "you remember that date I went on before all this chaos?"
Elena blinked, startled out of her spiral. "Um… which one?"
Tatiana grinned. "The one with the banker who thought ordering the most expensive wine made him irresistible."
She rolled her eyes dramatically. "He spent half the evening bragging about how he 'single-handedly carries the entire economy on his shoulders.'"
Elena's lips twitched despite herself. "No way. He really said that?"
"Oh, yes," Tatiana said, lowering her voice in a mock-serious tone. "'If it weren't for me, the market would collapse.'"
She made a grand gesture with her hand, mimicking his pompous manner.
Elena pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh.
"And then," Tatiana continued, "when the bill came, Mr. Big Shot realized he left his wallet at home. Guess who paid for the whole thing?"
Elena's hand flew to her mouth, a laugh escaping. "You didn't!"
"I did," Tatiana groaned, though she smiled at the memory. "And do you know what he said as we left? 'You're a true partner in investment, Tatiana.'"
That did it. Elena burst into soft laughter, the sound bubbling out of her like sunlight breaking through clouds.
She leaned back against the seat, wiping tears from her eyes, her chest a little lighter.
Tatiana watched her with a satisfied smile. "There she is. My Elena. That smile looks much better on you than all that sadness."
The car finally slowed to a stop in front of a sprawling estate that radiated elegance but lacked the icy harshness of Damian's mansion.
The gates opened onto a drive lined with manicured hedges and flowers, softening the grandeur into something more welcoming.
Elena's heart thudded in her chest as she gazed out the tinted window. Tatiana reached over, squeezing her hand reassuringly.
"Breathe," Tatiana whispered with a grin. "It's not an execution. It's just family."
Elena managed a weak smile, but her stomach was a knot. Family.
His family. Damian's family.
The driver opened their door, and soon they were guided into a bright drawing room that smelled faintly of roses and vanilla.
Sunlight streamed through tall windows, catching on polished chandeliers.
Damian's mother rose from a cream-colored sofa, her poise effortless, her beauty refined with age.
She wore an elegant but soft dress, the kind that spoke of grace rather than dominance.
Beside her sat Damian's grandfather, a broad-shouldered man with thinning silver hair, his presence commanding though softened with warmth. They both looked so young.
"Elena," Damian's mother said, her voice melodic, instantly soothing. She stepped forward and took Elena's hands into hers.
"At last, I meet the girl who my dear son has been hiding from me."
Elena flushed, her throat dry. "It's… it's an honor to meet you, ma'am."
"Ma'am?" his mother chuckled, waving it off. "Call me Irina. Or, if you feel bold, Mother. Everyone in this family eventually does."
Her eyes sparkled as if testing how Elena would respond.
Elena managed a timid laugh. "Mother, then."
"Much better." Sofia guided her to sit beside her, while Tatiana settled comfortably on the opposite sofa.
The grandfather gave Elena an approving once-over before smiling faintly.
"So shy," he said in a deep voice, warm but teasing. "Are you always like this, girl, or only when facing old lions like us?"
Elena's eyes widened, but Tatiana laughed. "Grandfather, you scare everyone with that stare of yours.
Don't mind him, Elena, he just likes to test people."
"Hmm," the old man grunted, but his lips curved into a smile. "I suppose you'll do."
Irina lightly swatted his arm. "Don't frighten her. She's a very special guest." Then she turned back to Elena, her eyes soft.
"Tell me, do you enjoy fashion? Books? Tatiana tells me you have quite the sharp tongue when you wish."
Elena blinked, startled. "She told you that?"
Tatiana laughed mischievously. "Of course. Why would I keep your best quality a secret?"
They all chuckled, the tension slowly easing. Irina leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone.
"Don't worry, Elena. When I was your age, I had a sharp tongue too.
I used to sneak out of the house to go dancing, and once I even broke curfew to meet a boy at the river."
Elena gasped softly. "Really?"
Irina smiled, eyes glimmering with nostalgia. "Oh, yes. Don't let Damian fool you with his brooding ways. When he Was a toddler.
He was Moody, stubborn, and always trying to boss everyone around."
Tatiana laughed. "Some things never change."
Irina continued, her tone affectionate. "When he was five, he once demanded his father buy him a black pony because 'white ponies are for weaklings.'"
Elena couldn't hold back her laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. "That sounds… exactly like him."
The grandfather chuckled, shaking his head. "And when he fell off that same pony, he refused to cry.
Stubborn boy walked home with a limp, insisting he was fine. We only found out later his ankle was sprained."
The women laughed softly, Elena's heart slowly untangling from its anxious knots.
After a while, the grandfather stood, stretching his back. "All this chitchat about ponies and teenage adventures…
I'll leave you women to it. I'm the only male here, and I know when I'm outnumbered."
They all chuckled as he left the room, his steps echoing down the hall.
Irina turned back to Elena, her expression softening into something almost maternal. She took Elena's hand gently, her thumb stroking her knuckles.
"My dear, I'm so happy Damian will end up with you. You are so beautiful, but more than that—there's light in your eyes. He needs that light."
Elena's breath caught, her cheeks heating.
She didn't know how to respond, her heart racing with a mix of disbelief and a strange warmth that almost felt like belonging.
Tatiana leaned forward, grinning. "Told you Aunt Irina was lovely. And now you see—Grandfather too, when he's not pretending to be a grumpy lion."
Elena laughed softly, her nerves dissolving. The three women carried on with light chatter, the conversation weaving effortlessly between fashion, little anecdotes about Damian's childhood, and Tatiana's endless teasing stories.
For the first time since being swept into Damian Volkov's world, Elena felt something foreign but comforting: the sense of being part of a family.
***
Isabel sat near the window, long legs crossed, her fitted black dress hugging every curve, a designer clutch resting casually on the table. She was elegance perfected.
Her friend arrived late, tottering in her red heels, hair bouncing as she rushed across the café. She slid into the seat opposite Isabel, catching her breath. "You won't believe who I saw yesterday."
Isabel arched a perfectly manicured brow, sipping from her delicate glass of wine.
"Who?" she asked, her voice smooth but laced with the faintest thread of disinterest.
"Tatiana and the girl from the boutique," the friend said, rolling her eyes.
Isabel's hand froze on the stem of her glass. Slowly, she set it down with a soft clink.
"That bitch from the boutique again"
Her friend leaned forward, lowering her voice. "I think her name is Elena"
"Elena," Isabel repeated softly, tasting the name like poison.
The friend smirked. "I tried to be civil, but she snapped at me. That girl's tongue is sharper than glass. And Tatiana—oh, Tatiana backed her up.
Told me I should run back to you like a trained dog waiting for orders. They humiliated me, Isabel. In public. Everyone was staring."
For a brief second, Isabel's face remained still. But then her eyes darkened, the edges of her crimson lips tightening.
Her nails tapped slowly against the glass. "They said that to you?"
"Yes." Her friend crossed her arms, huffing. "I was so embarrassed.
But Elena didn't even flinch. She looked right through me, like I was… nothing. Just a servant."
Isabel's chest rose with a quiet, controlled breath. Her heart pounded, anger curling like fire in her veins.
Elena… so that's her name. She tilted her head, strands of her golden hair sliding over her shoulder.
She took out her phone from her purse dialing a number
"I want you to find out everything about that girl from the boutique," Isabel said finally, her tone low, deliberate, and dangerous.
Where she comes from, who her family is, why she's suddenly circling around Tatiana."
Isabel's eyes narrowed, her lashes casting sharp shadows across her cheekbones. "I want to know her secrets. All of them.
Silence hung in the air, sharp and suffocating.
After a pause, Isabel leaned back, exhaling slowly, as though reining her temper back in. She reached for her wine again, her fingers steady, her elegance unshaken despite the storm raging behind her eyes.
"You know," Isabel began after a sip, her voice quieter, almost thoughtful, "I saw Damian yesterday. For the first time in years."
Her friend's eyes widened. "You did? What happened?"
Isabel's gaze drifted toward the window, as though she could still see the image of him—his sharp jaw, those piercing eyes, the aura of cold power that had only deepened with time.
Her chest squeezed. "He hasn't changed. Still cold. Still impossible to read."
The friend tilted her head, curious. "Did you… talk about the past?"
Isabel laughed softly, though it was hollow, bitter. "I tried. I told him I missed him. That he was the only man I ever loved.
But he looked at me like… like I was nothing more than a shadow he'd already outgrown."
Her friend frowned. "That's unlike him. Did you bring up the boutique incident?"
"Yes," Isabel said tightly, her fingers curling against her knee. "I asked him to help me take the video down. But do you know what he said?"
"What?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper, her throat tightening with the memory. "He told me I should know better than to cross paths with what's his. He didn't say a name.
He didn't have to. The way he said it… that cold fire in his eyes… I knew he was talking about someone."
Her friend's lips parted in shock. "You think…?"
"I didn't want to think it was that Elena girl from the boutique," Isabel admitted, her voice trembling on the edge of fury. "But now, after what you just told me—her sharp tongue,
Tatiana standing beside her, humiliating you in public—it all makes sense." She leaned forward, her eyes flashing like a blade under the sun. "It is her. That girl."
Her friend swallowed hard, suddenly nervous under Isabel's burning glare.
Isabel leaned back, her lips curling into a cold, perfect smile that didn't touch her eyes. "If she thinks she can take what belongs to me, she's mistaken.
Damian may have been cold yesterday, but he's mine. He's always been mine. And no nobody girl—no Elena—is going to change that."