He came back, doors slamming.
"Welcome Mr Volkov' Miss Elena is at the garden his butler said bowing his head.
Damian strode into the garden and saw her and for a second she only had eyes for the photograph clutched in her hands:
Her aunt and her, smiling at a summer fair, the sunlight trapped forever on glossy paper.
He stopped dead when he saw it, the picture, the way her fingers curled around the edge.
"Why did you call me?" he asked at last, voice flat as ice. He had the practiced calm of a man who could erase a room with a look.
She set the photo on the low table and turned to look at him without meeting his eyes. Her mouth trembled for a second, then she pulled herself straight.
"I wanted to make sure you were still alive." Her voice was quiet but steady — a little outrageous, the kind of thing that landed like a dare.
He blinked. For a fraction of a second. His face, which had been everything carved from granite, cracked.
"You care if I'm alive?" His laugh was ugly and a little breathless. "I thought you hated me, Elena."
She met his eyes, the look in her eyes fierce.
"I hate you," she said, blunt as a blade.
"But there are people who love you,"." She swallowed.
She flinched at the name. "Your mother—She invited me over and I told her I'd come.
"Fine." He exhaled, the word a surrender and an order all at once. "The driver will drop you. He said and walked away.
Hours later;
Elena took her phone and dialed a number.
It rang once. Twice. Then his voice came, warm and surprised. "Elena?"
She swallowed hard. "Hi, Alex. I… I need to ask for your help."
His tone shifted instantly, full of concern. "Of course. What happened?"
Elena's fingers dug into the hem of her dress. "It's my aunt. She… she was transferred, and then she went missing. I haven't heard from her. No one at the hospital will give me answers. Please… I don't know what to do."
There was silence for a heartbeat, then his voice, firm and steady:
"Oh my God, Elena. I'm so sorry. Don't worry, I promise I'll do my best to find her. You have my word."
Her chest tightened, a small relief slipping in with his promise. She exhaled shakily. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," Alex said gently.
"Just… let me help. Can we meet? It'll be easier if you give me everything you know."
Her heart stuttered. Meeting him meant risk. Damian's face flashed in her mind, his fury, his threats.
She couldn't do it, not yet. "Fine," she said quickly, her voice firmer than she felt.
Alex hesitated. "Okay…" He sighed but relented.
A small smile tugged at her lips despite the storm inside her. "Thank you, Alex."
When the call ended, Elena lowered the phone into her lap, her mind torn between two worlds.
Elena arrived at Irina's mansion mid-afternoon, the driver opening the door for her as though she were already a permanent part of the family.
The gates closed behind them with a soft metallic hum. Irina was waiting, elegant as ever in a pale silk blouse, and her face lit up at the sight of Elena.
"My dear," Irina said, holding out her arms. "You came just in time. I've been dying for company."
Elena smiled politely, though her heart still held weight. She let Irina kiss both her cheeks, then followed her inside.
They spent the hours together in a way that felt strangely easy — drinking tea from porcelain cups that clinked gently, laughing at Irina's stories about raising Damian.
Elena listened as Irina recounted how he used to sulk when his grandfather corrected his fencing stance, or how he once hid a puppy under his bed for days because he thought no one would allow him to keep it.
Tatiana would have teased her, Elena thought, saying she was being softened by his family's charm.
And perhaps it was true — Irina had a warmth that wrapped Elena in a way she hadn't felt since her mother.
But evening crept in, shadows lengthening across the marble floors, and Elena finally stood, smoothing her skirt.
"I should leave," she said gently. "You've spoiled me enough for one day."
"Nonsense," Irina said, but she didn't press. Instead she squeezed Elena's hand.
"Promise me you'll come again, Elena. You've brought life back into this house."
Elena managed a smile and nodded.
She managed to make Damian's driver leave without her so she took a cab instead.
In the car, on the ride back, Elena's thoughts tangled. Tatiana's words replayed in her head, and then Alex's number glowed on her screen.
She hesitated for a long time before pressing call.
He picked up quickly. "Elena," his voice came warm, cheerful. "I was hoping you'd call me back."
Her voice was cautious, barely above a whisper. "Alex, we… shouldn't meet in an open place. Not this time."
There was silence on the line, then a soft hum of thought. "Alright," he said, his tone careful. "Then come to my place. It's private. No one will bother us."
Her stomach twisted. Trust was not something she gave easily, not anymore, not after Damian.
But Alex's tone carried no sharp edges, only patience. And the ache for her aunt outweighed her hesitation.
"Send me the address," she said finally.
"Done," he replied. "I'll make sure it's safe."
She reached the building. It wasn't a lavish mansion like Damian's but a refined apartment tucked into a quiet street — neat, secure, and strangely inviting.
When he opened the door, Alex wasn't dressed like some shadowy figure but simply in a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, like any ordinary man winding down from a long day.
"You came," he said, a smile lighting his features.
Elena stepped inside slowly, her fingers clutching her bag as though it were a shield. "I don't have much time."
"Then let's not waste it." He guided her to a seat by the window, offered her water, and waited.
She inhaled deeply, her chest tight. "My aunt," she began, voice trembling slightly.
"She… she's missing. She was transferred to another place, but no one tells me where. No calls, no letters. It's like she vanished."
Alex's expression sobered immediately. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Elena… I'm sorry."
She shook her head quickly. "No. Don't be sorry. Just… find her. Please."
"I promise," Alex said, his tone quiet but firm, as though binding himself with an oath. "I will find your aunt, Elena. You have my word."
She looked at him then, searching his face for cracks, for dishonesty. But his eyes held steady, calm, unflinching.
And for the first time in a long time, she felt a thread of hope curl inside her chest.
After his little interrogation, he offered to drop her off but she declined and left.
When Elena got back she stepped into the living room.
Damian was seated, his legs crossed with a glass of whiskey in his hand, he looked so intimidating and hot.
"Why are you coming back now and why didn't you go with my driver?" His icy voice filled the room.
"Finding a cab is hard Damian" she replied.
"So why did you tell my driver to leave?"
"Because I miss my life, 'having breakfast at 8am everyday, having maids around me, bowing at me: This isn't me! She said her voice loud this
She walked past him and he didn't utter a word this time.
The next morning;
The maids set plates carefully, glancing nervously at the master's chair.
Damian sat there, silent, his fingers curled around his cup. He hadn't said a single word since he entered.
Elena sat opposite him, her hands tight around her fork.
His head lifted slowly, his gaze meeting hers with that same cold fire. His lips parted as if to speak—
But before he could, footsteps echoed in the hall.
A man entered, bowing low. His formal voice cut through the tension.
"Sir… your grandfather sent me. He wishes to inform you he is hosting his birthday party this weekend. He expects your presence there."
Damian's jaw ticked. He didn't answer.
Instead, Elena leaned forward, her voice soft but firm.
"Of course, he'll be there."
The man blinked, surprised. Damian's head snapped toward her, his eyes narrowing. The look he gave her could have frozen fire.
But he didn't argue.
Elena's heart thumped, her stomach twisting. Someone had to answer, and if Damian wouldn't, she would.
The butler bowed again and left.
The room returned to silence, but this time it was suffocating. Damian's stare lingered on her like a warning, but his lips never moved.
He wasn't in the mood to fight, and she wasn't brave enough to ask what storm he was holding back.