Papa ignores me.
Arkady chuckles as if I have said something charming and feminine instead of true. “Your daughter has spirit.”
“Yes,” Papa says dryly. “We’re all trying to survive it.”
I fold my hands in front of me before I do something regrettable with the champagne glass.
The room is still moving around us. Music, laughter, the low hum of careful conversations. Somewhere across the ballroom, Vika is still performing widowhood in couture. Mama has the children with her now, thank God. Sofia is asleep against her shoulder. Nikolai stands at her side, looking exactly as trapped as I feel.
Roman is gone. I almost had a heart attack when I saw him talking to Sofia. I don’t want my children anywhere near him. If he finds out the truth…God, I shudder to think what will happen.
I can feel Papa’s frustration with it even if he never says so. He has been smoother since Roman’s departure, more attentive in the wrong places, more eager to redirect the evening toward something usable. Which means Roman leaving cost him whatever quiet plan he had been assembling in his head.
And I hope it ruined his whole night.
Arkady is still talking.
He owns hotels, apparently. Or casinos. Or ports. Or girls shipped between all three. Men like him collect industries the way mold collects corners. I stop listening halfway through a speech about the Black Sea because he says “logistics” with the kind of pride that suggests trafficking or tax fraud, and frankly the specifics feel ungenerous.
Then he says, “A woman in your position must value stability.”
I blink at him. “My position?”
He nods as though we are sharing something frank and adult. “A mother. A lady. A woman who has seen some disappointment.”
I almost laugh.
Papa steps in before I can answer. “Katerina has matured.”
Arkady smiles at me as if maturity is a thing he personally enjoys discovering in damaged women. “I’m sure she has.”
“Yes,” I say. “Trauma is very educational.”
Papa’s jaw tightens.
Arkady laughs too loudly.
I decide at once that I hate him.
Not because he’s older. Not because he’s hideous in that very polished way certain men manage. Because he thinks he’s doing me a kindness by looking interested.
That’s the part that makes me want to set something on fire.
“And the children?” he asks.
“My children continue to exist,” I say.
Papa’s hand returns to my elbow. Harder this time.
Arkady smiles as if I have made a delightful joke. “Sergei says the boy is exceptional.”
“Sergei says many things when he wants something.”
Silence.
Papa turns his head slowly. “Katerina.”
I lift my brows. “What? I’m agreeing with your reputation.”
