Page 7

7

Alina

London

The apartment is sleek and modern, featuring floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the streets of South Kensington, London. Sunlight glints off the polished marble floors as Yelena and I step inside, dragging our suitcases behind us.

“This is insane,” Yelena breathes, turning slowly in a circle. Her heels click softly against the stone floor. “Papa really outdid himself.”

I nod vaguely, my gaze skimming over the spacious living room adorned with pristine white walls and minimalist decor. The apartment is expensive—of course it is. Papa never does anything halfway. The furnishings are sparse for now, but the place exudes wealth and privilege. It’s the kind of home most people dream of.

“We’re finally here,” Yelena says, practically glowing as she tosses her purse onto the couch. “Imperial College London, Alina. This is it.”

I try to mirror her excitement, but my smile feels thin.

Yelena steps toward the glass windows. “Look at this view.”

I join her at the window, pressing my hand against the cool glass. Below us, London stretches out in sharp lines and soft grays, the distant hum of traffic filtering through the closed windows.

Yelena grins. “No more bodyguards trailing our every move. No more constant eyes on us.”

She’s right. Papa has allowed us more freedom here than we’ve ever had in Moscow. For the first time, we’ll have the space to breathe, to make our own choices. To live like normal girls.

But I don’t feel light. I feel… weighted.

My hand slides down the glass.

Yelena’s smile fades as she looks at me more closely. “Alina?”

I turn toward her. My chest tightens under her steady gaze.

“You’re not excited?” Yelena asks. “We’ve been talking about this for months.”

“I am,” I say too quickly.

Yelena studies me, her eyes sharp. “No, you’re not.”

She steps toward me, her expression softening. “What’s wrong?”

My throat works painfully. I shouldn’t tell her. I shouldn’t say it aloud. But the ache in my chest has been building since the night in the library, and it’s suffocating me.

I press my fingertips against my temple. “It’s nothing.”

Yelena’s brow furrows. She steps closer and rests a hand on my shoulder. “Alina.”

I swallow hard, my throat burning. “It’s Lev.”

Yelena’s expression sharpens instantly. “What about Lev?”

I drop my gaze to the floor. My hands clench and unclench at my sides. “I… I think I have feelings for him.”

The words feel too big now that they’re out. Too dangerous.

Yelena’s hand tightens on my shoulder. “And?”

My jaw clenches. I can still feel the heat of Lev’s mouth against mine, the strength of his hands as they curled around my waist before he shoved me away.

“He doesn’t feel the same way.” My voice sounds flat and defeated.

Yelena’s gaze hardens. “Did he say that?”

“Not in these exact words.”

The silence between us stretches painfully. I don’t say more. I don’t tell her about the kiss—or how Lev’s hand slid against my hip. The way his breath hitched before he pulled away like he’d been burned.

Yelena’s jaw tightens. “Did he lead you on?”

I shake my head quickly. “No. It’s not like that.”

Yelena’s mouth presses into a thin line, and her arms fold across her chest, indicating she is waiting for me to carry on.

I hesitate. “Because I’m Viktor’s sister.”

Yelena’s eyes darken. She already understands.

“If he touched you—”

“He didn’t,” I interrupt quickly. “Says I’m too young, even if I wasn’t Viktor’s sister.”

Yelena’s lips curl slightly. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

My breath shudders.

Yelena’s hand slides down my arm and closes around my wrist. “Don’t let his rejection bother you. Lev’s the fool for not seeing what a beautiful soul you are.”

I laugh weakly. “I wish that made me feel better.”

Yelena’s gaze softens, and I see pity in her eyes. “This is dangerous, Alina. Even if he does feel something for you, you know he can’t act on it.”

“I know,” I say quietly.

“Because it would cost him his life. Papa will have him tortured and executed.”

My chest tightens painfully. “I know,” I whisper.

Yelena brushes her thumb over my wrist. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

I nod, even though it feels like my heart is splitting down the middle.

“Maybe…” I swallow hard. “Maybe our time here will cure me of this infatuation.”

Yelena’s lips twitch slightly. “Infatuation?”

“What else could it be?” My voice is steady, but my heart clenches painfully.

Yelena studies me for a moment longer then pulls me into a tight hug.

Night falls over the apartment, and we sit at the small glass table in the living room's corner. A single lamp casts a soft glow over the space. The windows reflect the city lights stretching out beneath us.

Yelena leans back in her chair, her feet tucked beneath her. She watches me carefully.

I sit with my knees pulled up to my chest, arms wrapped around my legs. My heart still feels bruised beneath my ribs.

Yelena sips from a glass of wine. “So.”

I glance toward her with a raised eyebrow.

“Lev,” she says simply.

I shake my head. “Don’t.”

Yelena tilts her head. “Do you think he’s lying?”

“What?”

“About not feeling the same way?”

My heart skips a couple of beats. “I don’t know.”

Yelena’s gaze sharpens. “He’s lying.”

My stomach flips. “You don’t know that.”

“I've just realized that I've seen his gaze linger too long on you, once or twice. And also, I know men.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Not in the way you are thinking,” she laughs. “But I study men.”

I laugh weakly. “You sound like Papa.”

Yelena’s mouth curves faintly. “Maybe.”

I sigh. My gaze drifts toward the window. “He said I’m Viktor’s sister. That it would be a betrayal.”

Yelena’s mouth tightens. “He’s not wrong.”

I look at her sharply.

“Alina,” Yelena says carefully, “if he had touched you—if Viktor found out…”

I shiver. “I know.”

“He’s protecting you.”

My throat burns. “Maybe.”

Yelena watches me. “And maybe he’s protecting himself, too.”

I close my eyes. My pulse hammers in my ears. “You don’t know that,” I whisper.

Silence stretches between us, and Yelena sets her glass down. “It doesn’t matter, Alina. He’s not going to risk his life for you.”

My chest constricts painfully. “I know.”

Yelena’s eyes soften. “You’ll get over him.”

I don’t answer.

Yelena slides her hand across the table and brushes her fingers against mine. “We’re in London now. This is a fresh start. New life. New opportunities.”

I nod slowly.

Yelena leans forward. “We’re going to focus on school. We’ll stay low-key. No drama.”

“No drama,” I repeat softly.

Yelena smiles faintly. “It’s going to be fine.”

I close my eyes and let her words settle against my aching chest.

“Maybe you’re right,” I whisper. “Maybe time and distance will erase this feeling.”

Or maybe it will make it worse, because I know what I feel is not infatuation. I lied to Yelena when I said I’ll move on. Deep down, I know the truth: I haven’t even begun to let him go.