Page 135 of Ruthless Addiction

“He’s your husband,” Vanya pressed, zooming the boat in a neat circle around his plate. “Since we got here, it’s always just us eating alone.”

I took a bite of pasta, chewing slowly. The words lodged somewhere between my chest and throat. Vanya watched me with unsettling attentiveness, far too perceptive for a five-year-old.

“You two would make a great couple,” he went on, utterly sincere. “I wasn’t sure at first. But now...” He paused for effect, then nodded decisively. “I want him as my dad. All you have to do is love him back, Mom.”

My fork stilled midair.

“Love him back?” I echoed, setting it down carefully. The word felt foreign on my tongue. Ridiculous. Dangerous. He’d forced me into a marriage years ago—controlled my life, dictated my movements, shattered my sense of choice. Love had never entered the equation.

“Yes,” Vanya said, as if explaining something painfully obvious. “Didn’t you know he loves you?”

“Vanya,” I said gently, keeping my voice steady, “this is adult business. No matter how smart you are—and you are very smart—you can’t fully understand relationships yet. Now eat your dinner.”

He studied me for a long moment, then pushed his plate away. “I’m not hungry. I ate earlier.” He slid down from his chair. “I need the toilet.”

And just like that, he was gone—small feet pattering down the hall, leaving chaos and uncomfortable truths in his wake.

I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temples. Too clever for his own good. I forced myself to keep eating, though the pasta had turned bland and heavy in my mouth.

Then heavier footsteps approached.

I looked up—and there was Vanya again, proudly towing Dmitri by the hand like a triumphant hunter dragging home a prize far larger than himself.

“Sit, Dmitri,” Vanya ordered, pointing decisively to the head of the table. “I’ll tell Giovanni to bring your food. You adults need to talk about the future.”

“The future?” Dmitri and I said in unison, exchanging startled glances.

Vanya nodded solemnly, as if he’d just delivered a royal decree, then scampered off.

Moments later, Giovanni appeared with a fresh plate, Vanya marching behind him like a miniature general overseeing troop deployment.

“So Giovanni and I will play outside,” Vanya announced. “Leave you adults to it.”

My jaw dropped.

Giovanni—stoic, loyal, utterly unflappable Giovanni—grinned and allowed himself to be dragged toward the garden doors, already discussing something animated with Vanya involving speedboats and water battles.

What in the world was happening in this house?

Second day. And Vanya had everyone wrapped around his finger—everyone except me.

Dmitri lowered himself into the chair opposite mine, the corner of his mouth curved with faint amusement. “So,” he said, voice mild, “Vanya wants us to discuss the future.”

“As if there is one,” I muttered, focusing on my plate.

The air shifted abruptly.

Sharp, deliberate footsteps echoed across the marble—heels clicking with quiet authority. I looked up just as Seraphina appeared, carrying her own tray, blonde hair flawless, posture immaculate despite the late hour.

The warmth in the room evaporated.

Without waiting for permission, she slid into a chair across from me, crossing her legs elegantly. “I know I’m just themistress here,” she said sweetly, lifting her spoon, “but I deserve to eat with family too, don’t I?”

Dmitri and I exchanged a look—pure, stunned disbelief.

She tasted her soup, utterly unbothered. “So,” she continued, eyes flicking between us, “what were we discussing? I’d love to join.”

Silence stretched—thick, brittle.