CHAPTER 9

Elara twirled her spoon in the glass of iced water in front of her, a soft giggle bubbling past her lips as she recalled her mother's most recent attempt to set her up. "So, she actually said that?" Nikolai asked, his brows lifting in amusement as he leaned slightly closer across the candlelit table.

"She did! She was like, 'Elara, sweetheart, you're almost twenty-four. You've never brought home a boy, and the neighbors are beginning to think you're secretly married to your textbooks!'" Elara laughed, her eyes twinkling. "She's always trying to push me to go out, live more, date more. But my dad? Completely different story."

"Let me guess," Nikolai said, the corner of his mouth twitching, "He wants to keep you locked away from the world."

"Exactly!" she said, throwing her hands up. "He's a neurosurgeon, so he's basically a professional worrier. You'd think he was the president the way he guards me. Took me six months to convince him to let me move into my own apartment. Six. He calls me his little beanie—like, what even is that?"

Nikolai chuckled, his fingers wrapping around his glass. "That's oddly cute."

"It is," she admitted with a smile, softer this time. "But he'd have a heart attack if he knew I was on a date right now. Despite being a grown adult. My parents argue about that sometimes. Mom says I should live a little. Dad says the world is a dark place and boys are demons."

"Well... he's not entirely wrong about the world part," Nikolai muttered under his breath, his eyes dipping for a moment before lifting back to hers. "But I'm glad you came out tonight."

She looked at him then, her lashes fluttering. "Me too."

The pause lingered between them, not awkward but full—of thoughts, of emotions too fresh to name. The soft music playing in the background made it all feel like something out of a movie. From the stunning city view stretching behind them to the private service, it was a date fit for a billionaire's son—because that's exactly what Nikolai was.

"What about you?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "What are your parents like?"

Nikolai huffed out a breath, leaning back in his chair, eyes thoughtful. "My mother is... amazing. Sweet as sugar but sharp when she needs to be. She's the kind of woman who'll bake you cookies then threaten to shove them down your throat if you disrespect her."

Elara laughed, covering her mouth. "She sounds iconic."

"She is," Nikolai smiled. There was a warmth in his tone whenever he mentioned his mother. "She's also the only one I can actually talk to about personal stuff without regretting it the next day."

"Why's that?"

Nikolai shook his head, a fond smile teasing his lips. "Because my father—Dimitri—is the opposite. Don't get me wrong, he's a great dad. Provided everything we needed, was always present, taught us how to protect ourselves and navigate this insane world. But tell him one thing—one tiny thing—and the next morning, the whole house knows. Cousins, aunts, uncles, housekeepers—hell, even the damn dog."

Elara giggled. "No! He's one of those dads?"

"One hundred percent. I once told him I had a crush on this girl in middle school—by the next day, I walked into the kitchen and my sisters were already teasing me."

She laughed harder now, her head falling back. "I can't breathe."

"Yeah, well, lesson learned. Now I stick to telling my mother everything and pretending to my dad that nothing interesting happens in my life."

"Smart move," Elara said, her smile softening as she rested her chin on her palm. "You really love them."

He nodded. "I do. Despite all the chaos, I know they've got my back."

They fell into a more comfortable silence again, sipping their drinks, watching the skyline through the wide floor-to-ceiling windows. The city sparkled below them like a bed of stars, but Nikolai wasn't looking at the skyline. He was looking at her.

The way her lashes brushed her cheeks when she looked down. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear every time she laughed. She was beautiful—elegant, warm, untouched by the grim shadows he had long since grown accustomed to.

"What about likes and dislikes?" she asked, pulling him back from the edge of his thoughts.

He smiled faintly. "I like order. I like control. I like nights like this—quiet, intimate, with someone who doesn't pretend to be something they're not."

Her cheeks flushed. "That's oddly specific."

"I also like black coffee, dogs, fast cars, and rainy days. I hate dishonesty, loud chewing, and being underestimated. You?"

"Hmm," she hummed, pretending to think deeply. "I like chocolate—dark, not milk. I like watching rom-coms on rainy days, baking at midnight, and dancing when no one's watching. I hate liars, cocky boys, and wet socks."

"Wet socks are the worst," he said with mock solemnity, earning another laugh from her.

Their food arrived shortly after—perfectly plated dishes prepared by the finest chefs money could buy. Elara stared at her dish with wide eyes.

"I don't even want to eat this. It's too pretty."

"Then take a picture," he said.

She giggled and did just that. "My mom won't believe I was here."

"She doesn't know?"

"No. She'd tell my dad, and then I'd be grounded... again."

"At twenty-four?"

"Yes," she said, unapologetic. "He'd find a way. He'd have me moved back home and monitored by the family dog."

Nikolai laughed. It had been a long time since he laughed like this—so freely, without the weight of the world creeping in.

As they ate, they traded more stories. Nikolai told her about the time he and his brother had accidentally set off fireworks indoors during New Year's and got grounded for a month.

Elara told him about her high school crush who once wrote her a poem and slipped it into the wrong locker.

They joked. They teased. They shared secrets neither knew they needed to say aloud.

And at some point, Elara found herself staring at him—really staring. Beyond the designer watch and tailored clothes, beyond the quiet dominance and rich-boy charm, there was something else. A vulnerability. A darkness he wore like a second skin but tried to hide behind his smile.

"You're hard to figure out," she said suddenly.

Nikolai raised a brow. "Am I?"

"Yeah. You're like... all composed and quiet, but I can tell you're holding back something."

His smile faltered just slightly. "Maybe I am."

"Why?"

He looked at her for a long moment, then said quietly, "Because sometimes, when you see something pure, something beautiful... you don't want to ruin it with your darkness."

The air stilled between them. Elara's lips parted, but no words came.

"I don't know what kind of guy your dad is trying to keep you from," he said softly, "But I hope I never become that kind of guy."

Her hand reached out instinctively, fingers grazing his. "You're not."

And for the first time in years, Nikolai Volkov believed he might not be.

The rest of the night passed in laughter and conversation, dessert and playful banter. But beneath it all, an undercurrent of something deeper ran—something more powerful than either of them could name.

When it was time to leave, he walked her out, holding the door for her like the perfect gentleman. The wind was soft against their skin, the city alive around them. He opened the car door for her, and before she got in, she looked up at him.

"Thank you," she said. "For everything."

"Anytime." he whispered.

And as they drove away, he knew one thing:

He would do anything to protect her.

The sleek black car glided smoothly to a stop in front of Elara's apartment building. The soft hum of the engine faded into the night as Nikolai shifted the gear into park, glancing at the dashboard clock—a few minutes shy of midnight. The city lights sparkled around them, casting a soft golden hue over the quiet street. Inside the car, the atmosphere still held the lingering warmth of laughter, flirtation, and something tender that had blossomed during their evening.

Elara turned to face him, her eyes shining, her cheeks dusted with a faint pink blush. "Thank you, Nikolai," she said with a gentle smile, hugging the roses he had given her close to her chest. "I had a really great time tonight."

Nikolai's lips curved in a slow smile, a warmth creeping into his usually unreadable gaze. He leaned slightly toward her, his hand resting loosely on the steering wheel. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I was nervous, to be honest. Not something I usually do."

Her brows lifted slightly. "Go on fancy dates or get nervous?"

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Both."

She laughed softly, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Well, I think you did amazing. It was... magical."

He held her gaze a moment longer, his eyes darkening slightly with an emotion he quickly buried. "I look forward to our next date. And more."

Elara's smile widened, a shy edge to it. "I can't wait either."

With a casual but deliberate motion, Nikolai reached over the back seat and retrieved a small, elegant shopping bag with a black satin ribbon tied neatly on top. He handed it to her, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "A little something for you. Don't open it until you get inside."

"Nikolai," she said with mild protest, already feeling overwhelmed. "You've already done too much."

"It's just a gift, bunny," he said softly. "Let me spoil you a little."

She clutched the bag carefully in one hand and the bouquet in the other, biting her bottom lip to contain the grin threatening to spill. "Thank you. For everything."

He simply nodded, and they shared one final look before she opened the door and stepped out. Her figure, graceful and glowing under the streetlight, drifted toward the entrance of her building. He watched her until the door shut behind her.

Once alone in the car, the tension Nikolai had been holding onto began to unwind — or rather, shift. He slouched slightly into the leather seat, tilting his head back against the headrest with a groan. His hand drifted to his pants, where the persistent pressure reminded him just how tightly strung he had been all evening.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, glaring down at the traitorous bulge.

She had looked too good. Too soft. Too trusting. And he had spent the entire evening battling every impulse in him that screamed to ruin her, to drag her into his world and mark her with his darkness.

But he didn't.

He behaved. He respected her space. He held back the monster clawing inside him that wanted more.

Pulling out his phone, which had been on silent all night, he unlocked the screen and was instantly greeted with a few unread messages. He scrolled through them with a sigh.

The first was from his grandfather:

"Meeting at the warehouse. 9 AM sharp. Buyers want a new rotation. Some of the girls are no longer appealing to them. We pick replacements tomorrow. Be there."

Nikolai stared at the screen, the words twisting in his gut.

He remembered Elara's laughter just an hour ago, how her fingers brushed his when they shared dessert, how her eyes sparkled when he complimented her. And now, less than an hour later, reality came slamming back into him.

The warehouse.

The girls.

The world he came from—a world drenched in blood, shadows, and sins too deep to confess.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the sting of guilt he had long since learned to suppress.

If he had known that a sweet, radiant girl would one day cross his path, maybe he would have walked away from the Bratva. Maybe.

But now, he was in too deep.

Another message buzzed in:

Mom: "You better tell me EVERYTHING on Sunday. Don't leave out a single detail. I'll have wine ready. Love you."

Nikolai couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped. Of course she wanted the whole story. Natalia Volkov was a sweetheart and a menace rolled into one. The only woman in the family the kids trusted, and the one person who could make Dimitri, his stone-faced father, smile like a fool.

He stared at the screen a moment longer and then looked at the passenger seat where Elara had sat minutes ago.

In the gift bag he gave her, nestled in a velvet box, was a rare diamond necklace. The moment he saw it in the private auction two weeks ago.

It wasn't just expensive.

It was priceless.

A piece collectors would kill for. One he planned to keep in a vault for a future wife. And yet, tonight, as she laughed at his terrible jokes and sipped wine with a soft blush on her cheeks, he knew it belonged around her neck.

His mother would call it hopelessly romantic.

His father would call it foolish.

But for once, he didn't care.

He'd seen too much. Done too much. Felt too little.

And now, there she was.

A woman with soft smiles and a curious heart.

A girl whose father was a protective neurosurgeon, and whose mother just wanted her to find love and not end up alone. A girl who had no idea the man sitting across from her was a Bratva prince. That the very same hands that had tucked a rose behind her ear had once held a gun to another man's head.

And he had smiled then, too.

Now, his smile meant something different.

He sighed and finally replied to his mother:

Nikolai: "I'll tell you everything. And yeah, she's beautiful. I might need advice on not messing it up."

He paused, then added:

"Also, I owe you a gift. Thank you, mom."

Locking his phone, Nikolai leaned back, staring out the windshield.

Tomorrow, he would return to the shadows. Stand in a warehouse filled with trafficked girls, where the air smelled of dust and fear. He would pick replacements for buyers with sick fantasies.

But tonight?

Tonight, he had kissed the light.

And he wasn't ready to let it go.

He stayed parked for another ten minutes, mentally replaying the way her fingers curled around the shopping bag, the way she said "I can't wait either," like it was a promise.

He hadn't felt this unsteady since he was a teenager, learning how to lie with a smile and kill with precision.

His jaw tensed.

One day, she would find out. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not even next month. But eventually, someone would whisper the truth in her ear. Or she'd see it for herself.

And when that day came...

Would she still smile at him like she did tonight?

Would she still see Nikolai?

Or would she only see the monster?

Only time would tell.

But until then, he would protect her. From the world. From his family. From himself.

As he started the engine and drove off into the night, a single thought echoed in his mind:

She's mine. Even if I don't deserve her.

Elara twisted her key into the lock and gently pushed open the door to her apartment, still warm from the lingering scent of roses in her arms and the memory of Nikolai's smoldering gaze. Her heart fluttered in a rhythm it hadn't known before tonight, still caught somewhere between disbelief and awe.

As she closed the door behind her, the soft click echoed in the quiet room—only it wasn't entirely silent.

A voice startled her from the living room.

"Finally! I was about to call the cops or pretend you'd been kidnapped by the Russian mafia."

Elara gasped, clutching her chest as she nearly dropped the shopping bag and bouquet. "Maya!" she breathed out, her voice a mixture of laughter and surprise. "I thought you left hours ago!"

Maya, dressed in her oversized sweatshirt and fuzzy socks, lounged on the couch with a bowl of popcorn that had long since gone stale. She raised a brow and swung her legs off the couch, standing to meet Elara with arms crossed.

"And miss hearing every little juicy detail about your first date with a man who looks like he owns a diamond mine? Absolutely not."

Elara laughed, kicking off her shoes by the door and carefully setting the bouquet on the counter like it was made of glass. "Wait—how did you know what he looked like he owns a diamond mine?"

Maya tilted her head with a cheeky smirk. "I may or may not have peeked through the curtains when you walked outside earlier."

"You what?!"

"I'm sorry, babe," Maya said dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. "But I had to! I needed to make sure he wasn't a sixty-year-old creep in a sports car or a man wearing white socks and sandals."

Elara rolled her eyes, blushing as she brought the small shopping bag to the coffee table and sat beside her best friend. "He's definitely not sixty. Or creepy. Or wearing sandals."

Maya sighed dreamily. "Good. Because from where I stood, he looked like a man who swims in money. Not just a little rich. I mean the kind of rich that makes your uterus twitch."

"Maya!" Elara cried, throwing a pillow at her.

"Hey, I'm just saying!" Maya giggled, dodging it with ease. "That man looked like he signs checks with pens made of gold and has a walk-in closet just for his watches."

Elara grinned, cheeks warm from the compliments and the truth behind them. "He was…amazing, honestly. He took me to this restaurant—like, not just any restaurant. The restaurant. The one people talk about all the time? With the view on the sixty-sixth floor?"

Maya sat up straighter. "Wait. The one with the floor-to-ceiling glass walls and reservations booked six months in advance?"

Elara nodded.

Maya's jaw dropped. "Girl. That place costs rent money just to breathe in there."

"He had it reserved just for us. Like, the entire place. Empty. They even said it was by his father's request."

Maya blinked, stunned. "Okay. So when are you marrying him?"

Elara laughed so hard she had to wipe a tear from her eye. "Stop it. We literally just had our first date."

"Right, and he already got you a bouquet that looks like it belongs in a Vogue photoshoot, took you to a private dinner on a building taller than my will to live, and—what's that?" Maya's eyes fell on the elegant little shopping bag Elara had set down.

"Oh, he said it was a gift," Elara replied, suddenly remembering. "He told me to open it when I got inside."

Maya's eyes widened, and she scooted closer like a child waiting for Christmas morning. "Open it! What are you waiting for?"

Elara hesitated for a beat, then reached for the bag with slow, cautious fingers. The matte black paper bag had no label, no logo, just a smooth silk ribbon tied around the handles. It smelled faintly of his cologne—something woodsy and expensive, like smoky sandalwood layered over cedar.

She untied the ribbon and reached inside.

Nestled in a soft bed of black velvet tissue was a box—flat and rectangular, the kind of box only jewelry came in. Her breath caught as she flipped open the top.

"Oh my God," she whispered.

Maya leaned in, and her eyes bulged like they were about to pop from her skull. "Elara," she said, her voice breathless. "Is that a…?"

It was.

A necklace.

But not just any necklace.

A thin, elegant chain of white gold laced with tiny diamonds so perfectly cut, they caught even the dim light of the apartment and refracted it in soft rainbows across the walls. At the center was a singular pendant: a teardrop-shaped diamond nestled in a cluster of smaller ones, delicate and timeless.

"Elara," Maya said again, "Did you just bag a fucking billionaire?"

"I…" Elara stared at the necklace, her heart doing cartwheels in her chest. "I didn't expect this. This is too much."

"Too much?!" Maya cried, nearly grabbing her by the shoulders. "Girl, this is not just 'too much.' This is an 'I just bought you a car but disguised it as jewelry' kind of gift. He gave you a goddamn diamond. On the first date."

Elara swallowed hard, her fingers brushing against the delicate metal. "He said it was just a small gift…"

"A small gift? I'm sorry, is this man from Monaco? Dubai? Does he own a Formula One team?"

Elara couldn't stop the laugh bubbling up from her chest, even as tears of confusion, wonder, and something almost like fear misted her eyes. "I don't know, Maya. He told me he runs his father's businesses. That he's just a 'nepo baby.' But…"

"But nepo babies don't buy jewelry that probably has its own insurance policy," Maya finished for her.

Elara nodded slowly, still staring down at the glittering masterpiece.

Maya reached out gently, touching the edge of the box. "Can I hold it?"

Elara handed it to her, and Maya held it like it was the Holy Grail. "Damn," she whispered. "This would look so good on you. Like, if he saw you wearing this and nothing else? I guarantee you that man would combust on the spot."

"Stop!" Elara gasped, swatting her again, this time laughing.

Maya smiled, eyes gleaming with excitement. "You like him, don't you?"

Elara's laughter slowly faded as she glanced away, eyes soft. "Yeah," she whispered. "I do."

"Then stop worrying about whether it's too much. Just let yourself enjoy this, babe. You've had enough heartbreak. You deserve someone who makes you feel like a fucking goddess."

Elara nodded, finally giving herself permission to feel what had been brewing since that first text from him. She reached into the bag again and pulled out a small envelope she hadn't noticed before. Inside was a handwritten note, in bold, elegant script:

"I saw this and thought of you. I don't know if I deserve to see it on you, but I hope I will one day. — N"

Her breath hitched as she reread it, her chest blooming with a mix of joy and aching disbelief. She folded the note delicately and tucked it back inside, her fingers trembling just slightly.

Maya was watching her with a fond smile. "Yeah," she said softly. "You're a goner."

Elara nodded. "Yeah. I think I am."