CHAPTER 18

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, revealing the sleek interior of Nikolai's penthouse. It was well past midnight, the city skyline stretching like a sea of glittering stars behind the floor-to-ceiling windows. The lights of the penthouse were dimmed to low, casting everything in a muted glow.

Nikolai stepped in, loosening the top buttons of his shirt and sliding his jacket off his shoulders. He was tired, content—but tired. His mind still swam with the image of Elara's smile, the sound of her laughter echoing through his thoughts like a melody he couldn't shake. The auction, the alley, the way she said goodbye—everything had him strung tighter than he liked to admit. And now, all he wanted was a shower, a glass of scotch, and maybe to replay the night in his head once or twice before sleep took him.

But the second he turned the corner toward the kitchen, all fantasies of peace evaporated.

"What the—"

The smell hit him first. Pizza. Chinese takeout. Possibly something burned. The trail of chaos led from the kitchen into the living room like a storm had blown through. Boxes of food, soda cans, and an overturned cereal bowl sat abandoned on the counter. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink. A stack of crumpled napkins lay next to an empty jar of peanut butter. Someone had left the fridge open just enough to trigger that constant, annoying beep.

Nikolai blinked in disbelief. This wasn't just a mess—it was a crime scene.

"Viktor!" he barked.

A grunt sounded from the couch.

He turned sharply and found his younger brother sprawled out like royalty, shirtless, with a game controller in hand and a half-eaten slice of pizza dangling from his mouth. His feet were up on Nikolai's pristine marble coffee table, and the TV was blasting the sounds of a gunfight from a video game.

"Bro," Viktor said around a mouthful of cheese, not even bothering to look up. "You're back late. Hot date?"

Nikolai stared at him for a full five seconds, chest rising and falling slowly. "What. The hell. Happened to my penthouse?"

Viktor paused the game and finally turned to look at him with innocent eyes. He looked like the poster child for charming disasters—boyish face, messy blond hair, and that signature Volkov smirk that had gotten both brothers into—and out of—more trouble than he could count.

"Okay, don't be dramatic," Viktor said, gesturing vaguely to the kitchen. "I was hungry. And I was gonna clean it up. Eventually."

"You've been here for less than a week" Nikolai said through clenched teeth. " How does someone cause this much destruction?"

Viktor shrugged. "You left the place too clean. It needed some... life. Besides, I was stress-eating. You know how it is."

"Stress-eating?" Nikolai echoed. "Because of your ex?"

"She's insane," Viktor said dramatically, tossing the pizza crust onto a napkin. "She showed up at the gym yesterday pretending to be my personal trainer. Almost made me pull my back out doing squats."

"You don't do squats," Nikolai said dryly.

"Exactly! That's why it was dangerous!"

Nikolai dragged a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is not a bachelor pad. It's not a frat house. It's my home. And it's not a damn fast-food graveyard."

"Duly noted," Viktor said, standing and stretching with a loud yawn. "I'll clean it. Promise. First thing in the morning."

"It is the morning."

"Okay, second thing in the morning." He scratched the back of his neck, wandering toward the kitchen. "Want some cold Chinese? The orange chicken's still got some kick."

Nikolai just stared at him.

"Fine, fine." Viktor threw his hands up. "I'll get it sorted. Chill, man. You're more wound up than usual. You need to get laid or something—wait, that did happen, didn't it?" His eyes lit up. "You did go on a date. Was it that church girl?"

Nikolai raised a brow. "If you touch anything else in this penthouse without washing your hands, I'm going to throw you off the balcony."

"Touché," Viktor muttered, grabbing a trash bag from under the sink.

Nikolai turned away, muttering to himself as he stepped out of the disaster zone and headed down the hall toward his bedroom.

He was tired. Too tired to strangle his brother tonight.

But as the door to his room closed behind him, muffling the sounds of Viktor mumbling something about soy sauce stains and bad karma, he found himself chuckling softly.

It was absurd.

This night, this chaos, this life.

He had gone from brooding silence to fine auctions and stolen kisses to returning to a warzone of pizza boxes and a loud-mouthed sibling with no boundaries. And oddly, it didn't feel completely awful. Annoying? Yes. Maddening? Absolutely. But awful? No.

He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it onto the bed, then walked toward the bathroom, planning to shower off the tension of the night.

Just before stepping in, he glanced at his phone on the nightstand.

A new message from Elara.

[Elara]: Made it to bed. I'm still smiling, by the way. Sweet dreams, Nikolai.

His lips twitched.

[Nikolai]: Sweet dreams, angel. I'll see you Sunday. Tell your God to go easy on me.

He hit send, then tossed the phone down.

He wasn't sure how long Viktor was staying. He wasn't sure how he'd survive the week with him under the same roof. But for now, as the hot water began to steam around him and the scent of her still lingered on his skin, he could live with it.

For now.

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The golden hue of the Sunday morning sun crept slowly through the sheer white curtains, illuminating Elara's bedroom in a soft, forgiving light that did little to mask the battlefield her space had become. Her queen-sized bed was covered in a chaotic mix of fabrics—floral prints, delicate lace, silk, and chiffon—all tossed in frustration. Dresses hung haphazardly from the back of her desk chair, from door knobs, and one even draped across the foot of the bed like a wounded soldier.

Elara stood barefoot in the middle of the room, arms crossed, staring at the wreckage of her wardrobe with a look of absolute defeat. Her long, dark hair was a frizzy mess, evidence of the number of times she'd run her fingers through it in panic. She was dressed in a pair of soft pink pajama shorts and a faded university T-shirt—a sharp contrast to the elegant outfits scattered around her.

"Ugh," she groaned, falling back onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling. "Why is this so hard?"

It wasn't like she didn't have dresses fit for church. Quite the opposite—she had plenty. But today felt... different. It was the first time she and Nikolai were going to church together intentionally. The last time had been spontaneous; he had just happened to bump into her outside the apartment building, dressed immaculately as always, and offered to accompany her. But today was planned. He had texted her earlier in the week to confirm the time. This morning, she wouldn't just be a woman heading to church. She would be the woman standing next to him.

And Nikolai?

Nikolai Volkov was wealth incarnate. Everything he wore looked custom-made for his body, and it probably was. His shoes gleamed, his watches could fund small startups, and the quiet confidence he carried was magnetic. Elara often found herself feeling slightly off-balance around him—not because he made her uncomfortable, but because he seemed so effortlessly composed, like he belonged in a world a few tiers above hers.

She sighed and grabbed her phone from her nightstand, quickly texting her best friend.

Elara: Help! I have nothing to wear. Nothing!

Maya: What do you mean? You have tons of cute dresses.

Elara: Yes but cute doesn't cut it when you're walking beside a man wearing suits that look like they've never seen daylight. My closet is not Nikolai-proof.

Maya: LOL. Okay. Go simple but not too simple. Something that looks like you dressed for church but could still be seen standing beside him and not look like his assistant.

Elara: Not helping, Maya!

Elara let her phone flop onto the bed beside her. She groaned again, pulling a burnt orange midi dress from the foot of the bed and holding it up. She liked it—it fit well, made her waist look snatched, and the color complimented her skin tone. But was it too loud? Too attention-grabbing for church?

Before she could make up her mind, the doorbell rang.

She froze.

Who could that be at 7AM on a Sunday?

Frowning, she padded out of the bedroom, the cool floor making her toes curl. Without a second thought, she unlocked the door and swung it open.

And instantly regretted not checking through the peephole.

There, standing tall and devastatingly handsome, was Nikolai.

In a tailored navy-blue suit that hugged his broad shoulders and tapered perfectly down his long legs. A subtle pinstripe pattern gave it a classic flair, and his maroon tie added the perfect pop of restrained color. His hair was neatly styled, his beard trimmed just right, and in his hand was a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses wrapped in gold paper.

Elara blinked, mouth parting slightly.

"Hi," she said, voice cracking like a teenager's.

Nikolai's mouth curved into a smile, eyes sweeping over her and lingering on her tousled hair and the faded logo on her shirt. He held out the roses. "Good morning, Elara. These are for you."

She took them, stunned. "Thanks. Um... what are you doing here?"

His smile widened. "Am I not supposed to be here?"

"I mean… it's 7AM. We were supposed to meet at 9:45."

He shrugged, stepping inside when she moved aside. "I wanted to see you early. Maybe have breakfast before we go?"

Elara felt a blush rise on her cheeks. Her apartment was clean, thankfully, but she was an absolute mess. Hair like a tumbleweed. No makeup. Still unshowered.

"I just woke up," she lied, setting the roses down on the kitchen counter.

"Of course you did," he said, clearly amused.

She ran a hand over her wild hair, trying to gather some semblance of dignity. "Give me like… thirty minutes? Or forty. An hour?"

He glanced at the explosion of fabric visible from the hallway leading to her room. "That's quite the war zone in there. Something wrong?"

She groaned again. "I can't find anything to wear. I want to look nice, not just for church, but… you know."

His eyes softened. "Because you'll be standing next to me?"

She nodded, too embarrassed to speak.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You always look beautiful, Elara. But if it helps… maybe I could help pick something out?"

She looked up, surprised. "You want to help me pick my outfit?"

He smirked. "I have taste, don't I?"

"Too much of it," she muttered, but turned and led the way to her room.

The moment he stepped in, he took in the colorful mess with a critical eye, crossing the room to inspect the dresses. He sifted through them with the precision of someone used to selecting quality, holding up a few, then setting them aside.

"This one's nice," he said, holding up a blush-toned A-line dress. "But too soft. Not you."

"Too soft?" she echoed, watching him with fascination.

"Yes. You're elegant, but you have fire."

She blinked at the compliment.

He moved on, holding up a forest green number with a square neckline and fitted bodice. "Now this is a contender."

He laid it gently on the bed, then chose two more options—a navy dress with lace sleeves, and a wine-colored pencil dress with a belt.

"Try these three," he said, stepping back. "Let's see which one speaks the loudest."

Blushing but intrigued, Elara disappeared into her bathroom with the green dress first. When she emerged, Nikolai stood up straighter.

"Turn," he commanded softly.

She did.

He walked over, eyes scanning every inch. "Elegant. Striking. But maybe a little too... evening."

Back into the bathroom.

Next: navy with lace sleeves. She came out, feeling more like herself. He nodded slowly.

"Better," he said, then gave a small shake of his head. "But not quite."

Finally, the wine dress.

When she stepped out this time, something changed in his eyes. He looked at her as if seeing something he hadn't expected.

"That one," he said firmly.

"Really?"

He walked over, adjusting the belt slightly, smoothing the fabric at her shoulder.

"Yes. It's sophisticated. Commanding. You don't just stand beside me in this. You match me."

Elara swallowed hard, her heart fluttering.

"Okay. This one, then."

As she turned to grab her heels, Nikolai's voice stopped her.

"Elara," he said softly.

She turned.

He smiled, a little boyish this time. "Thank you for letting me help."

She smiled back. "Thank you for showing up early."

And as they prepared to leave, Elara no longer worried about matching him.

Because she finally believed she belonged beside him.