Three men in sharp suits and mirrored sunglasses flanked Ruslan at a discreet distance, positioned just close enough to intervene if necessary. Security was never far from him. Never optional.
“Mr. Ruslan,” I said, stepping forward and offering a small, genuine smile.
In the five years he had hosted me here, I had seen him only once—brief, formal, unforgettable.
A man like Ruslan did not involve himself personally unless something mattered. For him to be standing here now, waiting for us, meant more than words ever could.
“Penelope,” he replied.
His voice was low and even, neither warm nor cold.
No smile touched his mouth, but there was no hostility either. Just acknowledgement. Respect, perhaps. From him, that was rare.
His gaze shifted to Vanya.
“Vanya,” Ruslan said calmly. “Do you still remember your friend?”
Vanya blinked, clearly thrown by being addressed so directly. He glanced at me, then back at Ruslan, then at Yannis. Slowly, uncertainly, he shook his head.
Yannis didn’t move. He stayed pressed to his father’s side, silent, observant.
His fingers tightened briefly, then relaxed again.
Ruslan exhaled—a sound so faint it barely registered, but I caught it. A sigh, restrained and weary.
“I had to see you today,” he said, his attention returning to me. “After this, it may be some time before we meet again.”
I straightened slightly. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes. California.” His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “There’s a woman I need to find.”
There was no bravado in his words. No threat. Just fact.
“It shouldn’t take more than a month,” he continued. “But these things can be... unpredictable.”
I nodded, understanding far more than I said aloud. “Thank you,” I replied quietly. “For everything. For protecting us. For letting us come back.”
He inclined his head once. “Your new butler will show you to your old apartment. It’s been kept exactly as you left it. Nothing was moved.”
My throat tightened. “That means more than you know.”
“If you require anything,” he added, already turning away, “dial one hundred. Day or night.”
Then he paused.
Yannis lifted his free hand and waved shyly at Vanya—just a small flutter of fingers, hesitant and hopeful.
Vanya stared for a second too long, then raised his own hand in response. His wave came late, awkward, uncertain.
Ruslan didn’t look back.
He and his men disappeared down the corridor, their footsteps soundless against stone.
“They seem to know me,” Vanya said quietly once they were gone. His voice was low, thoughtful. “But I don’t remember them.”
I smiled at him—soft, aching, carefully controlled. “That’s okay,” I said. “Memories don’t always come back all at once. Sometimes they need time. And safety.”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t argue either.