Not the casual awareness that came with living inside Ruslan’s estate, where guards were always nearby, always watching. This was different. Heavier. Focused. Charged with emotion. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Dmitri.
From his apartment window overlooking the gardens, he had a clear view of this path. I’d known it from the first day.
Every time Vanya and I walked here, I’d felt that same distant awareness, like a held breath behind glass.
He never appeared. Never crossed the line. Just watched—silent, restrained, almost reverent. Protective in the only way he was allowed to be.
But today, the weight of his stare was different.
Sharper. Rawer. As if something inside him had snapped or tightened too far. It pressed against my back insistently, demanding acknowledgment, demanding to be seen.
I turned.
There he was.
His silhouette filled the window frame, broad shoulders rigid, posture taut with barely leashed control.
One hand was braced flat against the glass, fingers splayed as if he could reach through it if he only tried hard enough.
The late-afternoon sun caught him at an angle, outlining his form in gold and shadow, turning him into something almost unreal—half man, half apparition.
For a fleeting moment, he looked less like the feared Dmitri Volkov and more like a man trapped behind invisible bars.
“Is that him?”
Vanya’s voice was quiet but clear, cutting through the moment like a blade through silk.
I hadn’t realized he’d stood up. Or that he’d followed my gaze.
I looked down at him, my chest tightening painfully. “Yeah,” I said softly. “That’s your dad.”
He studied the window intently, his small face unreadable, eyes thoughtful in a way that felt far too old for his years.
He didn’t wave. Didn’t smile. Didn’t frown.
Then, to my surprise, he turned away first.
His fingers curled around mine, tugging gently, a silent request to keep moving. I fell into step beside him automatically, my heart thudding hard as confusion and something like awe washed over me.
“You don’t want to see him right now?” I asked carefully, keeping my tone light, nonjudgmental.
“Yeah,” he murmured after a beat. “Not yet.”
I swallowed. “Because... he hurt me in the past?” I asked, echoing the words he’d used once before, when he thought I hadn’t noticed how closely he watched me whenever Dmitri’s name came up.
Vanya nodded, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against a pebble embedded in the path. “He made you cry,” he said simply. “A lot.”
The bluntness of it stole my breath.
Children didn’t dress pain up in pretty words. They didn’t soften truths to make them easier to swallow. They just saw. And remembered.
I squeezed his hand gently. “If you ever change your mind,” I said, forcing steadiness into my voice, “and you want to meet him, I’ll take you. Whenever you’re ready. There’s no rush.”
He didn’t look up at me, but his grip tightened slightly. “I like it here,” he said firmly. “With you.”
The words wrapped around my heart, warm and devastating all at once.