chapter 17

DMITRI

I scowl at my door, the sound of a knock grating against my already fraying patience. My focus on the work at hand fades the moment my stepsister, Yelena, breezes in like a gust of uninvited chaos.

“Brother!” she sings, dropping her leather luggage with a thud. In seconds, she’s latched onto me, squeezing me tight with her arms, as if she’s trying to suffocate me with affection.

“You look good!” she chirps, clearly ignoring the fact that I can barely breathe.

“And I’m going to be blue and cold if you don’t let up, Yelena,” I rasp, tapping her arm to signal my surrender.

“Oh!” She releases me, stepping back with a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I just missed you. Wanted to soak in all theyouI could.”

I stretch my arm out, keeping a safe distance between us. “You can soak in the ‘me’ with your words, not your death grip,” I say, cutting her off before she decides to smother me again.

She pouts, dramatically releasing me. “Right. I forget how much you hate physical contact. Always the brooding type. You and your thoughts, all alone in your little castle of seriousness.”

Typical Yelena. Always poking, always pushing. I don’t rise to it. “What brings you back?” I ask, cutting straight to the point.

She shrugs, tossing her hair back like the world revolves around her whims. “What do you think?”

I tilt my head, feigning curiosity. “You got bored traveling the world? Fell in love with some poor fool and realized it wasn’t love after all, so you did what you always do—ran?”

She clicks her tongue at me. “You make it sound like I have no depth, Dmitri. I came back because I missed you. You may not think about me, but I think about you all the time. Miss our time together, even when you’re scowling at me.”

My hand runs across my mouth, suppressing the grin that threatens to appear. “I’m not scowling.”

“Sure,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “But, brother, I’ve got one question. Is your wife anything like you?”

The question takes me off guard, but I recover quickly.Like me?Ana is the furthest thing from me. If I’m winter, she’s summer. She burns where I freeze. She commands attention where I make people retreat. The thought of her, of her fire, brings an uncomfortable tightness to my chest.

“She’s nothing like me,” I say, my tone flat.

Yelena raises a brow, intrigued. “Good for you. But why did she marry you, then?”

I don’t answer right away. Yelena doesn’t know the real story. She doesn’t know this marriage wasn’t born out of anything real. No love, no affection, just strategy. I had kept her away from the wedding, away from the truth, and she didn’t push.

“It doesn’t matter,” I redirect, unwilling to open that door. “Why are you back?”

She sighs, a weariness settling in her eyes. “Needed a break. Traveling nonstop wears you down eventually. And yes, maybe my heart wavered for a bit. But I remembered what happened two years ago and thought it was time for a reality check.” She spreads her arms wide like she’s presenting herself to me. “So, here I am.”

I nod, accepting her vague explanation. “How’s your mother?”

Yelena pinches the bridge of her nose, her face a mixture of frustration and fondness. “Getting married again. Fourth husband this time. You know how it is.” She rolls her eyes. “Every time she calls, she somehow manages to bring you up.”

The corner of my lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile. Her mother always had a strange attachment to me, despite never really being present in my life. She wasn’t the motherly type, but there was something there—a soft spot, maybe.

“I wonder if she wishes you were her biological child instead of me,” Yelena muses, her voice distant for a moment before she snaps out of it and flashes her usual grin. “But now that I’m back, we get to make up for lost time. I’d like to stay with you. You think your wife will mind?”

“It’s my house,” I say reflexively, though the words taste hollow as soon as they leave my mouth.

“But she’s your wife,” Yelena counters, eyes glinting with amusement. “Don’t tell me you invite people over without consulting her. That’s just rude, Dmitri.”

Ana said something similar at that damn party.Is it rude?Why should I need Ana’s permission? It’s not as though we’re living like a married couple. We don’t share meals, barely even cross paths unless forced to. We’re more like strangers sharing a space, bound by a name and nothing more.

“If she has a problem with it, you can stay at a hotel,” I mutter, not wanting to think too hard about why Yelena’s question is bothering me more than it should.

Yelena shrugs, unfazed. She moves to her bag, unzipping it and pulling out a bottle of wine, holding it up with a grin. “Care to join me?”

I shake my head, disapproving. “It’s not even noon.”

She shrugs again. “It’s five o’clock somewhere. Come on, live a little. The world’s not going to collapse because you take a break, Dmitri.”

It might, though. I let my guard down once, and Nikolai Petrov nearly took everything from me. If I let it down again, who knows what kind of chaos could unfold?

It’s just wine, Dmitri. Relax.

The voice in my head sounds suspiciously like Yelena, her words always managing to crawl under my skin. She’s right, though. It’s just a glass. And I haven’t seen her in over a year. What’s the harm?

“I’ll tell Jakob to bring the glasses.”

She pumps her fist in the air like a child. “Party time!”

I see Ana’s car parked just outside the house as I pull up—a sign that she’s home. My brows scrunch together as I turn off my car’s engine.

It’s weird for her to be back at this time of the day. Typically, she comes back from work long after the sun has set.