Chapter 8 - Shadows in the Garden
The autumn leaves had turned to deep amber and gold by the time my father finally surfaced.
It happened on a quiet Sunday afternoon while Nikolai and I were walking through the private sculpture garden behind his Manhattan estate. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke. Two of Nikolai’s guards trailed a respectful fifty paces behind us, blending seamlessly into the hedgerows.
My phone buzzed in my coat pocket.
An unknown number.
I pulled it out, hesitation making my thumb hover over the screen. When I swiped and brought it to my ear, a broken, exhausted voice whispered through the static.
“Elena? Sweetheart... is that you?”
My breath hitched. My father.
“Dad?” I whispered, freezing in the middle of the stone pathway.
Nikolai stopped beside me instantly, his dark eyes narrowing as he read the tension in my face. He didn't say a word, but his hand slid into mine, his thumb stroking my knuckles with grounding, immovable strength.
“Elena, I’m so sorry,” my father sobbed over the line, the sound thin and desperate. “I’m in trouble. Some men—they said my debt was bought out by someone dangerous... someone named Petrov. They said I need to meet them at the piers tonight or—or I won't make it out of the city.”
Anger, cold and sharp, flared in my chest. Not at Nikolai—at my father, for calling me only when he was drowning, for dragging his chaos back into the life I was finally building.
“Dad,” I said, my voice steady, carrying a quiet strength I didn't know I possessed. “Listen to me very carefully. Your debt is gone. Nikolai paid it.”
Silence stretched across the line for a long, agonizing moment.
“He... what?” my father breathed.
“He cleared your ledger. You don't owe anyone anything anymore,” I said, looking up into Nikolai’s dark, unwavering eyes. “And if you ever call me again asking to bail you out of a mess you created, consider yourself having no daughter left.”
I pressed the red end call button before he could reply, letting the phone slip down to my side.
Nikolai watched me quietly, his expression unreadable. “You didn't have to cut him off completely.”
“Yes, I did,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, though my chin was held high. “I spent my whole life cleaning up messes that weren't mine to fix. I’m done.”
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Nikolai’s dark eyes softened with a look of profound, consuming adoration. He reached up, cupping my cheek with his warm palm, and pulled me in for a deep, lingering kiss that tasted like redemption and forever.
“Then let’s go home,” he murmured against my lips.
