Dinner continued long after Olga's declaration.
The atmosphere around the table had changed completely.
The tension that had briefly surfaced vanished beneath conversation, soft laughter, and Maya's endless enthusiasm for the food in front of her.
Maya ate without restraint.
Without self-consciousness.
Without realizing she had become the center of attention once again.
Every new dish earned some form of reaction.
A widened pair of eyes.
A soft gasp.
A delighted smile.
And every single expression seemed to affect one particular person more than everyone else combined.
Rege.
He barely touched the rest of his meal.
Instead, he sat beside her quietly, watching.
His gaze followed every smile.
Every laugh.
Every word.
A small smile rested on his lips.
So faint most people would never notice it.
Most people.
But Eleanor did.
Because despite maintaining her perfect composure, her attention kept drifting toward him.
Again.
And again.
And again.
She saw the way his eyes softened whenever Maya spoke.
The way he leaned toward her slightly whenever she laughed.
The way his entire presence seemed calmer simply because she sat beside him.
And the small tick that had settled permanently in Eleanor's jaw returned once more.
Across the table, Ivan noticed.
He always noticed.
Without drawing attention to it, his hand settled briefly against Eleanor's thigh beneath the table.
A gentle touch.
A reminder.
Eleanor immediately redirected her attention downward.
Toward her plate.
Toward her food.
Anywhere but where it had been.
Ivan withdrew his hand slowly.
His expression never changed.
But something inside him tightened.
Again.
—
Nikolai finished first.
Naturally.
He pushed his chair back lazily and stood.
"I'm leaving before Mother decides dessert requires another family discussion."
Andrei laughed.
Olga narrowed her eyes.
"Nikolai."
"What?"
"You know I'm right."
The room chuckled.
A few minutes later Maxim rose as well.
Then Nadia.
One by one, people began leaving the table.
Rege had actually finished much earlier.
But he remained seated.
Waiting.
Patiently.
Quietly.
Maya only realized it when she finally placed her fork down.
Immediately, Rege stood.
Then offered his hand.
Like he had been waiting for permission.
Maya looked up at him.
Then at the table.
Then back at him.
"What about the dishes?" she whispered.
Rege blinked.
Almost confused.
Then shook his head once.
As though the question itself made no sense.
Without another word, he intertwined their fingers and guided her from the dining hall.
Leaving behind Olga, Roman, Ivan, Eleanor, Andrei, Julia and Gregory.
—
The second-floor patio felt like an entirely different world.
The formal atmosphere of dinner disappeared the moment Maya stepped outside.
The night air greeted them immediately.
Cool.
Fresh.
Gentle.
The patio overlooked a large section of the estate grounds below.
Rows of illuminated gardens stretched across the darkness.
Fountains shimmered beneath carefully placed lights.
The distant sound of water drifted softly through the evening air.
Comfortable.
Peaceful.
The mansion itself consisted of three floors.
And from here, Maya could appreciate just how massive it truly was.
Maxim occupied an enormous sofa.
Or perhaps the sofa occupied Maxim.
The man practically swallowed the furniture with his broad frame.
Nikolai lounged across a chaise-like seat nearby.
The top buttons of his shirt were undone.
His sleeves rolled to his elbows.
His arms crossed lazily over his chest.
Entirely relaxed.
Entirely unbothered.
Nadia was sprawled across another sofa as though she had no bones whatsoever.
Maya blinked.
Then smiled.
Because these people looked completely different from the versions she had met downstairs.
Even Maxim seemed relaxed.
Human.
Normal.
Rege guided her toward the sofa beside Nadia's.
He sat beside her immediately.
Still holding her hand.
Still refusing to let go.
"Comfort, krasota," he murmured quietly.
Beautiful.
Maya's smile widened immediately.
The reassurance worked.
She visibly relaxed.
Nadia noticed.
Of course she noticed.
A faint smile touched her lips.
"Introduce us properly, Rege."
Nikolai immediately sat up slightly.
"Yes, Rege."
His expression turned dramatic.
"After all, we are your favourite siblings."
Nadia laughed.
Maxim rolled his eyes.
Rege looked entirely unimpressed.
Maya giggled softly.
Then Nadia suddenly reached over and grabbed Maya's free hand.
"Come here."
Maya blinked.
"What?"
"I'm stealing you."
Before Maya could react, Nadia gently pulled her toward her side of the sofa.
Maya laughed.
And followed.
The moment she moved—
Rege glared.
Actually glared.
Like Nadia had committed a crime.
Nadia rolled her eyes instantly.
"Oh please."
Maya looked between them.
Then burst out laughing.
"Don't mind him," Nadia said.
"He'll get over it."
Maya smiled.
A bright genuine smile.
One that somehow made Rege look even less pleased.
"Rege."
Maxim pointed toward the empty seat between himself and Nikolai.
"Over here."
Rege glanced at Maya.
Saw her already relaxing beside Nadia.
Then reluctantly moved.
Though the look he gave Nadia promised future revenge.
—
A little while later Nadia stood.
"Come on."
Maya looked up.
"Where?"
"My room."
Nadia smiled.
"We need to sort out your clothes."
Maya frowned slightly.
Nikolai answered before Nadia could.
"Nadia runs the clothing brand."
Maya blinked.
"What?"
"Trust her."
Nikolai waved dismissively.
"She'll sort everything."
Understanding dawned.
"Oh."
Nadia smiled triumphantly.
"Exactly."
Still holding Maya's hand, she stood.
Maya rose with her.
Then glanced back.
Her eyes immediately found Rege.
The look lasted only a second.
A smile.
Soft.
Warm.
Enough.
Rege immediately relaxed.
Just slightly.
Then Maya disappeared inside with Nadia.
—
Elsewhere in the mansion, Olga, Roman, Julia and Gregory sat together in one of the sitting rooms.
Conversation flowed naturally.
Family stories.
Business.
Travel.
Life.
Interestingly, nobody mentioned Maya.
Not because she wasn't important.
But because life continued.
As it always did.
—
Meanwhile—
On the third floor.
Inside the master suite.
Everything was much quieter.
And much heavier.
Eleanor stood before the illuminated vanity inside the walk-in closet.
Removing her makeup carefully.
Methodically.
Every movement practiced.
Elegant.
Controlled.
The same way she approached everything else.
Yet tonight her focus drifted.
Again and again.
Absent-minded.
Unsettled.
Behind her, Ivan changed silently.
For several moments he simply watched her reflection.
Watching.
Thinking.
Trying.
Eventually—
"You don't like Maya."
The statement landed quietly.
Not as an accusation.
As a fact.
Eleanor immediately looked up.
Her smile appeared automatically.
Perfect.
Polished.
Empty.
"Of course not."
She turned slightly.
"I have nothing against her."
"You do actually."
Ivan's voice remained low.
Controlled.
But his jaw tightened.
"Excuse me?"
"You do."
Silence stretched.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Eleanor turned fully now.
"Ivan."
A warning.
A plea.
Both.
"We've been past this."
Her voice sharpened slightly.
"It's been seven years."
Ivan remained silent.
"You can't keep doing this."
She folded her arms.
"I don't even talk to him."
A bitter laugh escaped Ivan.
"Really?"
His eyes met hers.
"Because I think he's all you think about."
The words landed harder than either intended.
Eleanor immediately stiffened.
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it?"
"I'm married to you."
She gestured toward him.
"You're my husband."
Ivan's jaw clenched harder.
"So why can't you stop looking at him?"
Silence.
Eleanor's composure cracked slightly.
"No."
The denial came too quickly.
Too defensively.
"No, that's not true."
Ivan looked away first.
Then walked out of the closet.
Eleanor followed immediately.
"Ivan."
They entered the bedroom.
Soft lamps illuminated the room in warm gold light.
The massive bed sat at the center.
Their bed.
Their room.
Their life.
"It's not what you think."
She moved closer.
"You're my husband. Not him."
Ivan stopped walking.
Then turned sharply.
The look in his eyes stole her breath.
Pain.
Raw pain.
His eyes glistened.
His jaw trembled.
And when he spoke, he no longer sounded like himself.
"For seven years."
His voice cracked.
"For seven years I've tried everything."
Eleanor froze.
"I gave you my whole heart."
Each word hurt.
"I gave you everything."
His eyes closed briefly.
"Everything you ever wanted."
Then softer.
More broken.
"And after all this time…"
His gaze lifted.
"You still only see him."
Eleanor's heart shattered.
Because this wasn't anger.
This was grief.
"Ivan…"
"You know that isn't true."
Even as she said it, the words felt weak.
Empty.
Defensive.
"You're projecting your insecurities onto me."
A dry laugh escaped him.
Humourless.
Broken.
"Can you admit it?"
Eleanor looked away immediately.
And there it was.
The answer.
Not spoken.
But there.
"Can you admit it to yourself and me?"
His voice lowered.
"That you still want him?"
The room fell silent.
Eleanor ran trembling fingers through her hair.
Her eyes filled.
Not because she wanted to answer.
Because she couldn't.
"I haven't spoken to him in seven years."
Her voice shook.
"That should prove something."
She looked at him.
Really looked at him.
And the pain in his eyes nearly broke her.
Because she loved him.
Maybe not the way he deserved.
Maybe not enough.
But she loved him.
And seeing him hurt—
hurt her too.
Ivan closed his eyes briefly.
Then whispered:
"You still couldn't deny it."
The words destroyed something.
Not between them.
Inside him.
Eleanor looked away.
Tears threatened.
"You can't even lie to me."
His voice cracked again.
"What is so great about him?"
He laughed once.
A horrible sound.
"What makes him irreplaceable?"
His eyes glistened.
"What makes me replaceable?"
"Don't."
Eleanor moved toward him.
"Please don't say that."
"You're enough."
Her voice broke.
"You're my husband—"
Ivan lifted a hand.
Stopping her.
Not harshly.
Not angrily.
Just tired.
So unbearably tired.
"I'll be in my study."
A pause.
Then quietly:
"I have work."
He leaned forward.
Pressed a kiss against her cheek.
Gentle.
Habitual.
Loving.
"Goodnight."
Then he left.
The door closed softly behind him.
And silence filled the room.
Eleanor stood motionless.
Listening.
To the absence.
To the quiet.
To the echo of everything unsaid.
Then her eyes drifted around the room.
Their room.
His books.
His watch.
His side of the bed.
Seven years.
Seven years of loyalty.
Patience.
Devotion.
Seven years of being loved completely.
And somehow—
it still wasn't enough.
Not because Ivan lacked anything.
Not because she wanted to hurt him.
Not because she didn't love him.
But because some part of her heart had never learned how to let go.
And she hated herself for it.
The realization crushed her.
Slowly.
Mercilessly.
The tears came without warning.
Eleanor sank onto the edge of the bed.
Then finally broke.
Her shoulders shook.
Tears streamed down her face.
Not because she regretted her marriage.
Not because she wished for another life.
But because she loved her husband.
And she was still hurting him.
After seven years.
She still couldn't stop.
And for the first time in a very long while—
Eleanor allowed herself to cry.