Chapter 5 House Of Volkov

The gates of the Volkov estate opened slowly, revealing a sprawling mansion that looked more like a fortress. The car crept up the long driveway lined with stone lions and trimmed hedges so perfectly cut they could draw blood. Vivienne swallowed hard. This was not just wealth. This was a kingdom. As the car came to a stop, Damian stepped out first. He didn't offer his hand. Of course he didn't. Vivienne opened her own door and followed him, her heels sinking slightly into the cobbled stones beneath her. A man in a black suit opened the door before they even reached it. "Welcome home, Mr.

Volkov," he said, then gave Vivienne a single glance. No smile. No warmth. She stepped into the grand foyer and nearly forgot how to breathe. Marble floors, high ceilings, a chandelier that looked like it cost more than her childhood home. The silence in the house wasn't peaceful, it was tense, cold, like everything and everyone inside it had forgotten how to feel. Damian's voice broke the silence. "We won't be staying long. Just dinner." Dinner? With whom? As if on cue, a voice floated down from the grand staircase. Elegant. Sharp. "Damian." Vivienne turned. Descending the stairs was a woman in an emerald green dress that hugged her figure like it had been sewn onto her skin. Her blonde hair was pulled into a sleek twist, her face unwrinkled by time, and her eyes,ice cold,were fixed on Vivienne. "Mother," Damian said. Vivienne stiffened. That was his mother? "Is this her?" the woman asked, her tone coated with venom masked as curiosity. "Your wife?" Before Vivienne could speak, Damian nodded. "Vivienne, meet my mother, Elena Volkov." Elena extended a hand. Vivienne shook it, but it was more like touching frost than flesh. "So," Elena said, walking a slow circle around Vivienne like she was inspecting a pet. "This is the girl who managed to make my son believe in fairy tales." "I didn't," Vivienne said quietly. Damian's jaw twitched. Elena raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You married my son for nothing, then?" "I married him because it was necessary," Vivienne replied, trying to steady her voice. "Not because I believed in happy endings." There was a beat of silence. Then Elena smiled. "At least you're honest. That's more than I expected." Damian placed a hand on Vivienne's lower back. "Let's eat." They walked toward the dining hall, a vast room with a long table that could seat twenty. Only three seats were set. Dinner was silent for several minutes. The clinking of silverware against porcelain was the only sound. Elena sipped her wine. "Do you cook, Vivienne?" Vivienne looked up. "Yes." "Oh? What can you make?" "Whatever is necessary," she said, her voice calm. Elena tilted her head. "Spoken like a woman who knows survival." "I do," Vivienne answered. Damian watched her, silently impressed. Elena set down her glass. "Let's not pretend this is a real marriage. I want to know what game you're playing." Vivienne felt heat rush to her cheeks. "I'm not playing anything." Elena leaned back in her chair. "Then you're either a fool, or a better actress than I thought." Damian's voice was sharp. "That's enough." Elena didn't flinch. "Protecting her already? How romantic. I hope you remember how temporary this arrangement is." Vivienne stood up. Her chair scraped against the floor. "Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Volkov. I think I've had enough." She walked out before Damian could stop her. Her heart pounded as she made her way through the hall, only to find herself lost in the maze of the estate. She turned a corner and found a quiet room; a library. Dark shelves. Velvet curtains. A fireplace that wasn't lit. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath. She didn't belong here. Not in this house. Not in Damian's world. "Running away already?" The voice made her flinch. She turned. A man stood by the window, swirling whiskey in a glass. Tall, dark-haired, older than Damian but with the same sharp eyes. "You're..." "My name is Viktor. Damian's uncle." He walked toward her slowly, each step deliberate. "I saw you at the gala. You looked like you were wearing someone else's skin." Vivienne said nothing. Viktor stepped closer. "Careful, girl. This house eats people like you alive." "I'm not afraid of you," she said quietly. "No," Viktor said with a smirk. "But you should be." Suddenly, the door burst open. Damian stood there, his expression unreadable. His eyes flicked between her and Viktor. "Vivienne. Come with me." She walked past Viktor without looking at him. Damian said nothing until they reached a staircase. "Don't wander off again," he said. "This house has eyes." "You mean your family does." He stopped walking and turned to her. "Yes. And not all of them are loyal to me." Vivienne swallowed. "What does that mean?" But he didn't answer. He opened a door, revealing a guest room,her room. She stepped inside, but he didn't follow. As he turned to leave, she said, "Damian?" He looked back. "Why did your mother hate me the moment she saw me?" There was a long pause. "Because she thinks I'm becoming weak." The door clicked shut. Vivienne stared at it, her chest tight. She didn't know how long she stood there, staring, but when she finally turned around, her heart stopped. A note was lying on the pillow. She hadn't seen it there before. She picked it up with trembling fingers. There were only six words, handwritten in black ink. He's not who you think. Run.