Chapter 62: The Flawless Performance

The silence in the penthouse was heavy as the clock ticked toward four. I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, wearing a sweater that cost more than my old car. It was soft, a deep charcoal wool that felt like a second skin, but it felt like a uniform.

"Stop picking at your sleeves," Dmitri said from the sofa. He was reading a file, looking perfectly at ease, as if we weren't about to commit a massive emotional fraud.

"I’m nervous," I admitted, my voice small. "What if I say something wrong? What if she asks about my studio back home?"

Ivan walked into the room, carrying a tray with a porcelain tea set. He looked like the picture of a gracious host. He stopped in front of me and reached out, adjusting the collar of my shirt beneath the sweater. His fingers lingered against my neck, a warm, grounding pressure.

"Then you tell her the truth—that you don't miss that drafty little room," Ivan said softly. "You tell her that your art needs light, and space, and peace. All of which you have here."

"I don't have peace, Ivan. I have a script."

"Then follow it," he whispered, his eyes locking onto mine. "For her sake. If she sees you struggling, she’ll leave Arthur. She’ll go back to being lonely and broke, all because she’s worried about you. Is that what you want?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Then be the son she wants you to be," Dmitri added, closing his file and standing up. "Look at us, Leo. We aren't your enemies today. We are your brothers. We are the people who love you."

The doorbell rang. The sound echoed through the high ceilings, making my heart jump into my throat.

"Showtime," Ivan murmured.

He went to the door while Dmitri stayed by my side. I felt Dmitri’s hand slide into the small of my back, guiding me forward.

"Leo! Oh, look at you!"

My mother’s voice filled the foyer before I even saw her. When she rounded the corner, she looked radiant. She was wearing a cream-colored coat, her hair styled perfectly, and her eyes were bright with a light I hadn't seen since I was a child. She looked... safe.

I forced my legs to move. "Hi, Mom."

She rushed to me, pulling me into a tight hug. She smelled like her favorite floral perfume and home. For a second, I wanted to sob into her shoulder, to tell her everything, to beg her to take me away. But then I felt Dmitri’s presence right behind me, a silent reminder of the wall I had to keep up.

"You look wonderful," she said, pulling back to look at my face. She cupped my cheeks with her hands. "You look healthy. There’s color in your cheeks. And this place... oh, Leo, Arthur told me it was grand, but this is like a palace."

"It’s a bit much, isn't it?" I said, letting out a forced laugh. "But the twins have been making sure I don't get lost."

"We try our best," Dmitri said, stepping forward with a charming smile. He reached out and took Eleanor’s hand, kissing it lightly. "It’s so good to see you again, Eleanor. You look beautiful."

My mother blushed, clearly charmed. "Oh, you boys are too kind. Arthur is so proud of you both. And he’s so happy that Leo is settling in."

We moved to the living area. Ivan poured the tea with practiced ease. We sat on the plush chairs, the city sprawling out behind us like a backdrop.

"So, tell me everything," Eleanor said, taking a sip of tea. "How is the painting coming along? I know you were worried about the transition."

I took a breath. This was the core of the lie. "It’s actually been amazing, Mom. At first, I was overwhelmed, but Dmitri and Ivan... they’ve given me so much support. I have a space here where I can just... think. I don't have to worry about the rent or the heat not working. I can just create."

"I knew it," she said, her eyes misting over. "I knew that if you just had the right environment, you would flourish. I was so worried I was forcing you into this life, Leo. I lay awake at night thinking I was being selfish by marrying Arthur."

I reached across the table and took her hand. Her skin was soft, and she squeezed my fingers. The guilt was a physical pain in my stomach, but I kept my voice steady.

"You weren't being selfish, Mom. You deserve to be happy. And seeing you like this... it makes everything worth it. I’m happy here. Truly."

Ivan smiled from across the table. "He’s being modest. He’s been working on some incredible sketches. We’re actually thinking of setting up a private showing for him later this year."

"A showing? Already?" Eleanor clapped her hands together. "Oh, Arthur will be thrilled! He’s always saying how much potential you have."

The conversation flowed easily after that, mostly because the twins were masters at directing it. They spoke about dinners, about the city, about "family" plans. They made it sound like we were a unit, a solid, unbreakable bond.

Every time I felt myself faltering, every time a shadow crossed my face, Dmitri would make a joke or Ivan would touch my arm, pulling me back into the performance.

"I should get going," Eleanor said after an hour. "Arthur is waiting for me at the gallery. But I feel so much better now. I feel like I can finally breathe, knowing you’re okay."

I walked her to the door. The twins stayed back, giving us a "private" moment, though I knew they were listening to every word.

"I love you, Leo," she whispered, hugging me again. "Thank you for being so brave. I know this was a big change for you."

"I love you too, Mom," I said. And that, at least, was the truth. "Go be happy. Don't worry about me."

I watched her walk to the elevator. She turned and waved, a huge smile on her face, before the doors slid shut.

The moment she was gone, the mask dropped. My shoulders slumped, and I felt like I was going to collapse. The penthouse, which had felt like a stage, suddenly felt like a tomb again.

I walked back into the living room. Ivan was clearing the tea cups. Dmitri was standing by the window, watching the street below.

"You were perfect," Dmitri said, not turning around. "She left here believing every word. You saved her today, Leo."

"I lied to her," I said, my voice cracking. "I looked her in the eye and told her I was happy while I'm a prisoner in this house. I feel like I just buried my mother."

Ivan walked over and put a hand on my back. "You didn't bury her. You protected her. There is a difference."

"Is there?" I looked at him, my eyes burning. "She doesn't know me anymore. She knows a version of me that you two created. Every time I see her from now on, I’ll have to wear this mask. The distance between us... it’s never going to go away, is it?"

"The distance is what keeps her safe," Ivan said, his voice unusually gentle. He leaned down and kissed the top of my head. "You did a good thing today. You gave her the life she wanted."

"And what did I give up?" I asked, looking out at the city.

Neither of them answered. They didn't have to. We all knew the answer. I had traded my truth for her peace, and in doing so, I had officially become a stranger to my own mother. I was no longer Leo the artist, her son. I was the Volkovs' secret, polished and placed on a s

helf, hidden behind a flawless performance.