Chapter 76: Finch’s Invitation

The afternoon sun was sliding down the glass walls of the studio, casting long, thin shadows across the floor. Leo sat on his stool, but he wasn't painting. He was staring at a blank canvas. The white surface felt like a wall he couldn't climb.

Every time he picked up a brush, he thought about the navy blazer in his closet. He thought about the way Ivan had looked at him—like a collector looking at a rare vase.

The studio door creaked. It was a soft sound, but it made Leo jump. He turned to see Dmitri walking in. He wasn't wearing a suit today; he was in a black sweater that made him look even more imposing.

"You haven't added a single stroke in three hours," Dmitri said, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room. He wasn't looking at Leo; he was looking at the empty canvas.

"I'm not a machine, Dmitri," Leo said, wiping his hands on a rag. "I can't just turn it on because you want me to."

Dmitri walked over to the window, looking out at the sprawling gardens. "We don't expect you to be a machine. We expect you to be inspired. We’ve given you everything a person could need for inspiration. The light, the space, the silence."

Leo stood up, his legs feeling stiff. "Maybe that's the problem. It's too quiet. I can hear my own heartbeat, and it sounds like a clock counting down. Silence isn't inspiration. Sometimes it's just a void."

"You're being dramatic again," Dmitri replied, turning around. He had a small, tight smile on his face. "Ivan is worried about you. He thinks we pushed you too hard this morning. He’s currently downstairs planning a dinner that he thinks will make you 'forgive' us."

"I don't want a fancy dinner," Leo said, his voice rising. "I want to feel like I own my own thoughts. Do you even understand that? When I’m in this house, I feel like my thoughts belong to the Volkov estate."

Dmitri stepped closer, his shadow falling over Leo’s workspace. "Your thoughts are your own, Leo. But your safety, your comfort, and your future? Those belong to us. That is the deal."

"I never signed a deal!" Leo shouted.

Dmitri didn't flinch. He just reached out and adjusted the position of a jar of brushes on the table. "You stayed. That was the signature."

The tension was broken by a soft buzz from the pocket of Leo’s trousers. It was his phone. Usually, no one messaged him except the twins or the house staff. He pulled it out, expecting a message from Ivan about the menu.

His heart skipped a beat. It was an unknown number. No contact name, no profile picture. Just a string of digits he didn't recognize.

Leo swiped the screen.

Do you know who Arthur Volkov really is?

Leo felt the blood drain from his face. His fingers went cold. He stared at the screen, the words burning into his mind. Arthur Volkov. The twins' father. The man whose name was whispered in hushed tones, a ghost who still ruled the family from his grave—or wherever he was.

"Who is it?" Dmitri asked. He had noticed the change in Leo’s posture. He was moving toward him now, his eyes narrowing. "Is it Ivan?"

Leo quickly locked the phone and shoved it back into his pocket. "No. It’s... it’s nothing. Just a spam message. Some company trying to sell me insurance."

Dmitri stopped a few feet away. He didn't look convinced. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Leo. Let me see the phone."

"No," Leo said, his voice trembling. "It’s my phone, Dmitri. You said my thoughts were my own. Does that not include my messages?"

Dmitri’s expression hardened. The air in the room suddenly felt very thin. "Don't play games with me. There are people who would love to use you to get to us. If someone is contacting you, I need to know."

"It was a wrong number!" Leo lied, his heart hammering against his ribs. "They asked for a 'Mike.' I told them they had the wrong person. That’s all."

Dmitri stared at him for a long, agonizing minute. He seemed to be searching Leo’s eyes for any sign of a crack. Finally, he straightened his sweater.

"Fine," Dmitri said softly. "But remember, Leo. We protect you from the world. If you start keeping secrets, you’re stepping outside of that protection. You won't like it out there."

Dmitri turned and walked out of the studio, closing the door firmly behind him.

Leo waited until he heard the footsteps fade away. He slumped back onto his stool, his breath coming in short, jagged gasps. He pulled the phone out again. The message was still there.

Do you know who Arthur Volkov really is?

Leo looked at the empty canvas. He realized he was shaking. He didn't know who Arthur Volkov was, not really. He knew the public story—the billionaire, the visionary, the patriarch. But the tone of the message suggested something much darker.

"Who are you?" Leo whispered to the screen.

He looked at the door. He felt like the walls were closing in. The gold cage was still there, but now, there was a shadow moving outside of it. Someone knew he was here. Someone knew the name that made the twins go cold.

Leo stood up and walked to the window. He looked out at the gate, far in the distance. For the first time, he didn't just feel like

a doll. He felt like a target.