Chapter 86: The Old Ledger

The library was the only place in the house that still felt like it didn't belong to the twins. It was too vast, too filled with the thoughts of dead men for Ilya’s temper or Ivan’s coldness to really take root. Today, the rain was drumming a steady, rhythmic beat against the tall windows, blurring the world outside into a grey smudge.

I was supposed to be looking for a book on architecture that Ivan had mentioned, but my mind was wandering. My skin still felt tight from the encounter the night before. Being their "anchor" felt less like a role and more like a sentence.

I climbed the rolling ladder to reach the higher shelves near the back corner. This area was thick with dust. It seemed like no one had touched these books in decades. As I shifted a heavy volume of Greek history, a thin, leather-bound book tipped over and slid behind the shelf.

"Great," I whispered to myself.

I reached my arm into the dark gap, my fingers brushing against cold wood and spiderwebs. I felt the corner of the book and pulled it out. It wasn't the history book. It was a ledger—long, narrow, and covered in a layer of grime that turned my fingertips black.

I climbed down and sat on the floor, leaning my back against the ladder. I wiped the cover with my sleeve. There was no title, just a year stamped in fading gold: Twenty years ago.

I opened it. The handwriting inside was beautiful—sharp, slanted, and precise. It was a record of the Volkov estate’s "investments." I flipped through pages of numbers, lists of properties, and names of companies I didn't recognize.

Then, my heart stopped.

On a page titled Quarterly Acquisitions, halfway down the list, a name jumped out at me.

Vance.

My father’s name.

It wasn't under "Partnerships." It wasn't under "Loans." It was under "Acquisitions." Like he was a piece of land. Like he was a fleet of trucks.

"What are you doing back here?"

I jumped, the ledger nearly flying out of my hands. Ivan was standing at the end of the aisle. He looked tired, his hair a bit messy, his tie loosened at his throat. He was leaning against a bookshelf, watching me with those calculating eyes.

"Just... looking for that book you wanted," I said, my voice coming out thin. I tried to close the ledger, but I wasn't fast enough.

Ivan walked over, his footsteps silent on the rug. He knelt down beside me, his presence immediately making the air feel smaller. He looked at the open page. I felt him stiffen.

"Where did you find this?" he asked. His voice wasn't angry, but it had a new edge to it. A sharp, defensive edge.

"It fell," I said, looking up at him. "Ivan, why is my father’s name in here? Why is it under 'Acquisitions'?"

Ivan reached out and took the book from me. He stared at the name 'Vance' for a long time. He didn't look surprised. He looked like he was seeing a ghost he had tried very hard to forget.

"It was a long time ago, Leo," Ivan said quietly. "Our father... he had a different way of doing business. He didn't believe in handshakes. He believed in ownership."

"Ownership?" I felt a surge of heat in my chest. "You’re talking about my dad. You’re talking about my family. This makes it look like your father bought him. Like he was a trophy."

"In a way, he was," a new voice said.

Ilya was standing in the doorway. He walked in, looking between me and Ivan. He saw the ledger and his jaw tightened. "That’s the old man’s book. You shouldn't be reading that, Leo. It’s full of ugly things."

"I want to know," I said, standing up so I didn't have to look up at them. I felt small enough as it was. "Did your family destroy my father's business just so they could 'acquire' him? Was my whole life just a line item in a book for you people?"

Ilya rubbed the back of his neck. He looked at Ivan, silently asking for a way out of the conversation. Ivan just kept staring at the ledger.

"He was a brilliant man, Leo," Ilya said, his voice unusually soft. "But he was in the way. Our father didn't like people who were in the way. So he took everything Vance had. The office, the patents, the staff. And then, he offered him a job. A way to keep his head above water."

"He didn't offer him a job," I snapped, my voice cracking. "He trapped him! My father used to come home looking like he’d been in a war every single day. I remember him sitting in the dark, just staring at nothing. I never knew why. Now I do."

I looked at both of them. The men who claimed they couldn't live without me. The men who needed me to keep them sane.

"You’re doing it again," I whispered. "You're just like him."

"No," Ivan said sharply, finally looking up. His eyes were wide, almost panicked. "It’s not the same. We didn't destroy you, Leo. We’re trying to keep you."

"Is there a difference?" I asked. I felt a tear track down my cheek, and I didn't bother to wipe it away. "You 'acquired' my father. And now you’ve 'acquired' me. Am I going to end up in a ledger too? Leo: Asset acquired. Emotional regulator. Property of Volkov."

"Don't say that," Ilya said, stepping toward me. He reached out to touch my shoulder, but I flinched away. His hand hung in the air, looking awkward and heavy. "We love you. The old man didn't know what that meant. We do."

"Love isn't a business deal," I said, backing away from them. I felt the coldness of the library walls behind me. "You say you need me. You say I'm your anchor. But maybe you just like having the thing you took. Maybe you just like seeing the 'Vance' name under your thumb."

Ivan closed the ledger with a soft thud. The sound echoed in the quiet room. "We can't change what our father did, Leo. We can only change what happens now."

"Then let me go," I said. It was a test. I knew the answer, but I had to hear it.

Ivan’s face went stone-cold. The vulnerability from the night before was gone, replaced by a wall of steel. Ilya looked away, unable to meet my eyes.

"We can't do that," Ivan said. "You know we can't."

I looked at the leather book in Ivan's hand. It was just paper and ink, but it felt like a cage. My father had been a line in that book, and I was the sequel.

"Then don't ever tell me you love me again," I said, my voice steady despite the shaking in my hands. "Because owners don't love what they own. They just maintain it."

I walked past them, my shoulder brushing Ilya's arm. Neither of them tried to stop me this time. They just stood there in the dust of their father's library, holding the evidence of their family's g

reed, while I walked out into the rain.