NINETEEN

KATE'S POV:

The sunlight filtering through the lace curtains was golden and soft by the time we returned to the mansion, dirt-streaked and sore from the garden. My limbs ached in the best possible way, and a gentle tiredness settled over me like a warm blanket.

Aunt Leda had decided that we have the rest of the day off, and come back tomorrow to work more on the garden.

We were about to head upstairs when Della appeared at the foot of the grand staircase, hands on her hips and a slight frown tugging at her lips.

"Ladies," she called, her voice firm but not unkind. "Go wash up. The house tour begins in twenty minutes. The rest of the family members have been waiting for you three so that we could all commence together."

Evelyn groaned, tugging at her stained shirt. "She could’ve warned us earlier when she brought the lemonade for us."

I chuckled. "At least we won’t be sweating through it. And besides we need to shower, we're covered in dirt."

Back in my room, I peeled off the dirty clothes and stepped into a blissfully hot shower. The water washed away the grime of the garden, and with it, the lingering tension from the last few days.

I found myself smiling as I lathered shampoo into my scalp, thinking about the way Evelyn had opened up in the garden. It was a small thing, barely a crack in her walls but it felt monumental.

After drying off, I pulled on a navy blue polo and a pair of black jeans that hugged my hips snugly. I braided my damp hair loosely to one side, dabbed on a hint of lotion, and slipped into my white sandals. Casual but decent.

I made my way downstairs to find the family already gathered in the large foyer. Evelyn stood beside Aunt Leda in a clean lavender blouse and soft linen pants.

She gave me a nod when she saw me. Della was busy arranging her shawl while Nikolai’s younger cousin, Leo, leaned against a polished column, his phone in hand.

"Are you guys ready for the tour?" Della asked, her voice clipped but not unfriendly.

"Yes," I said, falling into line beside Evelyn.

"Good. We’ll begin with the west wing," Della announced, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she led us forward.

The west wing opened into a grand hallway flanked by towering windows and oil paintings in ornate gold frames. Each painting seemed to hold a story, and Della was all too eager to share them.

Ever since I got here, I haven't actually taken my time to look around, the garden was my only companion.

"This," she said, stopping before a large portrait of a stern-faced man in a charcoal suit, "is Nikolai’s great grandfather, Mikhail Voss. He established the family’s shipping empire. Ruthless man, but a visionary, and he ran the business like a god."

I leaned closer. The brushstrokes were bold, and the man’s eyes bore down on me with unsettling intensity. It felt like he was actually staring at me. At us.

"He looks like he could command a room just by breathing, and he looks so scary." I muttered.

Della’s lips curved slightly. "He did. He accomplished alot in his time, and irrespective of how scary he looked, he was a sweet soul deep inside."

I doubt that, he looked like If I got on his bad side, he could squash my body into pieces.

Further down the hallway, we passed display cases filled with antique clocks, some of them still ticking softly. There was an entire wall dedicated to vintage wristwatches. Della paused before one of the larger cases.

"Nikolai collects timepieces, wherever he travels too, he always gets one in his way back." she said. "Not just for their value, but for their craftsmanship. Some of these are one of a kind, some are the only one left in the world."

I noticed Evelyn’s eyes linger on a delicate gold watch with a mother of pearl face.

"This one belonged to his grandmother," Della said, following her gaze. "She was a pianist. Taught Nikolai his first melody."

It was hard to picture the cold, calculating man I’d met playing the piano, but something about the image stuck with me. I really want to know how good he is at playing it.

As we continued, Della explained more of the family’s history. The estate had been in the Voss family for five generations, and every room we passed whispered of old money and legacy.

Aunt Leda and her family were from Nikolai's mum side, they knew only few information about the Voss side.

"This wing was remodeled after the fire in ‘87," she said as we entered a corridor lined with charcoal sketches. "No lives lost, but a significant portion of the art was damaged. These pieces were salvaged. Nikolai restored them himself."

I blinked. "He draws?"

"He does, he drew a picture of me when he started for my birthday. Still on the wall back at home." Evelyn confirms.

Della nodded. "Among other things. He’s more than the businessman you see."

That answer left a strange ache in my chest. Was I too quick to judge him? How come I didn't know so many things about him, all Rhea had told me was that he was a dangerous man.

Did Rhea get to see this side of him?

We moved next into a small library, more intimate than the grand one I’d peeked into on my first day. This one had a chaise lounge, thick Persian rugs, and a tea table set for two.

"This was his mother’s reading room," Della explained, "Nikolai stopped coming here after the accident."

I paused by the shelves, my fingers trailing over the spines of worn poetry collections and rare first editions. Something personal lingered in the room, as though the scent of her perfume still clung to the wood.

We climbed a side staircase that led us to the northern wing. The moment we stepped in, it was like stepping into a museum. Glass display cases lined both walls, filled with artifacts and travel souvenirs, African masks, Greek statues, fragments of Roman tiles, and relics I couldn’t even begin to name.

"Nikolai travels extensively," Della said. "He believes in collecting stories, not just objects."

There was reverence in her tone.

I paused before a tall glass case that housed an intricately carved dagger.

"That was gifted to him by a tribal chief in Ghana," she added. "He negotiated a land reclamation project that saved dozens of villages from flood."

I turned to her, surprised. "He doesn’t talk about that."

"He rarely talks about any of it," Della said, her expression unreadable. "That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care."

From there, we entered the media room, lavish and modern, with tiered leather recliners, a popcorn machine, and surround sound. Evelyn lit up immediately.

"This is incredible, I've been here before and I never knew this place existed" Sarah, Evelyn's cousin said.

"We're having a movie night before we live," Leo chimed in with a grin. "It's going to be so much fun."

Our next stop was the east wing, Nikolai’s personal space. We weren’t allowed in his room, but Della showed us his private lounge. It was moody and masculine, dark leather, shelves lined with economic journals and spy thrillers, a bar cart in the corner with crystal decanters.

A large canvas painting hung above the fireplace. Abstract, bold, yet oddly emotional.

"He painted that after his father died," Della said quietly. "He doesn't talk about that either."

The silence that followed was heavy. I really need to know the depth of the accident that had happened. It's like they all talked about it but they never gave in much details.

We ended the tour in the atrium, where a long glass ceiling bathed the space in golden afternoon light. Plants filled the corners, and the center held a round dining table already set for lunch.

Lunch was light, grilled salmon, seasoned rice, and fresh salad. A chilled pitcher of mint lemonade sat in the center. The conversations were low but pleasant. Aunt Leda talked about the progress in the garden. Evelyn nodded along and even added a few suggestions.

Sarah who I haven't heard her voice until recently, talked about leaving and mansion and sight seeing around the city. Evelyn and I agreed to tag along to keep her safe.

I sat back, sipping my lemonade, letting the calm of the day wash over me.

Nikolai’s world was a fortress, a walls of legacy, pride, and wealth. But today, I’d seen the cracks in the armor. The grandmother who played piano. The sketches rescued from a fire. The watch that still ticked with memory. I really didn't know much about the man I had married.

And maybe, just maybe, I was starting to understand why the walls existed.

And then an idea popped into my head. I was going to convince Nikolai to do something with me. He couldn't refuse, his family will make him say yes to whatever I ask of him.

I might use that to my advantage.