Mag-log inThe studio had a second wall now.Not instead of the first alongside it. Aleksandra had decided, somewhere around her second birthday, that she too required a wall for pinning things, and since nobody in this family had ever been particularly good at telling her no when the request was reasonable, Priti had put up a small cork board at exactly her height, in the corner by the couch, where she pinned drawings that were mostly scribbles but occasionally, startlingly, contained an actual sense of color that made me stop and look twice.Matteo preferred fabric. He'd discovered, around the same age, that bolts of fabric were excellent for hiding inside, and most mornings now involved a brief search before anyone could start work."He's behind the velvet again," Viktor said, not looking up from his coffee, on the morning everything came together."He's always behind the velvet.""He thinks we don't know.""We should probably let him keep thinking that."It was a Thursday in early spring, t
The collection launched on a Tuesday.I stood backstage in the venue Volkov Industries used for its biannual showcases the same room, I realized partway through setup, where Elara had once given her engagement press conference. Nobody had mentioned that to me. I noticed it myself, looking at the particular angle of the podium against the back wall, and felt something that wasn't quite irony and wasn't quite satisfaction. Just the strange flatness of time, the way rooms hold things and then let them go.I was thirty-eight weeks pregnant and built like a small, determined boat, and Priti had reworked my own outfit for the evening four times because nothing fit the way it had a month ago, and somewhere around the third fitting we'd both started laughing so hard we'd had to stop."You could just not stand up," Camille suggested, fixing my hair backstage. "Sit in a very elegant chair. Preside. Like a queen.""I'm not presiding from a chair, Camille.""I'm just saying it's an option."The
Eight weeks later, I stood in the studio at six in the morning with the new wall finished pale grey, fresh, the paint smell still faint and pinned up the first sketch.The asymmetrical coat. The one I'd been too scared to make at twenty-six.I'd spent the last two months building it properly. Not alone I'd pulled in two of the junior pattern cutters from the old team, both of whom had stayed on through the restructuring and both of whom, it turned out, had been quietly making things on their own time that nobody had ever asked to see. One of them, a woman named Priti, had a portfolio of beadwork that made me actually sit down for a minute when she finally showed it to me, three weeks into working together, almost apologetically, like she expected to be told it wasn't relevant.It was the most relevant thing I'd seen in years.The collection had grown from one coat into eleven pieces. Not a full line that would come later, slower, the way everything was happening now but a stateme
The waiting room had the kind of magazines nobody actually reads and a fish tank nobody actually watches, and Camille had claimed three chairs in a row before I'd even finished checking in, which meant Viktor ended up between us, looking faintly out of place in his good coat among the stack of parenting pamphlets."You can take your coat off," Camille told him. "It's not a board meeting.""I'm aware," Viktor said, and took his coat off.I watched the two of them settle into what had become, over the past few weeks, an easy kind of bickering Camille testing him, Viktor absorbing it with something that looked almost like relief, like being teased by my sister was a relief after months of people either fearing him or wanting something from him. Camille wanted nothing from him except for him to occasionally be told he was wrong about something, and he seemed to find that restful."Reyes," the nurse called.I stood. Both of them stood with me, automatically, and then looked at each other,
Gregor's preliminary hearing was three weeks later.I hadn't planned to go. Grace had told me my presence wasn't required, that the inheritance claim and the company restructuring were entirely separate from the criminal proceedings, that I could read about it in Dani's coverage like everyone else.But Natalia asked me to come.She called the night before, her voice careful in the way it had been since the bar, since the envelope, since everything that had started with her handing me a thick envelope across a table I'd never have chosen."I don't have anyone else," she said simply. "Viktor will be there because he has to be, as a witness, and that's its own kind of difficult for him. I need I think I need someone in that room who isn't required to be there. Who's choosing to be."So I went.The courtroom was smaller than I'd expected. Less theater than the news coverage had implied just wood paneling, fluorescent light, the particular hush of a room where everyone present understood
We went the next morning.Viktor drove. I sat in the passenger seat and watched the city give way to the long tree-lined road I'd walked down with a cardboard box six weeks ago, and tried to figure out what I was feeling as the gates came into view.The same gates. The same iron scrollwork I'd stared at from the wrong side a thousand times.They opened automatically as we approached. No Dimitri standing inside them this time he was at the company, Viktor had said, dealing with the fallout from Osei's removal, but he'd sent a message that morning. Tell her the gate misses her. Viktor had read it out loud in the car with a completely straight face, and I'd laughed for the first time in days at something that wasn't dark.The house looked the same. Of course it did. Six weeks was nothing to a building like this.I sat in the car for a moment after Viktor parked."You don't have to go in," he said. "If it's too much. We can come back another day, or never, or""I want to go in," I said.
Six days before I walked into that clinic I was still in Viktor's house.Still in my studio. Still designing his spring collection. Still eating breakfast in a kitchen that was about to stop being mine without anyone telling me yet.Six days before I sat on that bathroom floor with a test in my han
He was there when I arrived. Corner booth, back to the wall. Same as always. The coffee in front of him had stopped steaming.Half empty in there. Someone dragging a chair somewhere. Radio in the kitchen, too low to make out.I stopped in the doorway. Looked at him for a second before he saw me.So
I found three Peter Sands online.A retired schoolteacher in Ohio. A marathon runner in Auckland. And a corporate lawyer based in the city, specialist in mergers and acquisitions, last professional activity on record eighteen months ago.LinkedIn profile still up. Photo of a man in his fifties, rou
Natalia had lunch with Elara at one.I knew because Natalia texted me the address at twelve-forty-five. I didn't ask her to. She just sent it, no explanation, like she knew I'd want to know.I was there by twelve-fifty.Not inside. I wasn't an idiot. The restaurant was the kind Elara chose all cle







