All Chapters of THE PRICE OF THEIR NAME : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

The gala was exhausting. By the time we returned to the estate, my feet ached and my head was spinning from the endless polite lies I’d had to tell. I just wanted to disappear into the library, find a quiet corner, and exist without being watched.I didn’t even have my coat off before I saw them. Ivan and Ilya were already in the common room. Usually, they moved like two halves of the same person—quiet, synchronized, and unsettling. But tonight, the air felt different."You look like you're about to collapse, Leo," Ilya said, stepping forward first. He reached out, his fingers brushing the sleeve of my jacket. "Let me take that for you."Before I could answer, Ivan was on my other side. "I’ve already asked the kitchen to bring up that tea you like. The one with the honey."I looked between them, confused. "Thanks. Both of you. It was just a long night."I walked toward the large velvet sofa, intending to sit in the middle. But as I moved, Ilya took the spot to my left, and Ivan immedi

The rain drummed a steady, rhythmic beat against the glass of the library windows. I was curled up in a large velvet armchair, trying to lose myself in a book about Renaissance art, but the silence of the house was heavy. It wasn't a peaceful silence; it was the kind that felt like a coiled spring.Across the room, Ivan was buried under a mountain of digital tablets and paper folders. He hadn't looked up for two hours. His tie was loosened, his hair was a mess where he had been running his fingers through it, and he looked genuinely frustrated.I watched him from over the top of my book. It was rare to see Ivan look stumped. Usually, he moved through life like everything was a game he had already won."You're going to burn a hole through those papers if you keep staring at them like that," I said softly.Ivan sighed, a long, weary sound. He dropped his pen and leaned back, rubbing his eyes. "It’s the shipping routes for the Northern corridor. We have three different suppliers, two bor

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 house didn't feel like a home anymore. It felt like a factory.From the early hours of the morning, the front doors had been propped open. A constant stream of workers marched in, carrying rolls of heavy velvet carpet, massive gold-framed mirrors, and crates of crystal that clinked like falling coins. The quiet, drafty halls were gone, replaced by the shouting of decorators and the frantic scrubbing of floors.I stood on the second-floor landing, leaning against the cold stone railing. Below me, three men were struggling to hang a chandelier that looked heavy enough to crush a car."Watch the wiring!" a woman shouted from the center of the foyer. She held a clipboard like a shield. "If one bulb is dim, the whole evening is ruined!""It’s just a party," I muttered to myself."It is never just a party, Leo."I turned to see Viktor. He looked exhausted. His tie was loosened, and his sleeves were rolled up, but even in disarray, he looked like he owned the air around him. He came to s

The kitchen of the Volkov mansion was the only place that ever felt alive, but even that was a stretch. It smelled of rosemary and roasted garlic, a sharp contrast to the cold, scentless hallways of the rest of the house. I sat at the small breakfast nook, picking at a piece of toast I didn't want.I looked at the clock. 10:15 AM.Viktor and Nikolai were in the study, arguing over guest lists for the gala. I could hear the low rumble of their voices through the floorboards. To anyone else, it was just the sound of brothers working. To me, it was the sound of my cage being reinforced.I have to do it today, I thought, my fingers trembling under the table. If I don't do it now, there won't be another chance.In my pocket, a small scrap of paper felt like it was burning a hole through my jeans. I had written it late last night, huddled under my covers with a flashlight. It didn't say much—just a plea for help and a phone number I remembered from a better time.The back doorbell rang. It