All Chapters of MY STEPBROTHERS, MY RUIN : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

The mansion was darker than usual that evening. Shadows stretched across the polished marble floors, and the flicker of candlelight cast long shapes against the walls. Elena carried a tray of tea, her hands steady but her mind racing.She had learned to move silently, but tonight, the silence felt heavier. Something was wrong.Dante’s office door was closed, yet she could hear low voices from inside. Guards shifted nervously in the hallway. Her stomach tightened.“Elena,” a soft voice called. It was one of the younger guards. “Stay here.”She nodded, trying not to shake.Inside, Dante stood behind his desk, his expression unreadable. Across from him, a man she didn’t recognize was speaking. Words like “weakness,” “threat,” and “target” floated faintly to her ears.Dante’s hand rested lightly on the desk, fingers tapping. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous.The stranger’s voice rose. “You can’t protect her forever. She’s a liability.”Elena’s chest clenched. Her heart raced. He wasn’t talking

The Volkov estate did not look like a home.It looked like a fortress.Tall iron gates. Stone walls. Armed men at every corner. The cars drove through without stopping. No one questioned Alexei Volkov.Anya watched everything through the tinted window. She memorized turns, doors, guard shifts. Habit.The car stopped in front of a wide staircase. The house was dark except for the entrance lights.Dmitri opened her door.“Welcome,” he said flatly.She stepped out without touching his hand.Inside, the air smelled like smoke and expensive wood polish. The floors were black marble. No pictures on the walls. No warmth.“This is where you live?” she asked.“This is where we work,” Nikolai answered.Alexei walked ahead. “Come.”They entered a large room with a long table in the center. Documents were already laid out. A priest stood near the fireplace. Two older men she did not know waited silently.Anya stopped walking.“You’re doing it tonight,” she said.“Yes,” Alexei replied.“Efficient,

By noon, the war had a shape.Anya sat at the long table downstairs. The laptop was open in front of her. Files were projected onto the wall screen. Names, numbers, routes.The Volkov brothers stood across from her.Not like husbands.Like generals.“This account,” she said, pointing to a line of code, “is the spine. Everything feeds into it.”Nikolai studied the screen. “It’s clean.”“It looks clean,” she corrected. “That’s the point.”Dmitri leaned forward, palms on the table. “How many layers?”“Seven.”He let out a low whistle. “Your father was paranoid.”“He was careful,” she replied. “There’s a difference.”Alexei had not spoken yet. He watched her instead of the screen.“Show me the failsafe,” he said.She typed again. A hidden folder opened.“If the main account is breached, funds split automatically into smaller shells,” she explained. “Each under a different sector. Agriculture. Shipping. Medical imports.”Nikolai nodded slowly. “Smart.”“He trusted you with this?” Dmitri as

The study remained silent for a long time after the doctor left. Anya stood in the center of the room, aware of three sets of eyes on her. The admission hung in the air like poison gas—colorless, odorless, deadly. Six weeks of careful management, of stolen moments in bathrooms counting days, of listening to her body whisper secrets she’d tried to ignore. All of it crystallized in a single sentence from a doctor’s mouth. Dmitri moved first. He walked to the decanter of whiskey and poured a drink without offering anyone else. His jaw worked as he drank, processing. The amber liquid caught the afternoon light filtering through the study windows—light that suddenly seemed too bright, too revealing. He didn’t taste it. His mind was already three moves ahead, calculating what this meant for her safety, for their arrangement, for the fragile construction they’d been building. Alexei remained by the window, his reflection ghostlike in the glass. His posture hadn’t changed, but something in

Three weeks passed without incident, which meant everything was about to collapse. Anya recognized the pattern now—the deceptive calm that preceded chaos. She’d lived long enough to understand that stability was always temporary, always fragile, always waiting for the moment it would shatter. But this time, she’d allowed herself to hope it might be different. She should have known better. The first sign came on a Tuesday morning, when Nikolai summoned all of them to the study. Not a casual gathering. A summons. The kind of command that made Anya’s stomach tighten with instinctive dread. She was the last to arrive. Dmitri was by the window. Alexei stood near the fireplace, his expression carefully neutral. Nikolai sat at his desk, and there was something in his posture that made every muscle in Anya’s body go rigid. “Sit,” Nikolai said, and it wasn’t a suggestion. Anya sat, perching on the edge of a chair as if she might need to flee at any moment. She was fourteen weeks pregnant