Chapter 146 Chapter 146 Girls Night
As soon as I park, I call the girls down to help me with the alcohol. Tish, Erika, Mia, and Tiana come down within minutes. It’s my first time buying alcohol legally. I thought I’d feel different—older, maybe—but I don’t. It feels exactly the same. I’ve got a box of hard liquor, three cases of beer, and a bunch of fruity drinks too.
The elevator doors slide open.
“It was all Gemma,” Tish says sheepishly.
“Let me guess,” I roll my eyes, shifting the weight of the box in my arms. “All the guys are in there too.”
“Stanislav, some of the Pavlovs, Alek, Sergey, and their cousin Boris,” Tiana spits out. “And that Miroslav guy you don’t like.”
“Vladimira and her friends were just as pissed at Gemma,” Mia adds.
“Whatever.” I let the irritation slip through before I shove it back down. “I give up. She’s always going to pull this shit on me.”
I smooth my expression into something cold before stepping out.
The second I walk in, it hits me—noise, chatter, overlapping languages. Everyone’s already drinking. The place is packed. We haul the alcohol into the kitchen, stuffing what we can into the fridge and leaving the rest on the counter.
I grab a beer without thinking and make a straight line for the balcony. The living room is full—too full. Vladimira, Petia, and Yulia glance at me with those sad, knowing eyes. No chance for girl talk with all these men around.
My hand is already on the door when—
“What did you need to talk to Mason about? Is he trying to date you again?” Gemma asks.
I pause.
Alek, Sergey, and who I assume is Boris are sitting with her, playing cards on the ottoman. The Pavlovs are sprawled across the couch with Miroslav. The only one I don’t see is Ivan.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” I scoff, “but no. He’s not trying to date me again. Mason knows better than that.”
“Well… what then?” she presses.
My eyes flick to Dimitri for a split second. “We talked about messes.”
I don’t give her anything else. I slide the balcony door open and step outside, shutting it behind me.
I don’t bother turning on the light. The glow from inside spills just enough across the middle of the balcony, leaving the corners dark.
Except—
There’s a bright, burning cherry to my right.
Ivan.
Of course.
He steps forward slowly, dressed all in black, but not his usual suit. Sweats. Hoodie half-zipped. A silver chain at his throat. No shirt underneath—just ink, skin, and shadows.
He doesn’t say a word. Just leans over the railing, elbows resting, exhaling smoke into the night.
I sink into my lounger, the cushion soft beneath me. I reach for my little box on the table, pull out a joint, and light it. Ivan glances over his shoulder at me. His expression tightens—just for a second—before it goes cold again.
That coldness stings more than I want it to.
Like I’m nothing.
Like I’m her.
I don’t even know why Vladimira puts up with it. This whole thing feels like some fucked-up triangle—or square if you add Dimitri. But Dimitri was different. He hid behind his job, not another woman.
I take a long drag, letting the weed and beer blur the edges of everything. I pull out my phone and text Mason that I made it home, only because he asked me to.
Ivan stays silent, but I can hear him—breathing heavier than necessary. After a moment, he turns, leaning back against the railing, facing me fully now.
I don’t look away.
You’re in my house.
He exhales smoke slowly, lips parting like he’s about to say something. Then—
“What happened?” he asks, motioning toward my sweats.
It takes me a second to catch up. “Idiot,” I mutter under my breath.
“Nothing,” I answer finally. “I haven’t gotten… uncomfortable like that in over two years. I’m just wearing them because they’re soft.”
Ivan steps closer. His hand reaches out, brushing the fabric of my sleeve. My hand lifts without thinking, touching his. Same material. Same softness.
I glance down and notice the logo.
A small skull.
Same as mine.
He chuckles quietly when he notices too, but doesn’t say anything.
For a split second, it’s there—that spark. That pull. The one I hate. The one I can’t seem to kill.
Then—
The door slides open.
We both pull our hands back like we’ve been burned.
Vladimira steps out.
Her eyes flick between us. She saw it. I know she did. Something shifts across her face, but she doesn’t call it out.
“I need to talk to Elena,” she says, her voice sharp. “Can you get lost?”
Ivan growls low in his throat but doesn’t argue. He crushes his cigarette out in his palm like it’s nothing and walks back inside.
The door shuts behind him.
Vladimira sits across from me.
Silence settles heavy between us.
“Did you mean what you said… about adopting?” she asks, gripping her water bottle so hard it crinkles.
“Yes,” I answer, blowing smoke out slowly.
Another stretch of silence.
Then—
“I’m pregnant.”
She says it so fast I almost miss it.
“He told me to get an abortion but…” her voice cracks as she looks down. “…I can’t fucking do that. I’m not seeing him anymore. When I start to show, I’m going to France with Petia. After I have the baby… I’ll come back stateside.”
I choke on my smoke like it’s my first time ever getting high.
Pregnant.
Ivan’s?
Of course it is.
She has the one thing he wanted.
The one thing I can’t give him.
And he still turned her away.
This is too much.
Way too fucking much.
“What I’m trying to ask…” she continues, her voice shaking now. “…do you want to adopt this baby? I’ll relinquish all my rights. Closed adoption. Although…” she hesitates, “…I think we’ll be in each other’s lives forever.”
God, I hope not.
I’m so fucking tired of standing next to her—her perfect hair, her slim waist, that effortless polish. Every time I see her, she looks like she walked out of a magazine.
And me?
I’m just trying to hold myself together.
“Yes,” I say.
No hesitation.
No thought.
It’s probably a terrible idea.
But fuck it.
Maybe it’s exactly what I need.
The door slides open again.
“Come in,” Petia calls out, grinning. “We’re starting a drinking game.”