Sera's POV
His mother was nothing like I imagined. Not the rude, foreboding woman my mind had painted despite being Judas Romanovski's mother. Instead, she was a beam of light in this damn family of brooding men. It almost felt normal. Almost.
"Sit, dear," Rara said softly offering a warm smile. It was hard to believe that someone like her could exist in a family like this. I never judge a book by its cover, but the freaking Romanovski name screamed violence and nothing else.
Her warm smile radiated an unwavering kindness, yet her presence carried an elegance I couldn't grasp. Like the gentle breeze before a hurricane.
"No, no, please, Mrs. Romanovski, I can-" I stammered, moving to pour the tea myself.
But she placed a firm hand on mine, stopping me. "Nonsense. You're Judas's guest. Let me."
Guest… I wanted to scoff and drag her to the bedroom and show her what her dear son had been doing to me. But that would be embarrassing for me and her also. So I refrained.
Her insistence was wrapped in politeness, but it left no room for argument. I sat back down, feeling like a child being chastised by a generous teacher. Somehow the more I talked with her, the more I was missing my own family.
She moved with effortless grace, retrieving the tea set.
"Judas tells me little these days," she began, though I sensed an edge in her tone when took his name. Come to think of it, Judas didn't greeted his mother. My fingers tightened around the delicate china cup in front of me. She glanced at me, her smile unwavering but her eyes searching. "How is he?"
My throat closed. I swallowed hard, trying to ease the sudden dryness. "He's... fine," I managed, but my voice betrayed me, cracking like brittle glass.
Her head tilted slightly, the way a cat studies a bird. Not predatory-curious. She noticed everything, and it unnerved me. Still, she didn't press. Instead, she pushed the sugar bowl toward me. "He's always been... difficult to reach. Even as a boy."
What a coincidence. He was still unreachable.
I nodded stiffly, not trusting myself to speak. Could she see through me? Did she know how Judas made my heart race-not with love, but fear? Did she suspect that his shadow loomed over me even now, dictating every word I said, every breath I took?
I took a sip of tea to buy myself time, but the warmth of the liquid burned my throat, and I coughed violently. Rara was immediately at my side, her hand gently patting my back. "Easy there, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," I rasped, waving her off, though my cheeks burned with embarrassment.
Her concern seemed genuine, but that only made her more dangerous. How could someone so kind be the mother of a man like Judas?
"Judas can be... intense," she said carefully, returning to her seat. Her tone was casual, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper. Regret, perhaps? Or was it simply resignation?
I nodded again, unsure of what to say.
She changed the subject, thankfully. "You know, I have four children," she said, her voice light and conversational. "Twin daughters. Anya and my sweet Krystina. Zayne, too."
Zayne.
The name snagged in my mind like a loose thread. Zayne? Who was Zayne? I had never heard Judas mention a brother, nor had anyone else.
I didn't ask, though. It wasn't my place.
"Anya," I said instead. She helped me. I never got the chance to thank her properly. "Nice name."
Rara smiled, and for a moment, she looked younger. Softer. "Anya has her father's fire, Russian blood as they say," she said fondly. "But her heart is mine. She won't admit it, of course."
Her words carried a quiet pride, and I felt a pang of longing. I envied how easily she spoke of her children, how effortlessly she claimed their qualities as extensions of herself. It was a love I had never known.
Her gaze dawdled for a moment longer and her eyes softened as her fingers idly traced the rim of her teacup. "So," she began, "are you and Judas... dating?"
I choked mid-sip, the tea scalding my throat as I coughed violently once again. Rara was at my side in an instant, her delicate hands patting my back with maternal concern.
"Goodness, I'm sorry, dear. I didn't mean to startle you," she sounded genuinely apologetic, though I noticed the faintest trace of amusement in her eyes.
I waved her off shaking my head. "It's... fine."
Were we dating?
How do I explain something I didn't understand myself? Not even to the world, but to my own heart?
I could feel the intensity of her gaze as I set the teacup down and my hands trembled slightly.
I was terrified of labelling it because once you name something, it would become real-and reality was the last thing I could handle right now.
"It's... complicated," I finally managed to whisper as an ugly heaviness weighed my chest down.
Rara tilted her head quizzically. She didn't press, didn't demand more from me, but her silence was louder than words.
Complicated.
Was that even the right word? Judas wasn't like anyone I'd ever known-intense, terrifying, magnetic in a way that made it impossible to breathe when he was near. He wasn't mine, not in any real sense. But he wasn't not mine, either. The lines between us were blurred.
It was easier to live in the grey, where feelings blur and lines didn't matter. But she was asking me to choose a colour, and I didn't even know if I was allowed to hold the brush.
"Complicated can mean many things," she said softly and I blinked away the haziness in my eyes. Why were my eyes misting? Why did it suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe. "But it often means one thing above all-you unknowingly care, even if you wish you didn't."
I froze. Her words hit closer to the truth than I wanted to admit. Did I care? Or was it fear? Or both, woven together so tightly I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began?
"It's not... like that," I said, though even to my own ears, the words sounded hollow. Just like this world. Just like me.
"Judas has always been... difficult," she said after a pause. "But he's also fiercely loyal to the people he cares about. It's not always easy to see, though."
I bit my lip. Care. Loyalty. Those weren't words I associated with Judas. And yet... there were moments, fleeting and rare, where I thought I saw something softer beneath the storm.
"He doesn't care about me," I said quickly not liking the way she was defending him. Either she didn't know her son's psychotic tendencies or otherwise. "I mean... not like that."
"Are you sure?"
I looked up at her. Her eyes were softer now.
Was I sure?
I opened my mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to say. Judas wasn't the type to show affection-or even recognize it. But he hadn't pushed me away completely, either. He kept me close, too close sometimes. Was that care? Or control?
"It doesn't matter," I swallowed hard. "Whatever it is... it's not real."
"Sometimes," she muttered, "the things we think aren't real are the things we feel the deepest."
Her words settled over me like a blanket I wasn't sure I wanted. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing, my hands tightening around the cool porcelain of the teacup as I averted my gaze.