Chapter 221 Want to ask him

Chapter 221 Want to ask him
ELENA’S POV

“Sleep tight, Papa. I love you,” I whispered softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead as his steady breathing filled the room. He had already dozed off while we were watching the evening news together, and it eased my heart to see that his coughing had quieted. The pale glow of the television flickered over his lined face, and for a fleeting moment, everything felt normal again, safe.

After my morning with Andrey Volkov, it had taken every ounce of willpower to get through the day. That man, if one could even call him a man and not something far more dangerous had left me unbalanced in ways I couldn’t put into words. There was something predatory about him, something that stirred instincts I didn’t understand. When he left me, my body had still been trembling, my thoughts scattered, my breath uneven. He’d walked away with that quiet, wicked smirk and a promise that made my stomach twist and my heart race.

Tonight.

The word alone sent a shiver down my spine.

In the few hours before Antonio was due to pick me up, I visited Papa at the hospital. It was only a short walk from Andrey’s estate, though even calling that mansion a “home” felt wrong. It was too big, too old and too quiet. 

Papa and I shared coffee in paper cups, talking about how my dance show was progressing. Every time I saw his eyes light up, I felt a sharp sting of guilt. He thought my life was still filled with music and grace. He didn’t know that the stage lights had dimmed for me long ago, replaced by shadows and the pull of a man like Andrey Volkov, a man who commanded obedience without words.

Part of me wanted to confess, to tell Papa everything. About Andrey. About the strange hold he had over me. But I couldn’t. He wouldn’t understand. Even I didn’t understand.

To Papa, I was still his grand daughter, the girl who had danced her way into the hearts of audiences. He didn’t need to know that I was now trapped in a world where power and danger blended too easily with desire. From a celebrated ballerina to… someone’s possession.

When I returned to Volkov’s property, the sight of a black SUV parked in front made my steps falter. Antonio was early.

“Elena!” he called, stepping out of the vehicle with his usual energy. “Had I known you weren’t here, I could’ve picked you up elsewhere.”

“It’s fine,” I said quickly, forcing a smile. “I just had a quick errand. I’m ready now. I assume Andrey told you where to take me?”

“He did,” Antonio said, eyes bright. “He gave me a list of stores that should have something suitable for the Gala. But if there’s anywhere else you’d like to stop, we can adjust.”

He was always kind, loyal to his boss to a fault. Still, something about the way he said “his boss” always carried an edge of reverence fear, even.

“Nothing comes to mind,” I murmured. “Let’s just get this done. All I know is that Andrey requested me to wear blue.”

Antonio chuckled as he guided me into the car. “Yeah, that sounds like him. Something about the theme of the Gala. He’s told me bits and pieces, but I’m not going to that thing.”

Lucky him.

We merged into traffic, heading into the glittering heart of the city. The closer we got to Fifth Avenue, the more my pulse picked up. The skyscrapers glistened like fangs in the sunlight, and I couldn’t shake the strange unease that prickled along my neck.

Fifth Avenue, home of the world’s most luxurious stores. And here I was, a former prima ballerina, sitting in a car owned by one of New York’s most powerful men, about to shop for a Gala dress that I didn’t want to wear.

Antonio suddenly reached into his jacket pocket. “Oh, he told me to give you this.”

He handed me a sleek black card. Heavy. Metallic. The kind of card that didn’t just buy things, it owned them.

“He said you can buy anything you want today,” Antonio added.

“Oh,” I breathed, the card cold in my fingers. It was heavier than it looked, like it carried the weight of its owner’s command. I wanted to hand it back, but I didn’t.

Andrey Volkov didn’t make offers; he issued orders disguised as gifts.

“Do you need me to help you carry things?” Antonio asked as he parked.

“No, thank you,” I replied quickly. “I don’t plan on buying much. And Andrey said he might come by, so I’ll try to hurry. I don’t want him waiting.”

The thought of seeing him again made my heart skip in a mix of dread and anticipation.

“Eh! Take your time,” Antonio said, waving me off with a smile.

I smiled back, grateful for his warmth. He didn’t belong in Andrey’s dark world either, but he seemed to navigate it better than most.

The bell above the boutique door chimed as I stepped inside. Every head turned at once. The women dressed in sleek black eyed me like they were deciding whether I was worthy to breathe their air. I almost turned around.

Then one of them gasped softly. “Oh! My goodness, you’re that ballerina! The one from the magazine!”

I blinked, startled. “Ah, yeah. That’s me.”

Her face lit up. “I knew it! I’m Margaret,” she said, her voice filled with warmth. “Let me know if you need any help. I’d be honored!”

Something about her, her kind eyes, her gentle wrinkles reminded me of my grandmother. “Actually,” I said softly, “I’m attending an event soon. I need a dress.”

“Oh, perfect! What color?”

“Blue,” I said automatically. “It has to be blue.”

“Then let’s get started!”

She guided me through rows of shimmering fabric, each more dazzling than the last. The store felt like a maze of colors, mirrors, and polished marble floors. I could almost feel the eyes of the other attendants on me whispering, assessing and judging.

“So what kind of event is this?” Margaret asked casually as she sifted through a rack of sapphire gowns.

“It’s… not for me,” I said. “A business Gala. I’m attending as someone’s guest.”

“Oh?” she asked with a playful glint. “A boyfriend?”

I froze, then forced a laugh. “I don’t know if I’d call him that. Maybe… a friend.”

Margaret raised an eyebrow, her knowing smile soft. “Well, if he’s not your boyfriend yet, he will be after he sees you in one of these.”

Her words made me laugh, but the sound came out hollow. The thought of Andrey Volkov as a boyfriend was absurd. He was something else entirely, something darker.

Even now, his presence lingered in my mind. The way his deep voice could fill a room without effort. The quiet power in his stare. The subtle growl in his words when I defied him.

I told myself he was just another client. Just another man.

But deep down, I knew that was a lie. 

There was something about Andrey Volkov that I didn’t understand. It felt older, deeper. I just couldn’t describe it and yet I currently didn’t have the guts to ask him what’s wrong with him.

And as I stood surrounded by silk and light, part of me couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere out there, his eyes were already on me.

Watching. Waiting.

And that tonight, when our paths crossed again, the game between us would change. I wanted to at least ask him.