The black luxury car pulled up to the most exclusive shopping district.
Elena stepped out alongside Tatiana and Irina, feeling completely out of place in her soft sweater and jeans.
She wasn't used to designer streets where every window sparkled with things she couldn't even imagine affording on her own.
Tatiana, however, looked right at home. She looped her arm through Elena's, grinning like she was about to commit a glorious crime.
"Today, girl, you're not Elena Cruz. Today, you're Mrs. Volkov in training."
Elena blushed furiously. "Don't say that—"
But Irina, Damian's mother, was smiling knowingly.
"I think Tatiana is right. You are part of this family now. You should carry yourself as such."
Her words both warmed and unsettled Elena, but before she could answer, Tatiana dragged her straight into the first boutique.
A jewelry store.
A well-dressed attendant immediately approached.
"Welcome. Would you like to see our newest collection?"
Tatiana answered before Elena could protest. "Yes. Bring out everything that sparkles."
Elena stammered. "Tatiana, wait—"
But Tatiana was already slipping bracelets onto Elena's wrist, necklaces against her collarbone, rings onto her fingers.
"You look like a princess," she declared. "No—more like a queen."
Irina chuckled softly, though her eyes stayed fixed on Elena.
"You suit fine jewelry… you carry it with a kind of innocence most women here lost a long time ago."
Elena's cheeks burned. "I don't need these things."
Tatiana waved her hand dismissively. "You have Damian's card. That means you do need them."
At the mention of his card, Irina's brow rose. "Wait. Damian gave you his card?"
"Yes," Tatiana said proudly before Elena could stop her. "Slid it right across the table. Told her to buy everything she likes."
Irina actually froze. "My son? Damian Volkov? He gave you his personal card?"
Elena bit her lip, unsure what to say. "I—I didn't want to take it, but Tatiana—"
Irina shook her head in disbelief, half amused, half touched.
"In all my years as his mother, he has never handed me his card. Not once. And you… you must be very special, Elena."
Elena wanted to sink into the floor.
But Tatiana only grinned wickedly. "Exactly why we're going to use it."
They left the store with boxes upon boxes of velvet cases filled with jewelry—diamond earrings, a sapphire pendant, a gold bracelet Elena swore she'd never wear.
They headed to the next stop. A luxury fashion house.
Inside, silk dresses and leather jackets hung like artwork.
Elena hesitated at the entrance, her hand tightening around the strap of her bag. "Tatiana, this is too much—"
Tatiana tugged her forward. "Don't argue. Just try."
Within minutes, Elena was in a fitting room, emerging in a midnight-blue gown that shimmered under the lights.
Irina's eyes softened as she clasped her hands together.
"Perfect. You look stunning."
Elena's voice was small. "I… I can't walk around in this."
Tatiana smirked. "Who said you're walking? You'll be on Damian's arm."
The thought made Elena's heart skip violently.
She shook her head, but they didn't let her escape.
They bought dresses, shoes, bags, coats—an entire wardrobe Elena would never have dared to dream of.
They headed to the designer handbag session.
Rows upon rows of handbags in every color imaginable lined the walls. Tatiana handed one to Elena, then another, then another.
"This one for everyday. This one for evening. This one for when Damian takes you to Paris."
"Tatiana!" Elena gasped, horrified.
Irina laughed gently, picking one herself. "She's not wrong."
By the time they left, attendants were struggling under the weight of all the shopping bags.
At the final store, they gathered everything to pay. The attendant smiled politely as she rang it all in.
Elena tried not to faint as the numbers climbed higher and higher on the register.
"Fifteen million, four hundred and fifty thousand dollars," the cashier announced smoothly.
Elena's jaw dropped. "What—what?!"
Tatiana grinned like a victorious warrior. "Perfect."
Elena shook her head, panic flashing across her face. "We can't spend that much! Damian will—"
But Irina calmly slid the card across the counter. "He gave it to you, Elena. Use it. He won't be angry. If anything, he'll be pleased."
"No' that's too much" Elena uttered.
The machine beeped. Transaction approved.
Elena's knees almost gave way.
Tatiana clapped her hands together. "And that, Elena, is how you shop like a Volkov."
***
In his office, Damian sat with Viktor reviewing documents when his phone buzzed. A notification lit up the screen.
Card Alert: $1545000 – Luxe District, Jewelry/Fashion.
Viktor glanced over. "...What did they do, buy a car?"
Damian stared at the number, silent for a long moment. Then—unexpectedly—he smiled. Not a cruel smile, not mocking. A real, slow, almost dangerous smile.
Viktor frowned surprised. "You let Elena shop with your personal card?"
"Tatiana and my mother forced her," Damian said, leaning back in his chair, running a hand along his jaw.
His eyes gleamed with something Viktor rarely saw—something soft.
Viktor shook his head, muttering. "You're gone, brother. Absolutely gone."
Damian only smiled wider, his heart oddly lighter than it had been in weeks.
"Jesus dude, Have you fallen for her already?" He asked.
No! He denied immediately at the top of his voice.
***
She sat at the edge of her bed.
She thought of the nights she used to call him — when she and her father had quarrels when the fight about her mother left her raw and shaking.
Back then, Damian always answered. Always. He'd pick up like a lifeline, calm her with one low word.
He would say, forget him tonight or come over and she'd breathe again.
She reached for her phone now, fingers trembling. The screen lit up with his name: Damian.
Her thumb hovered for a second before she pressed call. The line went straight to voicemail. She tried again. Nothing. Her stomach dropped like something falling off a cliff.
She called again. Still nothing. Her chest went cold.
She remembered how he always answered. When she fought with her father.
When she cried about her mother.
He was always there.
Now he wasn't. Her hands shook a little.
Anger rose hot in her throat.
"Damian!" she shouted, throwing the phone onto the bed.
The sound filled the room. She dragged her hand through her hair and stared at her reflection in the mirror.
The woman looking back at her was still perfect, still polished, but her eyes were feral.
Isabel's breath hitched and her hands balled into fists. A slow, hot anger crept up from her chest — sharp and focused.
She stood very still for a beat, then let the fury pour out. "I will make sure I get my Damian back," she said, voice low and brittle.