Left alone again, Elena exhaled slowly.
Her eyes wandered across the party, catching sight of Damian speaking with an investor, his usual unreadable expression in place.
Something inside her twisted. She didn't understand why she cared so much—why seeing him near Isabel earlier had hurt the way it did.
A soft voice pulled her out of her thoughts. "You look like someone who needs this," Tatiana said, appearing out of nowhere with two glasses of champagne.
Elena forced a smile, taking the glass. "Thanks."
They both sipped, standing to the side, their eyes scanning the glittering crowd.
Then Tatiana nudged her elbow toward a familiar figure entering the hall. "Look who it is," she said under her breath.
It was Isabel—glamorous as always, wearing a silver gown that caught the light, her chin held high as if she owned the room.
Tatiana rolled her eyes. "Ugh, the audacity. she still walks like she's the queen of Moscow."
Elena stayed quiet, sipping her drink, pretending not to care—but she couldn't help looking.
Isabel's presence always drew attention, and tonight was no different. People whispered, heads turning as she passed.
"She's acting all high and mighty," Tatiana continued, her tone low and gossipy.
Guess she's trying to use the party to get back her reputation… or maybe her ex." She shot Elena a knowing look.
Elena tried to ignore it, but Tatiana smirked. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you don't care. Damian hasn't taken his eyes off you all evening—except for when she showed up."
Elena's heart skipped, but she kept her tone cool. "I don't care, Tatiana."
Tatiana sipped her drink, grinning. "Sure you don't, sweetheart."
Elena stood by the side with Tatiana, still clutching her glass, pretending to focus on the crowd when her heart was quietly replaying every word, every image from the garden.
She stopped when she looked up and saw him in front of her.
"Dance with me," he said, his voice low, calm, but carrying enough command that every nearby conversation fell silent.
Tatiana's mouth fell open for a second before she quickly recovered, grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, I knew this would happen!" she whispered loudly enough.
Elena's breath caught. Everyone was watching. She could feel the weight of their stares — the women's envy, Isabel's burning glare from across the hall. Slowly, she placed her hand in his.
"Alright," she said softly.
Damian's lips lifted slightly, the smallest hint of a smirk. He led her onto the dance floor, his hand resting at her waist, the other holding her hand with gentle firmness.
The music swelled, and they began to move in rhythm, their steps graceful, like they had done this countless times before.
The crowd's whispers rippled through the air — "Is that Damian Volkov dancing?" "He never dances with anyone…" "Who is that girl?"
But Elena barely heard them.
He leaned down slightly, his voice brushing against her ear. "Did I do something wrong?"
She looked away, her lashes trembling. "No," she murmured.
He tilted his head, studying her face. "You're quiet," he teased, the corner of his lips curling. "That's not like you."
Elena didn't respond. Her silence spoke louder than anything.
He exhaled, his smirk fading. For a moment, his grip softened. He wanted her to talk, to glare at him, to call him out — anything but this cold, distant silence.
The song ended, applause filling the hall, but Damian didn't bow or smile. He stepped back, his expression hardening again.
Before anyone could notice, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
Elena stood there, her hand still slightly lifted from where he'd held it. Tatiana came rushing up, excitement glowing on her face.
"Oh my God, you and Damian on the dance floor! Everyone's talking about it!" she squealed, tugging Elena's arm.
But Elena didn't smile. Her eyes followed Damian's fading figure, disappearing toward the hallway.
The music had faded, and people were beginning to move around again — laughter, glasses clinking, and soft chatter filling the air
Tatiana had gone to get something to drink, promising to be back in a moment.
Elena stayed by the edge of the hall, quietly sipping her champagne, trying to shake off the strange mix of sadness and confusion sitting in her chest.
Then, out of nowhere, Isabel appeared. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor, her expression unreadable — but her eyes burned with quiet jealousy.
She stopped right beside Elena, pretending to fix her dress, then "accidentally" tilted her glass.
The cold drink spilled all over Elena's gown.
Elena gasped, taking a step back as the golden liquid soaked into the soft fabric.
"What is wrong with you?" she snapped, her voice trembling between anger and disbelief.
Isabel tilted her head slightly, a fake smile on her lips. "Oh, I'm so sorry… it must have slipped." Her tone dripped with sarcasm.
Then she leaned closer, whispering so only Elena could hear. "Stay away from my Damian, or I'll do worse next time."
Before Elena could respond, Isabel turned and strutted out of the party, her perfume lingering in the air.
Elena stood frozen, her hands tightening around the damp fabric of her dress. Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry here — not in front of all these people.
Minutes later, the event was wrapping up. The guests started leaving, and the music had turned soft and slow. Elena was still lost in thought when she heard her name.
"Elena," her grandfather called, walking toward her with a warm but tired smile. "Where's Damian?"
She hesitated, lowering her gaze. "He… left earlier," she said quietly.
Leonid sighed, rubbing his temple. "That boy," he muttered. Then he looked back at her, his voice softening.
"You should spend the night with us dear."
Elena nodded, her chest tightening. "Alright, Grandpa."
Irina walked up to them, smiling proudly despite the long night.
"You looked beautiful out there, sweetheart," she said, brushing a strand of hair from Elena's face. "Come on, let's go. You must be tired."
The family got into the convoy of cars outside and headed back home.
The convoy finally pulled into the mansion, the headlights fading as the cars stopped one by one.
The tall gates closed behind them with a low hum, and the guards returned to their posts.
As they all got in, Elena, Irina and Tatiana were surprised to see Adrian and his father in the mansion already.
Grandpa clapped his hands together, smiling as he looked around.
"It's been a long time since we had a full house," he said in his deep voice. "Adrian and Leonid will stay the night. Feels good to have everyone under one roof again."
Tatiana muttered under her breath, "Yeah, just what we needed — more Volkovs to ruin the peace,"
"But it's still not complete… someone's missing." Leonid's sharp gaze slid straight to Elena.
Grandfather chuckled, catching the hidden meaning.
"Damian will be back tonight," he said with a knowing smile. "I don't think he can spend a night without Elena."
Elena almost choked on her breath, her cheeks heating up.
Adrian and Leonid both laughed quietly, exchanging amused glances.
Leonid stood and walked toward Elena with a calm, intimidating grace.
"Welcome, Elena," he said warmly, his voice smooth but his eyes calculating.
"It's good to finally see the woman who can keep Damian home more than his empire can."
Elena blinked, unsure whether to smile . Leonid extended his hand, and she hesitated before taking it. His grip was firm, his smirk deepening.
"You must have some magic," he added softly, "because that boy never listens to anyone — not even me."
Tia, standing at the corner, rolled her eyes so hard it could've been heard. "Oh please," she muttered under her breath, turning away and heading upstairs.