Chapter 11

Maya: POV

I wrapped up my event earlier than expected. It was nearly four o'clock – perfect timing to meet Andrei and the twins at the mall. Rather than going inside, I waited by the main entrance, enjoying a moment of quiet after my hectic day.

Soon I spotted them walking toward the exit – my little treasures bouncing alongside Andrei, who carried their backpacks. When they emerged, Lina was the first to spot me.

"Mom!" she shouted, racing toward me with Maxim close behind.

I opened my arms as they crashed into me with the force of their excitement.

"Did you have fun today?" I asked, smoothing Maxim's hair.

"It was awesome!" Lina exclaimed. "Uncle Andrei took us to the arcade and I beat Maxim at the racing game!"

"Only because I let you win," Maxim protested, though his smile betrayed him.

"And then we had ice cream with extra sprinkles," Lina continued.

"I can see that," I laughed, wiping chocolate from the corner of her mouth.

Andrei approached more slowly. "These two are unstoppable. I need to start working out more to keep up with them."

"Thank you for taking care of them," I said, taking the backpacks.

We began walking away, the twins skipping ahead. As we rounded the corner, I suddenly felt watched. A prickle ran down my spine.

Just as I was about to turn around, Andrei moved closer, touching my elbow.

"Keep walking," he murmured. "Someone's taking photos. Probably recognized me from the festival circuit."

"Mom!" Lina tugged at my hand. "I just saw a man who looks exactly like Maxim! Like, grown-up Maxim!"

My heart froze. "What?"

"Inside the mall. He was tall and had the same eyes as Maxim!"

My hands trembled so badly I shoved them into my pockets. It couldn’t be him. Viktor was in Moscow. He believed I was dead.

"Maya, are you alright? You've gone pale," Andrei said, his arm coming around my shoulders.

"I'm fine," I lied. "Let's get home quickly."

I didn't look back. I couldn't.

"Duke Alexei Skoivov has arrived, Ms. Pierce. He's waiting at your reserved table."

I gathered my portfolio and followed the maître d' through the elegant dining room of Palkin, one of St. Petersburg's most exclusive restaurants. The tables were spaced generously apart, offering privacy to the city's elite who dined there. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over antique furnishings and fine art adorning the walls.

Three days ago, I had received a message from the Duke's assistant requesting this meeting to discuss design details for a custom piece. It was unusual for clients to request restaurant meetings rather than studio appointments, but for aristocracy, exceptions were always made.

Duke Alexei Skoivov stood as I approached, a gesture of respect I wasn't expecting. He was younger than I imagined, perhaps in his late thirties, with the classic golden hair and blue eyes of the Russian nobility.

"Ms. Pierce, thank you for accommodating my schedule," he said, his voice carrying the subtle inflections of someone educated in the finest European schools. "I understand you don't typically take client meetings outside your studio."

"It's my pleasure, Your Grace," I replied, setting my portfolio on the table between us. "Your assistant mentioned you were interested in discussing design details for a custom ring?"

He waited for me to sit before taking his own seat. "When I saw your designs, I knew I had to commission you," he said, his gaze lingering on my face.

I was used to clients flattering me to get preferential treatment, but his words seemed genuine. "Thank you. I find inspiration in our cultural heritage but prefer a more minimalist execution."

"Exactly!" He smiled, revealing perfect teeth. "Now, about the ring. It's for myself, actually. A signet ring with the Skoivov family crest."

A waiter approached with champagne, which the Duke had apparently ordered before my arrival. As we discussed the details—metal preferences, stone options, sizing—I noticed him watching me with a curious expression.

"Forgive me," he said suddenly, interrupting his own explanation of the crest's symbolism, "but have we met before? You seem familiar."

I shook my head, an inexplicable uneasiness settling in my stomach. "I don't believe so, Your Grace."

"Please, call me Alexei. And are you certain? Perhaps at a charity gala or art exhibition?"

"I tend to avoid such events," I explained. "I prefer a quieter life."

He seemed dissatisfied with this answer but didn't press further. Instead, he shifted the conversation as our first course arrived.

"I've been traveling extensively lately," he said, sampling the caviar. "Buying properties across Europe and Asia."

"Business investments?" I asked politely.

His expression softened unexpectedly. "No, it's personal. I'm looking for someone—my sister." He hesitated, then continued, "She was taken as an infant. My father's mistress stole her out of jealousy. My mother has never recovered from the loss."

The raw emotion in his voice caught me off guard. "I'm so sorry. That's terrible."

"We've never stopped searching. I promised my mother I would find her before..." He trailed off, composing himself. "The investigators believe she might be in St. Petersburg now."

He then studied me again, his gaze uncomfortably penetrating. "Are you from an aristocratic family, Ms. Pierce? Your features... there's something distinctly noble about them."

I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. "No, nothing like that. My family has always lived in St. Petersburg. Very ordinary people."

Could this be connected to Viktor somehow? The thought sliced through me like a knife. Is the Duke working with him? Is this some elaborate trap?

My palms grew damp with sweat. Viktor had contacts everywhere, in every level of society. What if he'd somehow enlisted this nobleman to find me? What if they already knew who I was, and this was just a game to them?

"There's nothing ordinary about you," he said with conviction. "You have the bearing of someone who belongs in the great houses of Russia."

I shifted uncomfortably, eager to redirect the conversation. "About the ring—would you prefer platinum or white gold for the band?"

He allowed the subject change, but I caught him watching me thoughtfully throughout the rest of our meal. As I was preparing to leave, he made an unexpected request.

"Would you consider attending a small gathering I'm hosting next weekend? Nothing fancy, just a few interesting people for dinner at my home. I'd love to introduce you to my mother."

The invitation surprised me. "I'm flattered, but I'm not sure—"

"Please consider it," he interrupted gently. "I have a feeling you and my mother would get along splendidly."

There was something in his expression—a mixture of hope and certainty—that made it difficult to refuse outright. "I'll check my schedule," I promised noncommittally.

As I left the restaurant, I couldn't shake a strange feeling of disquiet. The Duke's interest in me seemed to extend beyond my professional capabilities, and his questions about my family background had stirred up memories I'd rather keep buried.

That night, as I lay in bed watching the twins sleep peacefully, my mind raced with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. Had Viktor found me? Was the Duke somehow part of his plan? Or was I simply being paranoid, seeing dangers where none existed?

I drew the blanket tighter around myself, as if it could shield me from the rising tide of fear.

My past was crawling back to haunt me, but I refused to let history repeat itself. No matter what it took, I would not let Viktor Korsolov destroy what I had so carefully built.