48. Chapter 48

48

Clara

“ I said no tomatoes,” Elijah announces, holding up the offending slice like it’s a declaration of war.

“Just take it off,” I whisper back, leaning over to grab it before it hits the floor. The last thing I need is a scene. He huffs, watching me with a mix of suspicion and pride, like I’m finally proving my worth as his mommy.

He settles back into his seat, munching on a fry, and I glance at my own plate. The slow-braised short ribs look like something out of a food magazine—rich, tender, perfect—but I haven’t touched them. My stomach’s too tangled to care.

Elijah looks up, ketchup smeared across his cheek.

“Mommy, you don’t like your food?” His words dig at me, soft but insistent.

“No— Oh, I mean, yes, I do,” I stammer, grabbing a bite of the buttery polenta beneath the ribs. The flavor is as good as it looks, but I barely notice.

Elijah’s already back to his fries, humming happily like the whole world’s finally right again. “This is the best lunch ever!” he declares, kicking his legs under the table. “We should live here forever, Mommy. Bad guys make good food!”

I snort, nearly choking on the bite I just forced down. “What?”

“Yeah! We trained the bad guys to be good now!” He grins, holding up a fry like he’s making a toast. His confidence is so pure, so unshakable, that I almost believe him.

I glance out the massive windows of the Alpine Aiguille Retreat, the view almost mocking in its perfection. Snow-covered peaks stretch endlessly, the Matterhorn standing tall and jagged against the cloudless blue sky. The restaurant is perched high enough that the world below feels impossibly far away, like nothing bad could ever touch us here.

“This place is fancy,” I murmur under my breath, pushing at my food with my fork. A waiter glides by with the kind of effortless grace that makes me feel clumsy just for existing, balancing a tray with wine glasses that sparkle like diamonds in the afternoon light. Everything about the Kuznetsov’s retreat screams wealth—sleek marble floors polished to a mirror finish, exposed beams that somehow manage to look rustic and expensive at the same time, and the faint scent of something floral lingering in the air.

Elijah doesn’t notice any of it, too busy stacking fries into a tower. He beams at his creation before demolishing it with a loud crunch.

“Mommy, can we go to the snow play after this?” he asks, pointing a fry toward the activity center we’d passed earlier. “I wanna make a snowman bigger than this whole restaurant!”

“We’ll see,” I say, which he takes as a yes. His grin stretches wide, ketchup dotting the corner of his mouth like battle paint.

My thoughts drift as he chatters on, the food in front of me going cold. The penthouse we checked into earlier sits at the top of the retreat, complete with a hot tub I have no intention of using and heated floors that feel like a luxury I don’t deserve. And, of course, it’s next to Leonid’s. Because of course it is.

Why? The question burns in my head.

Why put us so close together? It’s not like I’m his wife—or anything else, for that matter. I don’t even know how long we’re supposed to be here. Judging from the clothes he brought for us—multiple suitcases filled with designer labels and enough winter gear to last a season—it might be months. The idea makes my head spin.

I shake my head, trying to clear the thought, but it doesn’t help. His words from earlier echo in my mind.

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

What does he think I’m going to do? Run? As if I could. He has our passports, for one. And for another, if I was going to run, I’d have done it days ago. No. I’m here because he put a fucking gun to my head.

Then Stephan’s name flits across my mind like a loose thread I can’t stop tugging at. What did Leonid mean when he brought him up? Does he know something?

Something’s up.

I squeeze my fork tightly, unknowingly. I poke it into the meat in front of me; my stomach twists as the thought digs deeper. A nagging pull tugs at the edges of my conscience. Stephan wouldn’t abandon me—he’s too careful for that. But it doesn’t explain why no one has come to rescue me on his behalf… or why Leonid’s question felt less like idle curiosity and more like a test.

“Mommy, you’re doing that face again,” Elijah says suddenly, frowning at me.

“What face?” I blink at him, startled.

“Like you’re looking, but you’re not looking, ” he says, tilting his head like he’s solving a puzzle. His small hand waves in front of my face. “Do you wanna try my cheeseburger? It’ll make you happy. It’s the best ever!”

I laugh softly despite myself, reaching over to swipe the ketchup off his cheek with a napkin.

“I think I’ll stick with mine, but thanks, baby.”

I take another bite of the short ribs, the tender meat practically melting on my tongue.

Before I can stop myself, the thought slips out. “Where does this cow even come from?”

Elijah giggles, shaking his fry at me like it’s a sword. “Maybe the cow lives here in the snow, Mommy! A snow cow!” His laugh is so loud it turns a couple of heads.

“Not quite,” a voice cuts in, smooth and practiced.

I glance up to find a woman standing at our table, her bright smile wide enough to show perfect teeth that practically glow in the afternoon light. She’s petite—shorter than me by a good margin—and slim, her tailored black uniform emphasizing her straight, angular frame. The gold accents catch the light as she shifts slightly, her blonde hair pulled back so neatly it’s almost severe. The kind of person who looks polished to the point of perfection.

“This is A5-grade Kobe beef,” she continues, folding her hands in front of her. “Imported from Japan. Mr. Kuznetsov spares no expense.”

I stop mid-chew, my fork frozen halfway to my plate. The way she says “Mr. Kuznetsov”—so polished and familiar—sets my teeth on edge. Like she knows him better than I do… better than anyone should.

“Of course he does,” I mutter, swallowing the bite with more effort than necessary.

“I’m Anya,” she says, her tone pleasant, but her gaze flickers over me, landing briefly on Elijah before darting away again. She doesn’t even spare him a proper look, like he’s furniture in the background. “I’ll be coordinating your activities for the day.”

“Activities?” I echo, already wary.

“Yes,” she replies with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Mr. Kuznetsov wanted to ensure your stay was enjoyable. After lunch, you’ll begin with private ski lessons on the north slope. It’s perfect for beginners—safe, scenic, and exclusive.”

“Ski lessons?” Elijah’s face lights up like I just promised him a pony. “Mommy, we get to ski?”

I plaster on a smile for his sake, even as my stomach twists. “That sounds… great.”

Anya’s professional grin sharpens just slightly. “After skiing, there’s an ice sculpting workshop for children in the activity center. They’ll teach him how to create something magical with snow and ice.” Her eyes flick to Elijah, though she still doesn’t quite look at him. “He’ll love it.”

I nod stiffly, my grip tightening around my fork. “Uh-huh.”

“And after that,” she continues, either oblivious to my growing irritation or just enjoying herself too much to stop, “a hot chocolate-tasting by the outdoor fire pits. We’ve flown in specialty chocolates from Switzerland, Belgium, and Ecuador for a truly global experience.”

Elijah bounces in his seat. “Hot chocolate! Mommy, we have to do that!”

“Of course,” I say, my voice tight but steady. What else can I say?

“And lastly,” Anya finishes, her tone light but calculated, “dinner this evening at our Skyview Terrace. Mr. Kuznetsov will be joining you, as well as Mr. Montclair and his family. It’s the perfect way to end the day.”

Dinner with Leonid, and who the fuck is Montclair? My jaw tightens, and I set my fork down carefully, afraid I’ll snap it in half.

“Wow. That’s… a lot.”

“It’s all been arranged,” Anya replies smoothly, her smile unwavering. She takes a small step back, clearly preparing to turn and leave.

“Hang on a sec,” I snap, my voice booming like a thunderclap, reminding everyone who’s really in charge here.

Anya freezes mid-turn, her head tilting slightly as she looks back at me.

I don’t rush. I spear another bite of meat, chew slowly, and swallow, letting the silence stretch. When I set my fork down, it’s deliberate.

I glance at Elijah. “Go wash your mouth and hands before we leave, baby.”

“Okay, Mommy!” Elijah hops out of his chair and bolts toward the bathroom without hesitation, weaving through the tables with all the grace of a caffeinated squirrel. A few high-end diners glance his way, their expressions somewhere between disapproval and disbelief, but I don’t care. My focus is on Anya.

I stand, adjusting my posture as I move closer to her. Her polished smile flickers for half a second, just enough for me to notice. Good.

“Tell Mr. Kuznetsov,” I whisper fiercely, my hand lands on her shoulder, my grip firm but measured; it’s a silent signal of my authority, “that I need to see him. Now.”

Anya’s eyes widen briefly before she recovers, her professional mask snapping back into place. “Mr. Kuznetsov is currently unavailable—”

“That’s not what I asked,” I interrupt, stepping just a little closer. I’m taller than her, and I make sure she feels it. My gaze locks on hers, and I don’t blink.

“Tell him. Now.”

She hesitates, her perfect composure cracking as she takes a half-step back.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she murmurs, her voice quieter than before.

“Good,” I reply, still holding her gaze as I step back. I give her just enough space to make her escape.

Anya doesn’t waste a second, nodding stiffly before turning on her heel and walking off, her quickened pace betraying the calm she’s trying so hard to project. I sit back down, exhaling slowly, the rush of adrenaline thrumming beneath my skin.

Before I can fully settle, Elijah comes barreling back, his hands slightly wet but not clean enough to pass inspection. He skids to a stop in front of me, grinning as he holds up his hands.

“All clean, Mommy!”

A nearby couple frowns, one of them muttering something about “manners.” I catch the woman’s glare and raise a brow, daring her to say it louder. She doesn’t.

Elijah climbs back into his chair like nothing happened. “Can we go skiing now?” he asks, completely unaware of the tension still simmering in the air.

Not yet. Not until I get some answers.