Tatiana quickly stepped in, her voice slightly too bright.
"Elena, don't keep us waiting! Show us what those hands can do. I bet you're still amazing."
Elena looked at her, realizing what Tatiana was doing — sparing her from saying out loud what hurt too much. She gave a weak nod.
"Okay," she whispered.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she dipped the brush into a color, the bristles soaking up a soft blue.
She hesitated — the blank canvas felt like a stranger after so long. Irina walked up behind her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Just breathe, dear. Let it come naturally," she said kindly. "Paint like no one's watching."
Elena nodded slowly and took a deep breath. The first stroke was uneven, shaky.
But as she continued, her hands began to steady. The world around her faded — there was only the canvas, the colors, and the rhythm of her heart.
Minutes passed. The garden filled with quiet focus — the swish of brushes, the chirping of birds.
When she finally stepped back, her painting came alive. It was a vibrant garden — sunlight spilling through branches, flowers bending toward the light, a single swing beneath a tree.
But there was something deeper in it, something emotional — a warmth that spoke of love, loss, and memory.
Tatiana gasped softly. "Elena… this is—"
Irina's hand went to her chest, eyes wide in awe. "My dear, this belongs in an exhibition."
Elena blinked, startled. "No, it's not that good—"
"It is," Irina interrupted firmly, her voice trembling slightly. "It's breathtaking. The colors, the emotion… it's like it's alive."
Tatiana nodded eagerly. "You're crazy talented. You've been hiding this from us?"
Elena smiled shyly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I guess… I just forgot what it felt like."
Irina took her hand gently. "Then let this be your reminder, dear. You still have beauty inside you — don't ever let pain take that away."
Elena looked at the painting again, her chest rising with a deep, quiet breath. For the first time in a long while, she felt something she hadn't in years.
---
Hours later,
The butler entered with his usual polished composure.
"Master Volkov has arrived."
Elena's hand froze halfway to her teacup. Her heart gave a startled thump. Damian? Here?
Tatiana smirked immediately, nudging her cousin under the table. "Well, well. Look who came riding like a dark prince. He never shows up here, Elena. Not even for Christmas dinners sometimes. And yet, here he is."
Elena lowered her eyes, cheeks warming. "Stop it."
Irina's eyes twinkled as she placed her cup down gracefully.
"My son must have missed us terribly… or perhaps someone in particular."
Before Elena could even respond, Damian stepped inside the parlor. His presence filled the room immediately, that commanding aura making even the air tense.
He wore a dark tailored suit, his tie loosened slightly, as though he had driven straight from work. His eyes, however, flickered the moment they landed on Elena.
She swallowed, looking away quickly.
"Damian," Irina greeted warmly, rising to kiss her son on the cheek. "This is a surprise."
Tatiana leaned back lazily in her chair, crossing her arms with a wicked grin.
"Surprise? More like a miracle, aunt. He never comes here, but look at him—storming in like he owns the place.
Don't tell me, cousin, you came running just because Elena is here."
Damian's jaw tightened, though the corner of his mouth twitched as if fighting a smirk. "Don't flatter yourself, Tatiana."
His gaze flicked to Elena, softer this time. "I came to pick her up."
Elena nearly choked on air. "M–me?"
Tatiana laughed outright. "Yes, you. Don't act so innocent. Do you know how rare this is?"
Elena's face burned. "Tia, please."
Irina joined in the mischief, her voice sweet but playful.
"Actually, Damian, I was hoping Elena could stay the night again. It's been such a joy having her here. She lights up this house."
Damian's gaze lingered on Elena. He could have refused. He usually did. But instead, he gave a low hum. "Stay?"
Elena peeked at him nervously, twisting her fingers in her lap.
Irina tilted her head, smiling like a mother who knew more than she let on. "Yes. Please, son. For me."
Tatiana clapped her hands together dramatically.
"Oh, come on, Damian. Don't be so cold. What's one more night? Unless you're too jealous to leave her here with us."
That hit its mark. Damian's eyes darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line.
He exhaled slowly, as though relenting to something he couldn't fight. Finally, he muttered, "Fine. She stays."
Elena blinked, startled. "R–really?"
Irina smiled triumphantly. "Good. That's settled."
But then Damian added, in that low voice that seemed to curl right around Elena's chest, "But if she's staying… so am I."
The words dropped like a thunderclap in the parlor.
Elena froze. Her lips parted in shock, her face flaring red as heat climbed all the way to her ears.
Tatiana gasped loudly, covering her mouth with mock scandal.
"Oh. My. God. Did Damian Volkov just say he'll sleep here? In this house? Because he 'misses' Elena?"
She mimicked quotation marks in the air. "Aunt, pinch me, I must be dreaming!"
Irina pressed her fingers to her lips, but her laughter slipped through, rich and amused.
"Oh, Damian. You never change. So dramatic when you want something."
"I'm not dramatic," he said flatly, though his eyes remained locked on Elena, whose cheeks were so red she looked like she might melt into the floor.
Tatiana leaned over and whispered loudly in Elena's ear, loud enough for everyone to hear,
"Careful, Elena. With him staying the night too, I wouldn't be surprised if you never come back to your own bed."
"T–Tatiana!" Elena squeaked, smacking her arm.
Irina tilted her head, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "You know, Damian, you didn't tell me Elena paints."
That caught him off guard. "She paints?" he asked, glancing at Elena. His voice was low, surprised but intrigued.
Irina smiled, gesturing toward the easel. "She just finished this today. Isn't it beautiful? I had no idea she had such talent."
Damian stepped closer, his gaze falling on the canvas. The painting glowed under the warm light — vibrant and emotional, full of life.
His eyes softened for a second, though his face remained unreadable.
"You did this?" he asked her quietly.
Elena nodded, brushing her palms nervously on her skirt.
"Yes… I used to paint before. I stopped a long time ago."
Tatiana, grinning from the sofa, added teasingly,
"Apparently, your scary boss didn't know you're an artist."
Damian shot her a sharp look, and she immediately looked away, muttering under her breath.
. "Wow… so no one knew Elena's into art." Tatiana said.
His lips curved faintly — not quite a smile, but something close. "You hid this well, cupcake."
Elena flushed lightly. "It's nothing special."
Irina chuckled. "Nothing special? It's good enough to hang in a gallery."
Damian took another look at the painting, his hands in his pockets. "It's peaceful," he said at last.
"Didn't think something that soft could come from someone who argues with me every chance she gets."
Elena's mouth fell open slightly. "I don't argue—"
Tatiana laughed, cutting her off. "You totally do."