Snow drifted across the long driveway of the Volkov estate in Moscow when the black luxury sedan arrived.
Aansi stood near the staircase landing.
A tall blonde woman stepped out.
Elegant. Confident. Familiar.
She didn't hesitate.
She walked inside like she belonged there.
Zaid met her halfway.
And for the first time…
Aansi saw him smile.
Not the cold smirk.
Not the strategic curve of power.
A real one.
The woman wrapped her arms around his neck.
He didn't pull away.
He didn't freeze.
He leaned into it.
"Zayka," she murmured softly.
His hand rested easily at her waist.
Comfort. Habit. History.
Aansi felt something inside her chest twist.
Leonid watched from the study doorway, amused.
"Ah," he said lazily, "the real bride arrives."
The woman turned.
Sharp blue eyes.
"And you must be the wife."
Aansi held her posture.
"Aansi Singh."
The blonde extended a hand.
"Anastasia Morozova."
Anastasia Morozova smiled politely.
But her eyes assessed everything.
Including the sindoor in Aansi's hairline.
Including the mangalsutra at her throat.
Including Zaid standing beside her.
Dinner That Night
Anastasia sat beside Zaid.
Not across.
Not distant.
Close.
Familiar.
She touched his sleeve when speaking.
She leaned toward him when laughing.
She spoke Russian softly, intimately.
Aansi understood none of it.
But she understood closeness.
Leonid observed like a man watching a game unfold.
"And you, Aansi," he said, swirling his drink, "how are you adjusting to Russia?"
"I am learning."
His gaze slid lower.
Lingering too long.
"You are… adapting well."
Her spine stiffened.
Zaid's voice cut in.
"Enough."
Leonid smirked.
Anastasia watched the exchange with quiet interest.
Later — The Garden Terrace
Aansi stepped outside for air.
Cold wind brushed her face.
Then a voice behind her:
"You look out of place."
She turned.
Anastasia stood there, wrapped in white fur.
"He never smiles like that," Aansi said quietly.
Anastasia tilted her head.
"Like what?"
"Like he does with you."
A slow smile.
"He never loved easily."
Loved.
The word lodged like glass.
Anastasia studied her for a long moment.
"You should not confuse duty with affection."
Then she walked back inside.
Leaving silence behind.
The Next Day — City Meeting
At a corporate event in central Moscow, Aansi accompanied the Volkov family.
Men noticed her.
Not loudly.
Not crudely.
But eyes lingered.
A diplomat greeted her warmly.
"You bring grace to the Volkov name."
She nodded politely.
A business magnate kissed her hand.
"Russia is brighter with you in it."
She withdrew gently.
Across the room—
Zaid watched.
Expression unreadable.
A man leaned closer to speak with her.
Too close.
Too comfortable.
Zaid appeared beside them in seconds.
Silent.
Imposing.
The man stepped back instinctively.
"She is not available for private conversation," Zaid said coolly.
"We were only discussing—"
"You were leaving."
The man left.
Aansi turned to him.
"I can speak for myself."
"I know."
"Then why—"
"You are my wife."
Ownership.
Again.
Not affection.
She exhaled.
"You have a girlfriend."
His jaw tightened.
"That is irrelevant here."
"Fuck off!"
Evening — Leonid Tries Again
The hallway was empty.
Too quiet.
Leonid stepped into her path.
"You feel invisible, don't you?"
"I do not."
His hand brushed her back.
Lingering.
She moved away immediately.
"Please step back."
He didn't.
"You deserve attention."
His hand reached again—
She caught his wrist.
Firm.
Unshaking.
"Do not touch me again."
His eyes darkened.
Before he could respond—
Zaid's voice sliced through the air.
"Father."
Leonid slowly withdrew.
Amused.
Zaid looked at Aansi.
Something new flickered there.
Not softness.
Not warmth.
Recognition.
Maybe jealousy.
Night — Study Room
Anastasia's laughter echoed faintly from the guest wing.
Zaid poured a drink.
Aansi stood in the doorway.
"You looked angry today," she said.
"I don't get angry."
"You scared that man."
"He forgot his place."
Silence stretched.
"Why does it bother you," she asked softly, "if someone talks to me?"
His eyes lifted slowly.
"It doesn't."
Pause.
Then:
"But they should remember whose name you carry."
Pride.
Territory.
Control.
Not love.
But something had shifted.
And neither of them could pretend it hadn't.