Rain lashes against the towering windows of the Zakharchenko estate.
Dinner is already unbearable.
Irina sits at the head of the table discussing the upcoming foundation gala with Oksana as if Matvei’s childhood companion belongs here more naturally than his own wife.
Oksana reaches casually for the documents beside Matvei.
“You forgot the revised contracts.”
Matvei barely looks up from his glass.
“They’re in my office.”
“Left drawer?”
His grey eyes flick to her.
“Yes.”
Oksana smiles.
Of course she knows.
Irina notices the exchange and hides a smirk behind her wineglass.
“Some things never change.”
Before anyone can answer, footsteps approach.
A security officer enters the dining room.
“Mr. Zakharchenko.”
Matvei looks up.
“What?”
The officer hesitates.
“There’s a woman at the entrance.”
Matvei’s expression hardens.
“Then why are you interrupting dinner?”
The officer doesn’t move.
“She says her name is Yelena Tarasova.”
Silence.
Matvei’s glass stops halfway to his mouth.
Oksana goes completely still.
Irina slowly rises.
“That’s impossible.”
The doors open.
A woman stands beneath the chandelier.
Dark hair damp from the rain. Grey-green eyes. Pale skin. A face preserved in photographs throughout this very estate.
Alive.
Matvei rises so abruptly that his chair scrapes across the floor.
“Yelena…?”
Her eyes lock onto him.
For several seconds, the room ceases to exist.
Then her gaze shifts.
To you.
Then lower.
To the wedding ring on your hand.
Yelena’s expression changes.
“Matvei…”
She points at the ring.
“Why is she wearing my ring?”
No one answers.
Oksana watches Matvei.
Irina watches Yelena.
And every Zakharchenko at the table seems to understand something you were never told.
The question remained suspended between them.
And now every eye in the room was fixed on you, waiting.
Waiting to see what Matvei Zakharchenko’s replacement wife would do.