Author’s POV

Niamph sits quietly on the garden swing, the warm afternoon breeze brushing against her skin. She’s holding a yellow crochet in her lap...soft yarn between her fingers...as she carefully threads the needle through loops. She’s making a muffler. For Mikhail.

She doesn’t know why exactly. Maybe because he gave her the phone. And even though it’s just an object, she doesn’t feel right accepting it without giving something in return.

Her fingers keep working, slow and steady, but she shifts slightly in her seat and winces.

There’s still a dull ache between her legs. Her cheeks turn warm.

He had been rougher last night.

More intense. More… overwhelming.

But what shocks her more is how her body had responded. The way her heart raced, the way she felt like she was floating and falling all at once. It wasn’t just pain. It was something deeper. Something she doesn’t even have a name for.

Just thinking about it makes her thighs press together

Her eyes widen.

Jesus…

She quickly makes the sign of the cross and shakes her head to push the thoughts away. Don’t think like that, Niamph, she scolds herself silently.

She lowers her gaze back to the yellow yarn and focuses harder. The rhythm of the crochet helps calm her down...it always has. The way her hands move, the softness of the wool… it removes her stress and anxiety.

Bubbly is curled up beside her on the swing, eyes half-closed, soaking in the sun. The cat purrs gently every now and then, clearly happy in the quiet.

Niamph smiles softly. Moments like this… are rare.

So she holds onto it.

She hasn’t called anyone yet.

The phone sits quietly on the table inside. But she doesn’t know what she’d even say.

It’s been nearly two months. Two long months.

How does she open a conversation that starts with “I got married to Mikhail Cozlov...the same man who shot my father.”?

How does she explain that it wasn’t for love, but for… a purpose?

Just the thought of saying it aloud...that she’s meant to give him an heir—makes her toes curl and her stomach tighten.

Where would she even begin?

She is excited to talk to Aiofi and Aunt Jenny. But that excitement comes tangled with thousands other emotions that made her heart clench.

She sighs softly and looks back down at the yarn in her hands.

Then she hears footsteps.

Lucy.

Niamph glances up just as she approaches, stopping near the swing with raised brows and a curious smile.

“Niamph madam,” Lucy says, surprised. “What are you doing?”

Niamph  lifts the piece to show her.

“Uh… it’s a crochet muffler, Lucy,” she says, her voice gentle. “What do you think? Do you like the color?”

Lucy steps closer, eyes following the movement of Niamph’s hands.

“It’s beautiful,” she says honestly. Then, with a tilted head, she adds, “But… who is it for?”

Niamph hesitates.

She looks back down, her fingers stilling for a moment.

But she answers anyway.

“For… Mikhail,” she says softly.

Lucy’s eyes widen. “For Czar?”

Niamph nods and starts crocheting again, hiding behind the rhythm.

Lucy smiles, almost in disbelief. “Is it a gift?”

Niamph glances at her, then nods again.

“He gave me a phone last night… so I thought… maybe I should give something in return.”

Lucy watches her quietly for a moment, then looks at the yellow yarn in her hands.

“Why this particular color, madam? I mean… you must have chosen it for a reason.”

Niamph stops stitching.

Yes. There is a reason.

She looks down at the bright, soft yellow in her lap. Her voice is quieter this time, thoughtful.

“Yellow means warmth. And light. And positivity,” she says. “He has so much darkness around him… so I thought… maybe I could give him something small that isn’t dark.”

Lucy’s smile softens.

She can see it...that how unknowingly Niamph is trying...quietly, gently....to plant something warm inside a cold world.

Lucy’s eyes suddenly drift to the back of Niamph’s neck. Her hair has fallen to one side, exposing the pale nape—and a faint, oddly shaped mark just below it.

She leans in slightly, squinting.

“Niamph madam…” she says slowly, pointing gently. “What is this mark?”

Niamph blinks, confused at first.

Then her hand reaches up to her neck, her fingers brushing over the skin. The spot is warm from the sun, familiar under her touch.

“Oh… that,” she says softly. “It’s a birthmark.”

Her voice is calm, but there's a flicker of emotion behind her eye.

“My mother had it too.”

Lucy’s brows rise a little in surprise.

“Is it… ancestral?” she asks curiously, her voice innocent but full of wonder.

Niamph lets out a quiet laugh, small and light.

“Yeah,” she says with a nod. “Kind of.”

She tucks her hair back over her shoulder, but her smile lingers.

The sky slowly shifts into soft shades of orange and pink as the sun begins to set. A quiet calm settles over the garden.

Niamph looks down at the muffler in her lap. She’s managed to finish a fair portion of it, and the yellow yarn glows warmly in the fading light.

“For today, it’s enough… I guess,” she says with a small smile, gently folding the half-done muffler.

Lucy nods in agreement. L

The two of them walk back into the mansion together. Just before they reach the stairs, Lucy remembers something.

“Oh! I forgot—I need to check on something in the kitchen,” she says quickly. “I’ll be back later.”

Niamph nods.

She walks into the bedroom, her limbs slightly stiff from sitting too long on the swing. Her legs feel numb, and she stretches them a little as she heads toward the wardrobe.

She gently places the muffler inside one of the drawers and closes it.

When she turns around, she spots Bubbly darting playfully from one side of the room to the other. The tiny creature jumps, pounces, and rolls, clearly enjoying herself.

A soft smile tugs at Niamph’s lips.

But then her heart tugs too....remembering the cat sanctuary.

Those rescued kittens… her little treasures.

Her smile fades slightly. She wonders what they’re doing now. If they’re safe. If anyone’s feeding them the way she used to. Specially moochi..He is literally her baby. Whenever instead of her someone else tried to feed him. He scratched their hands.

Each one had a name.

Just then, the door creaks open.

She turns.

Another maid enters, holding a large box in her hands.

Niamph frowns, confused. “What is it?” she asks quietly.

The maid bows respectfully before placing the box gently on the bed.

“Czar sent this for you, Czarina,” she says politely. “He has asked you to get ready wearing this dress.”

Niamph’s eyes widen. “But… why?”

The maid offers a small smile. “Maybe… Czar wants to take you out. He is expecting you at 6:00 p.m.”

With that, the maid bows again and quietly leaves the room.

Niamph stands still for a moment, staring at the box on the bed.

Niamph slowly lifts the lid of the box.

Her breath catches the moment she sees what’s inside.

A red gown...elegant and beautiful. Her lips part in quiet awe as she reaches out and runs her fingers over the fabric. It’s soft, almost weightless. A deep red, rich and striking.

She swallows hard. What is the meaning of this?

Her eyes widen. Oh, Lord…

Is he planning something else?

Her thoughts race.

She doesn't trust him...not even for a second. Not after everything.

Yesterday, he gave her a phone. Today, this dress.

He’s toying with her emotions...testing her.

And if she refuses to go along with whatever this is, he’ll remind her again of her father. Of the deal. That’s what she hates most. The invisible chain around her neck.

She glances at the clock...5:30 p.m.

With a quiet sigh, she lifts the dress and walks into the wardrobe.

A little later, she stands in front of the mirror.

The dress fits her perfectly. It’s a fit-and-flare midi style with a soft v-neckline and a low-cut back. It doesn’t make her uncomfortable...in fact, it surprises her how natural it feels.

Her hair is tied in her usual half ponytail, fastened with a simple bow ribbon. It’s the only hairstyle she knows, really. Easy and neat. And somehow, still fitting for the moment.

At exactly 6:00, she steps down into the living hall.

Her eyes land on Mikhail instantly.

He’s already there, waiting....wearing his usual black suit, sharp and clean. The same cold intensity in his expression. But as soon as she appears, he sets his phone down.

And stares.

Niamph looks away quickly, flustered. Her fingers fidget in front of her.

She doesn’t understand how couples behave so naturally around each other...especially after everything that happened between them. Her cheeks warm at the thought.

Mikhail's jaw tightens slightly. His gaze travels over her without blinking.

He steps closer, slowly, and leans in near her ear.

His voice drops low, teasing. “I should change the plan, kitten… we could spend the night tangled in the sheets instead.”

Niamph’s body stiffens. Her heart skips.

“N-No! I want to go,” she blurts out.

He pauses, amused. His brows raise.

She realizes how that sounded and quickly fumbles to fix it.

“I mean… it’s not a good thing to change the plan last minute,” she says, eyes wide and voice soft.

Mikhail studies her for a second longer.

Some sinful thought clearly flashes across his mind...but he doesn’t say it. Instead, he simply offers his hand.

Niamph hesitates… then slowly places hers in his.

And just like that, they walk together toward the car.

Niamph is just about to slide into the car when Mikhail suddenly blocks her path.

Her back hits the car door as he cages her in with his arms.

She looks up, confused at first....but then his presence shifts. Closer. Intense.

Their eyes meet.

His icy blue gaze holds hers from inches away, and her breath stills.

Then he reaches into his coat pocket… and pulls out a small velvet box.

He opens it.

Niamph’s eyes widen a little..

Inside sits a delicate pendant...shaped like a star, soft pink in color, sparkling gently under the porch lights.

Her lips part slightly in shock.

She might not know much about gemstones, but even she recognizes this one. A pink star sapphire—rare, impossibly expensive.

“This…” she whispers, her voice trembling.

Before she can say more, Mikhail gently takes it out of the box.

Without asking, he moves behind her.

Niamph stiffens slightly as his fingers brush against her neck. He leans in, so close she can feel his breath. A soft shiver runs down her spine.

As he fastens the clasp, he lowers his head....taking in her scent, slow and quiet...and closes his eyes for a moment.

Like her presence is something he needs to breathe in.

When he finally pulls back, her fingers instinctively rise to touch the pendant resting just above her chest. It feels cold… and impossibly precious.

Mikhail brushes a few strands of her hair away and places them behind her back.

His voice is low.

“Never remove it.”

She looks up at him, surprised by the softness in his tone.

But she nods.

He opens the car door silently, and she steps inside. Her fingers still hover over the pendant as she sits.

Mikhail walks around and slips into the driver’s seat.

With a quiet hum, the black Porsche pulls away from the mansion.