Artem Volkov.
The name hung in the air like a curse, a storm, a prophecy.
For a moment, no one breathed.
Even the walls seemed to recoil.
Sasha clutched her stomach, gasping.
Liliana stared up with glassy-eyed triumph.
Ivan muttered a prayer under his breath.
Vera began sobbing into Mila’s shoulder.
But Demetri—
Demetri looked like someone had carved out his heart with a dull blade.
Nora touched his arm gently. “Demetri… who is Artem?”
His jaw clenched so hard she heard the crack.
“Artem Volkov,” he said slowly, like each syllable cost blood, “is my father’s older brother.”
Sasha blinked, confused. “But then why—”
“Because,” Demetri hissed, “Artem was supposed to inherit everything. The Volkov name. The power. The lineage.”
Liliana giggled through her bruises.
“Supposed to,
