Love Me, Don't Fix Me

Saturday morning arrived wrapped in the soft hush of birdsong and gentle sunlight filtering through the grand windows of the Volkov estate. Nova stirred awake beneath the soft linen sheets of her bed, her body slowly waking to the quiet comfort of a weekend morning.

Her first thought wasn't the pleasant warmth of her duvet or the golden hue bleeding across her walls—it was Andrew.

Today was the day they were hanging out again.

She stretched, then rolled out of bed, her bare feet brushing the cool marble floor as she padded over to her closet. With a yawn, she opened the towering doors of her wardrobe and sighed at the view.

Designer gowns. Tailored coats. Imported shoes lined with hand-stitched embroidery. Even her jeans were either custom made or cost enough to feed a small village.

She frowned, scanning the racks.

"Seriously," she mumbled, tugging out a soft beige cashmere sweater only to toss it onto the chaise lounge. "Does nothing here scream casual?"

There was no such thing as simple in her closet. She had grown up wrapped in satin and elegance. Fashion was more than style—it was image. A part of the brand of being a Volkov. But today wasn't about brand. It wasn't about appearances.

It was about being herself.

She eventually settled on a pair of dark high-waisted jeans—one of the less dramatic pairs—and a navy blue oversized hoodie that had once belonged to her cousin before she'd stolen it in a fit of teenage rebellion. She slipped on her plainest white sneakers, ran a brush through her hair, and tied it up in a messy bun.

Minimal makeup. Clear lip gloss. No jewelry.

She checked the mirror.

She looked… normal. Comfortable. Nova, not Volkov.

Perfect.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that if she wanted to sneak out after breakfast, she at least had to make an appearance first. And offer a believable excuse. There was no way her father would let her out of the house with just a wave goodbye. Not without questions. Not without suspicion.

She descended the staircase slowly, the scent of toasted bread and fresh coffee wafting through the halls. In the dining room, the morning sun bathed everything in warm light. Elara sat at the head of the table, glowing with her usual effortless grace, flipping through a parenting magazine, while Nikolai sipped from a black mug and read the morning news on his tablet.

No Andrei. That meant he was visiting Sergei for the weekend. That was a blessing in disguise—it meant less questioning, less distraction. Nova slipped into her usual seat.

"Good morning," she greeted, reaching for a croissant.

Elara looked up and smiled. "You're up early for a Saturday. Didn't expect to see you before noon."

"Couldn't sleep in," Nova replied smoothly, biting into the buttery pastry.

Nikolai glanced up, eyes sharp. "Plans?"

Nova nodded, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin. "Actually, yes. I was thinking of going for a spa treatment today."

Elara perked up. "Finally. You've been neglecting your self-care. You used to go every other week."

Nova laughed lightly. "I know. I've just been swamped with commissions and deadlines. Thought it was time to detox and unwind."

Nikolai narrowed his eyes slightly, assessing her like he always did when something didn't fully add up. "Which spa?"

She shrugged casually. "Not sure yet. Thought I'd drive around, maybe head to the one near the marina. It's quiet."

"That one's overpriced," he said.

"Everything I do is overpriced," she quipped with a grin. "Perks of being a Volkov."

Elara chuckled while sipping her tea.

Nikolai didn't look fully convinced, but he gave a small nod anyway. "Text me when you get there. And back."

"Of course," she said sweetly.

They finished breakfast in peace. Nova helped Elara clean up, loading her dishes into the dishwasher before heading upstairs to grab her purse, her phone, and the car keys.

She paused at the mirror one last time, checking her reflection.

No glamour. No signature red lipstick. No gold earrings. Just Nova.

As she stepped out of the house and into the sunlight, she exhaled deeply, the morning air brushing against her skin like permission. Freedom, even if only for a few hours.

She opened the door to her car, tossed her bag in the passenger seat, and slid behind the wheel. The leather was warm beneath her, the interior still faintly scented like the citrus air freshener Elara insisted on putting in all their cars.

She turned on the engine, letting the purr of the vehicle settle her nerves. This wasn't rebellion.

It was just living.

She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Andrew.

NOVA: On my way.

Then she tucked the phone aside, shifted into drive, and hit the road—ready for whatever the day would bring.

Nova parked her sleek black car just outside the modest apartment complex, a building that looked tired from years of weathering both rain and sun, its bricks faded and cracked like a forgotten diary. She turned off the engine, fingers lingering on the steering wheel as she exhaled slowly, steadying her heartbeat. Her gaze wandered across the street where a few kids were playing soccer barefoot, the laughter of innocence floating in the warm Saturday air.

Then she saw him.

Andrew stepped out of the building, the heavy front door creaking shut behind him. He wore a plain, faded blue t-shirt and jeans that had clearly seen better days. His sneakers were clean but scuffed, and he looked like he had run a hand through his thick curls at least three times before stepping out. He squinted slightly under the sun, searching for her, his brows lifting the moment he spotted the familiar car.

Nova smiled.

There was something genuine about how he looked. Simple. Real. Not dressed to impress, not hiding behind designer clothes or careful presentation. It was a stark contrast to the people she usually interacted with, and oddly enough, that made him stand out even more.

Andrew approached the car and opened the door. "Hey."

"Hey," she said, mirroring his smile as he slid into the passenger seat. "You clean up okay."

He gave a soft, self-conscious laugh. "This is the best I could manage. I don't have a lot of… you know, options."

"You look fine. Perfect, actually," she said. "No suits today. I wanted us to keep it low-key."

"Oh?" he raised a brow. "No rooftop lunch at a five-star hotel? No champagne in crystal glasses?"

She chuckled. "Tempting, but no. I thought we'd go somewhere I haven't been in a while."

He looked at her curiously. "Where?"

"You'll see," she said, eyes glinting with mischief as she pulled out of the parking spot.

They drove for a while, the city slipping past them like a slow reel of everyday life—bustling corner stores, moms with strollers, teenagers crowding around food trucks, and the occasional street musician filling the air with the soft hum of a saxophone. It was a side of the city Nova rarely experienced. Usually, she was flanked by black cars, darkened windows, and stoic men with guns tucked into their jackets.

But not today.

Today, it was just her. And Andrew.

When they finally pulled into the parking lot of the arcade, Andrew blinked in surprise.

"An arcade?" he asked, staring up at the flashing neon sign overhead. "You brought me to an arcade?"

She threw him a sideways grin as she turned off the ignition. "Don't act so shocked. I've always wanted to go to one without bodyguards lurking around every corner."

"You've been to one before?"

"Yeah," she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. "But never like this. Never without a tail. Never without someone watching my every move like I might disappear in a puff of smoke."

They stepped out of the car, the sounds of laughter, clanging tokens, and retro video game music flooding their senses. The arcade was bright and chaotic in the best way—machines lining every wall, blinking in a riot of colors. Kids ran past them, shrieking with glee, and couples were locked in intense dance-offs on glowing platforms.

It wasn't a high-end, glammed-up luxury destination.

It was real.

It was fun.

And Nova loved every second of it.

They got a load of tokens, and she handed half of hers to Andrew.

"Prepare to lose," she teased.

"Please," he smirked. "I practically lived in arcades as a kid."

"Then you're about to be very disappointed."

They played for hours. Nova beat him in air hockey with a victorious cheer that made heads turn. He destroyed her in racing games—twice—while she insisted that her seat was broken. They faced off in a basketball hoop challenge, and neither of them kept score properly. They shared a greasy slice of pizza and laughed over terrible soda, the kind that left your teeth tingling with sugar.

Somewhere between whacking moles and tossing skee-balls, Andrew looked over at her, watching the way her eyes lit up when she hit a high score.

She looked… free.

Not like the heiress to a feared empire. Not like the daughter of Nikolai Volkov. Not like someone haunted by expectations and weighty legacies.

Just Nova.

And he liked this version of her far too much.

Nova glanced sideways and caught him staring. "What?" she asked, grinning.

"Nothing," he said quickly, turning back to his own machine.

She tilted her head. "You're smiling."

"I'm not."

"You are."

He rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the smile from returning. "Fine. Maybe I am."

She bumped his shoulder. "That's allowed, you know."

"I haven't had this much fun in… a long time."

Nova leaned on the arcade cabinet, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Same."

They ended the day at the prize booth, arms full of ridiculous trinkets they didn't need—tiny stuffed animals, plastic sunglasses, keychains, and a lava lamp Andrew insisted on winning for her.

"I will cherish this forever," Nova said, cradling it like it was made of gold.

They stepped back outside, the sun now dipping low on the horizon, streaking the sky with burnt orange and lavender.

"Thank you," Andrew said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"For what?"

"For today. For… all of this."

Nova gave him a soft look. "You don't have to thank me, Andrew. I needed this too."

They stood there in silence for a moment, the sounds of the arcade fading behind them, the city humming gently around them.

Then Nova turned to him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Next time, though, you're buying the soda."

"Oh, I see how it is," he laughed. "You take me on one date and now I owe you."

She grinned. "Exactly."

They shared a smile before heading back to the car, both of them knowing, deep down, that something between them had shifted—something small, something fragile, but undeniably real.

And neither of them wanted it to end

Nova parked her car outside Andrew's apartment building. The sun had long since dipped below the skyline, casting a soft amber hue over the streets. The evening air was warm, buzzing faintly with distant music and the low murmur of the city unwinding.

Andrew turned to her after a moment, nervous energy radiating from him in waves. He scratched the back of his neck, his eyes flicking to her and away again. "Do you, uh… want to come in? Maybe for coffee?"

Nova quirked an eyebrow, amused by his sudden nervousness. "Coffee?"

"Yeah. You know. The legal kind," he joked, though his voice cracked slightly.

She let out a soft laugh. "Sure."

They stepped out of the car, the quiet thud of the doors closing behind them punctuating the sudden awareness that had blossomed between them. Inside, the stairwell echoed with each footstep, a silence settling over them, not uncomfortable—but charged. By the time they reached his door, Andrew had fumbled twice with the keys.

Once inside, Nova dropped her hoodie on the arm of the couch, and Andrew disappeared into the tiny kitchen nook. He busied himself with the coffee maker, but his hands were clumsy, distracted. Nova took a seat on the floor against the wall, stretching out her legs. Her heart thudded in her chest. She didn't know what was happening, only that something was.

"Coffee will be ready in a minute," he said, his voice lower than usual.

But they never touched the coffee.

The next moment was a blur—a slow unraveling that began with a glance and dissolved into gravity.

Andrew crossed the room slowly, hesitating for just a breath before sitting down beside her. She turned to him, and in that instant, the air shifted. He leaned in slightly, his eyes searching hers, uncertain but wanting.

"Can I…?" he asked.

She nodded, breath catching.

The kiss was unsteady, a little messy—more instinct than perfection. But it was real. Her first kiss. A moment she had wondered about for years, never expecting it would happen here, in this dim, narrow apartment with a boy whose life couldn't be more different from hers.

But it felt right.

He tasted like mint and nerves, and his hands never moved from her waist—until she found his fingers and gently guided them higher. Her breath shuddered against his cheek. His hesitation melted into the kiss, deepening it. She could feel his restraint, like he was afraid to go further, but wanting to.

They didn't speak.

Words would ruin it.

Her hoodie was off. Then her shirt. He followed, pulling his own over his head, revealing lean muscle and scarred skin—a map of struggle she hadn't yet explored. He kissed her neck, slow and tentative, before trailing lower, down to her collarbone and across her chest.

It was clumsy. New. Uncertain.

But it was hers.

She ran her hands up his back, memorizing the warmth of him. He smelled of detergent and coffee and something uniquely Andrew. Her fingers reached for the buckle of his belt, trembling slightly.

Then the door slammed open.

"Nova."

The voice was sharp. Cold.

She froze.

Andrew's eyes widened in horror as he scrambled upright, shielding her instinctively with his body. Nova turned, breathless, heart pounding—not from desire, but from dread.

Nikolai stood in the doorway.

And his eyes were fire.

.