Love Me, Don't Fix Me

Nova's breath hitched as the heavy silence in the room shattered into a thousand pieces. She scrambled for her shirt, pulling it over her head with trembling hands, her face burning with shame and panic.

This was not how it was supposed to go. Not like this. Not with her heart pounding for all the wrong reasons.

"Dad," she whispered, her voice almost inaudible. But he heard it. Of course, he did.

Nikolai Volkov stood at the doorway like a shadow made flesh—broad-shouldered, clad in black, his face carved from stone. His cold, storm-grey eyes weren't on her.

They were locked on Andrew.

"Get up," Nikolai said, voice low and commanding. "And get in the car. Now."

Nova stood frozen, her limbs stiff with disbelief. "No… no, Daddy, please. Don't hurt him. It's not what it looks like—okay, it is, but I was the one—please, don't hurt him!"

Her words were frantic, tumbling over each other, soaked in fear. She moved toward him, but his hand snapped up, halting her.

"I made it clear," he said, each syllable like a hammer to the chest. "Do not hang out with this boy. But you disobeyed me."

His voice wasn't raised, but that only made it worse. It was cold. Measured. Lethal.

Behind him, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Sergei.

The moment he entered, Nova's heart dropped. Her godfather's expression was unreadable, but his eyes flicked to her, regret already written in them.

"Take her to the car," Nikolai ordered.

"No. No, Godfather, please," Nova cried, backing away as Sergei approached. "Don't listen to him. Please—don't do this. I'm not leaving him!"

"Nova," Sergei said quietly. "Please. Don't make this harder than it already is."

"Let me go!" she shouted as Sergei's hand gently but firmly closed around her wrist. "Godfather, please—just listen! Dad, don't hurt him!"

"I won't say it again," Nikolai said without looking at her.

Sergei's grip tightened just enough to keep her from slipping away. He didn't speak again—his silence was heavier than any command. He pulled her toward the door, her heels scraping against the cheap tile as she fought.

"LET ME GO!" she screamed, her voice cracking as she was dragged from the apartment. "DAD, DON'T HURT HIM!"

And then, the door slammed shut behind her.

The silence that followed was crushing.

Andrew sat on the floor, his chest heaving. He hadn't moved. Couldn't move. His shirt was still half-buttoned. His heart was pounding so violently he thought it might rip through his ribs.

Nikolai stepped forward, boots echoing on the scuffed floor, and crouched down to his level. The intensity in his eyes was suffocating.

"Listen, kid," he said calmly, as though speaking to someone beneath him. "My daughter probably hates me right now. But I'll take her hatred a thousand times over before I let her make the mistake of giving herself to someone like you."

Andrew opened his mouth, but no words came.

"I'm her father. And everything I do… is for her. Including this," Nikolai added.

Andrew swallowed hard, his voice hoarse. "Why? Why does it matter so much? What is it about me that you hate so much?"

There was a pause. A slow, measured breath.

Nikolai's gaze sharpened. "Because I believe that children often repeat their parents' mistakes. And I never trusted yours."

Andrew's chest caved in.

"You… knew my parents?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

Nikolai's silence was answer enough. Then came the killing blow.

"I didn't just know them. I burned them," he said.

Andrew recoiled as if slapped. "What…?"

"I burned your home. Your mother. Your father. Your little brother."

The words dropped like knives.

Andrew's breath caught. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled freely now. The pain was instant, primal. His body trembled.

"You…" His voice broke. "You were the one… You're the reason I—"

Nikolai stood up slowly, towering above him like judgment itself. "Your parents signed a contract with me. Swore loyalty. Then they betrayed me. I gave them a choice. They chose wrong. I never expected you to survive, but… the universe has a twisted sense of humor."

Andrew was shaking now. Everything inside him felt shattered.

"Why did you let me live?" he choked out.

"I didn't," Nikolai said. "You lived despite me. And you don't belong in my daughter's life."

Andrew stared up at him, pain contorting every inch of his face. "She'll find out the truth. She'll hate you."

"She already does," Nikolai said, walking to the door. "But she'll be safe. And that's what matters."

He paused just before leaving, his hand on the doorknob.

"And if you ever come near her again… there won't be any fire. You'll just disappear."

Then he was gone.

Andrew remained on the floor, frozen. His arms wrapped around his knees. He stared at the door with a thousand-yard stare. The air felt thinner now. Colder.

The ghosts he'd tried so hard to keep buried were screaming.

And this time, he couldn't silence them.

The cars rolled to a stop outside the Volkov villa, their tires crunching softly over the gravel driveway as dusk painted the sky in fading streaks of gold and blue. Sergei stepped out first, his movements clipped, deliberate. Nikolai followed, the weight of his decisions etched deep into his face.

Nova sat stiffly in the backseat, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her jaw set in defiance.

"Nova," Nikolai called sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"I'm not getting out," she said, her voice calm but unyielding.

Nikolai's jaw clenched. In a flash of movement, he yanked open the door and grabbed her arm, dragging her out despite her protests. Nova stumbled but refused to cry out this time.

"Sergei, I'll handle it from here," Nikolai said without looking back.

Sergei gave a short nod, his face unreadable. He met Nova's furious gaze with a flicker of sympathy, then turned and walked away in silence. His silence was his only protest.

Inside the house, the atmosphere shifted immediately. The elegant foyer—usually serene—was suddenly filled with shouts and resistance.

"Let go of me!" Nova screamed, twisting in Nikolai's iron grip. She bit down hard on his hand, tasting the metallic tang of blood. He flinched, but didn't release her. His face remained stoic, as though this pain was nothing compared to the storm inside his chest.

"What the hell is going on?!" Elara's voice rang down the staircase.

She descended quickly, barefoot and breathless, dressed in one of Nikolai's oversized shirts that barely covered the swell of her six-month baby bump. Her hair was in a messy bun, a book forgotten in her hand—"Russian for Dummies," now resting on the bottom step.

She stopped cold at the sight before her—Nova, crying and flushed, and Nikolai, holding her arm with a force that made her heart ache.

"Nikolai!" she shouted. "What are you doing to her?"

"Mom," Nova gasped, breaking free and flying into Elara's arms like a child seeking sanctuary. "Please… please tell him to stop."

Elara's arms wrapped protectively around her daughter. Her glare sliced straight through Nikolai. "Let her go. Now."

"She lied," Nikolai said tightly, fists shaking with frustration. "She said she was going to the spa. But she was with that boy."

Elara's eyes narrowed. "So?"

"So they were about to have sex when I walked in," he snapped.

Nova flinched, her face burning. Elara froze.

But then she sighed and looked at her husband. "Nikolai… she's eighteen. Not twelve. You can't keep locking her away like she's made of glass. If she wants to have sex, that's her decision. That's part of growing up."

"I get that," he said, voice strained, "but not with him. Anyone but him."

"Why?" Elara asked, stepping forward. "What has this boy done that makes you act like a goddamn lunatic?"

Nikolai looked away. His lips pressed into a tight line. Elara didn't know. She had chosen to remain in the dark about many of the things he'd done, things she'd deliberately closed her eyes to—for her sanity, for their family. And now, it cornered him.

"Because…" he started, then trailed off.

"Because what?" Elara pressed.

Nikolai didn't answer. And that silence was louder than a scream.

Nova stepped forward, her voice trembling but defiant. "You're not doing this for me, Dad. You're doing it for yourself."

He turned back to her, surprised.

"You say you want what's best for me," she continued, "but what you really want is control. You decide who I talk to. Who I hang out with. You vet my friends like they're criminal suspects. And today… you treated me like a prisoner."

"I'm protecting you," he said, jaw tight.

"No," she said softly. "You're protecting your ego. And if I was about to have sex with Andrew, so what? That's normal. I'm not some porcelain doll. I can make my own choices. And if Andrew can't protect me… I can protect myself. I'm a Volkov too."

Nikolai shook his head. "You don't understand. That boy—"

"I don't want to understand your reasons if this is how you act," she snapped, eyes gleaming with tears. "I'll never forget what you did today. And if Andrew is hurt because of you… I swear to God, I will hate you."

"You don't mean that," Nikolai said, his voice quieter now.

"Try me," Nova said coldly. "You always say I look like Mom, but I'm your daughter too. I can hold a grudge just as long as you can. And whether you like it or not… I will be with Andrew."

Nikolai's face darkened. "Not after today. He won't want you anymore."

Nova blinked, confusion slipping into her rage. "What did you do?"

He didn't answer.

She crossed her arms. "Let me guess. You threatened to wipe out his bloodline? Burn his apartment down? Kill his cat?"

"More than that," Nikolai said flatly.

Her breath caught. "What did you do?"

He said nothing.

Nova scoffed bitterly. "You really are a monster."

"Go to him," Nikolai said. "Tomorrow. See if he still wants you. But don't come crying when he doesn't."

"I hate you," she whispered, voice breaking.

Then she turned and bolted upstairs, her footsteps thunderous, the slam of her bedroom door echoing through the house like a gunshot.

Elara stood in silence for a long moment.

Then she turned to him, disappointment etched into every line of her face.

"I have never been more ashamed of you than I am right now," she said. "Sometimes, Nikolai, you make me question why I ever stayed."

She didn't wait for a response. She walked past him without another word.

Nikolai collapsed onto the couch, his head in his hands. The ache in his chest felt like it might crack him open.

He was losing them both.

But he had to believe he was doing the right thing.

Because if Andrew had found out the truth on his own—found out that the girl he was falling for was the daughter of the man who destroyed his family—it would've broken him.

And in turn, it would've broken her.

Better she hate him than hate herself.

Better he be the villain.

If it meant she'd be safe.