Love Me, Don't Fix Me

Nova sat motionless in the driver's seat, her hands trembling on the steering wheel, but she made no move to start the car. Her heart ached in a way she hadn't felt before—a dull, hollow throb that pulsed with every breath she tried to take. Her vision blurred with tears, cascading down her cheeks in silent rivers as she stared out into the distance, seeing nothing but the echoes of what had just happened.

All because of her father's sins.

She had lost him. Andrew. The boy she loved with a quiet kind of certainty. A love that felt innocent and pure—everything her world wasn't. But now that love was tainted. Stained in ash and fire and the memory of a family burned alive. All of it—ripped away because of the man who shared her blood.

Nikolai Volkov.

Bratva Prince. Bratva King. Her father.

The man who raised her with bedtime stories and taught her to ride a bike in the backyard now wore the face of a monster in her mind. If he had just been normal—a father with a regular job, a conscience, and a human heart—none of this would've happened. If he hadn't burned Andrew's life to the ground, she could have had something beautiful. Something real.

But no.

He had to be the villain in Andrew's story.

And now, she wasn't sure if she could ever forgive him.

Nova finally turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, but it didn't drown out the scream buried in her chest. She clenched her jaw, forced herself to breathe, and pulled out of the lot.

The drive home blurred past her in a haze of city lights and painful memories.

When she arrived at the villa, the sun was beginning to dip low in the sky, casting orange and rose-colored hues across the driveway. She parked, stepped out, and slammed the car door shut harder than she intended. Her sneakers pounded against the marble floor of the entryway as she walked inside.

Nikolai was sitting on the couch, his phone in hand, eyes scanning through emails like he hadn't just destroyed his daughter's entire world. The living room was quiet, and Elara was nowhere in sight—likely upstairs, unaware of the storm that was about to hit.

Nova's gaze zeroed in on him, cold and sharp.

"You said he wouldn't want to see me again," she said, her voice low and shaking. "You made it sound like you scared him off with your usual threats. I figured it was just more of your control tactics. But I had no idea…"

She stepped closer, fists clenched at her sides.

"I had no idea it was this horrible."

Nikolai looked up, his eyes meeting hers, but she didn't flinch. There was no warmth in her stare now—just a cold fury that cut straight through him.

"I knew you were dangerous," she continued, "I knew what you did for a living. But I always believed, deep down, that you only hurt the people who deserved it. The bad ones. The ones who crossed you."

She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips.

"But now I know the truth. You're not just a Bratva boss. You're a monster with no conscience and no heart. You didn't just ruin Andrew's life. You murdered his family. You made sure the world forgot about them like they never existed. And for what?"

Nikolai's jaw tightened. "Nova…"

She cut him off.

"For what, Dad?"

He sighed, setting the phone aside and leaning forward slightly. "His parents betrayed the Bratva. They leaked information to the police and to our enemies. Routes. Names. It got people killed—innocent people. Men I trusted. They knew what they were doing. They signed a death sentence when they turned."

Nova's voice cracked as she asked, "And his little brother, Dad? An eight-year-old boy? What did he do?"

Nikolai's silence said it all.

She stared at him, her eyes glassy. "That's how this works, huh? Wipe out the entire bloodline just to be safe. Kill them all so there are no loose ends. You call it loyalty. I call it cowardice."

"Nova, you don't understand the world we live in."

"No, you don't understand," she snapped. "You think you're protecting me, but all you've done is wrap me in lies and blood. You're so obsessed with control that you don't even see how much damage you've caused. Do you have any idea what you did to Andrew?"

She stepped forward, pointing to her chest, her voice breaking.

"You burned down his house with his parents chained to their bedposts. He saw his little brother set on fire and drown trying to save himself. He was ten, Dad. Ten. And he never got justice because of you. Because you made sure no one talked about it."

Her voice trembled, but her eyes didn't waver.

"You traumatized a child and destroyed a family, and now you think you can keep me safe from the fallout?"

He stood then, towering over her, but she didn't back down. "Nova, I did what I had to. That's the life I live. That's the life you were born into."

"And if someone came after me, or Mom, or Andrei because of something you did—how would that make you feel?" she asked. "Would you still justify it then?"

He hesitated.

That was all the answer she needed.

She nodded, tears welling up again, hot and blinding. "You don't even see it, do you? You're so far gone that you think you're the hero in all of this. But you're not. You're the villain. I wouldn't choose you as my dad if I had the chance to choose."

"Nova," he said quietly, "you don't mean that."

She looked at him like he was a stranger. "I do."

Then she turned, walked up the stairs, and disappeared down the hallway without another word.

Nikolai didn't follow.

He couldn't.

Not when her words were still ringing in his ears like bullets:

> "I wouldn't choose you as my dad if I had the chance to choose."

Each syllable carved into his chest, slow and deep.

He sat down, running a hand through his hair. For the first time in years, the house felt colder than the world outside.

And upstairs, Nova locked her bedroom door, sank to the floor, and finally let herself break.

Her sobs were silent, but her pain screamed through the walls

------------

The morning sun spilled through the curtains like a mocking reminder that life outside continued—even when yours felt like it had shattered into pieces.

Nova hadn't slept. Not even for a minute.

Her body was heavy with exhaustion, her limbs aching from lying curled up in the same position all night. Her pillow was soaked with tears that had long dried on her cheeks, and her eyes were swollen, puffy, and bloodshot. But what ached the most wasn't her body—it was her heart.

A deep, hollow ache that throbbed like an open wound every time she remembered Andrew's words.

> "Your father burned my home. Killed my parents. Killed my little brother. I see that fire when I look at you."

She had lost him.

The boy who made her feel like Nova, not Nova Volkov—not the daughter of the feared Bratva boss or the heiress of a bloodstained empire. Just Nova. The girl who laughed too loud, who painted until her hands cramped, who loved without restraint.

And now he was gone.

All because of her father's sins.

The same man who had once held her hand when she was scared, the man who taught her how to shoot a gun before she even learned how to braid her hair. Her father—the man she loved and admired—was the same man who had turned Andrew's world to ash.

She hated it. Hated him. Hated everything.

Why did life have to be so cruel?

Why couldn't she have been born to a normal family—one where fathers wore suits and ties, not guns and guilt? Why couldn't she have been a regular girl, with regular problems, who fell in love with a boy without that love being poisoned by fire and death?

A knock came at the door. Soft. Hesitant.

She didn't move.

"Nova," came her mother's voice, gentle and tentative from the hallway. "It's me."

Silence.

Nova turned her head to the wall, refusing to answer. Elara waited a beat longer, then added, "If you're ready to talk… you know where to find me."

Nova heard her mother walk away. The silence that followed was louder than the knock had been.

She closed her eyes and wished she could disappear.

---

It was nearly noon by the time Nova forced herself out of bed. Her limbs ached, and every motion felt sluggish, as if grief had physically weighed her down. She showered in silence, letting the hot water scald her skin as if it could somehow wash away the ache in her chest.

She didn't bother with makeup. She barely even brushed her hair, tying it into a messy bun that felt like a weak attempt at pretending she was fine.

She threw on a pair of denim shorts and a soft pink T-shirt, slipped her feet into sneakers, grabbed her purse and car keys, and made her way downstairs.

The house was quiet, but not empty.

She could hear voices—Elara's, soft and coaxing, and a younger, innocent one chiming in. Andrei. It seemed he was back from Sergei's place. Just another painful reminder that the world hadn't stopped spinning.

As she reached the bottom step, Elara caught sight of her.

"Oh, Nova," her mother said, surprised. "Lunch is almost ready. You skipped breakfast, and you really shouldn't skip lunch too. You need to eat something."

"I'm not hungry," Nova replied flatly, her voice hoarse from all the crying.

From the other side of the table, Andrei turned his head at the sound of her voice. His face lit up, the way only a child's could.

"Is Nova sad, Mommy?" he asked with wide, concerned eyes.

"Yeah," Elara replied softly, brushing a hand through her son's dark curls. "It's normal sometimes."

"Do you want me to hug you?" Andrei asked, slipping off his chair and padding over to her.

Nova's heart cracked.

She couldn't stop the tears that welled up again at her little brother's innocent concern. He didn't know. He was only eight. Too young to understand what their father truly was. Too young to know that he was growing up in a world where love and bloodshed went hand in hand.

Would he grow up to become like Nikolai?

Or would he grow up and hate their father just like she did now?

Nova knelt down and pulled Andrei into a tight hug. His small arms wrapped around her waist as he held on with the pure, unfiltered love only a child could give.

"Thanks, buddy," she whispered, ruffling his hair gently.

Andrei looked up at her, smiling. "Then can you eat with us? You feel better now, right?"

Nova stared at him for a long second before sighing. How could she say no to that face?

She gave a small nod. "Yeah… I guess I can eat a little."

Elara's face softened with relief. "Good. Go wash your hands, Andrei."

He scurried off to the guest bathroom, humming a little tune under his breath, oblivious to the emotional warzone around him.

Nova took a seat at the dining table. The food was simple—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables. Elara moved around the kitchen like clockwork, setting the table with practiced ease. Nikolai was already seated, unusually quiet.

He kept stealing glances at her from across the table, but she ignored him. She kept her eyes on her plate, her expression unreadable, her heart still raw and bleeding.

He had destroyed everything.

She picked at her food, forcing herself to chew and swallow only so Andrei wouldn't ask questions. She barely tasted anything. The lump in her throat made it hard to eat, and her chest felt like a hollowed-out grave.

Nikolai watched her silently, his own appetite untouched. For the first time in his life, he had no words. No commands. No control. Just guilt, sitting heavy on his chest like a stone that wouldn't lift.

He had done it all for her. That's what he told himself. That's what he wanted to believe. But maybe Elara was right. Maybe he had done it for himself. For power. For revenge. For loyalty to the bratva code that now threatened to take away the one person he couldn't afford to lose.

His daughter.

She didn't look at him once during lunch.

Not once.

And that silence… was louder than any scream.