Nova groaned as the blaring alarm shattered the peaceful silence of her room. She rolled over and slapped the snooze button, but it was too late—her mind was awake now. She blinked at the soft morning light filtering through her sheer curtains, then glanced at the digital clock on her nightstand.
"Ugh. Appointment day," she muttered, sitting up.
Today, she had an appointment with her designer. Not just any designer—but the one responsible for creating the perfect outfit for her art exhibit. Her paintings were bold, loud, and unapologetic—so her look had to match. Nova didn't just want people to be wowed by the artwork. She wanted them to remember the girl behind the brush too.
She dragged herself out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. The cold tile under her feet made her jolt awake faster than coffee ever could. She brushed her teeth, humming a tune under her breath, then hopped into the shower. Twenty minutes later, she stepped out, wrapped in a cloud of steam and wrapped in a fluffy robe.
After drying off, she picked out a short, blue jumpsuit with gold zippers and a cinched waist. It hugged her curves perfectly and showed off her legs in just the right way. She curled her dark hair into loose waves that tumbled around her shoulders and applied a bit of makeup—just enough to highlight her cheekbones and make her eyes pop.
Feeling like a masterpiece herself, Nova headed downstairs.
The smell of breakfast hit her like a warm hug. Pancakes, eggs, and something buttery filled the air. She found Andrei perched on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs and chattering as he handed ingredients to Nikolai.
Nikolai stood at the stove, flipping pancakes like a pro in his crisp black T-shirt and lounge pants. He was oddly graceful, considering the scars, tattoos, and general aura of "danger" that clung to him like cologne.
Elara sat on the couch in the open-plan living room, deeply engrossed in a book titled Russian for Dummies. Nova did a double take.
"Seriously?" she asked.
Elara looked up and grinned. "Figured it was time. I've been married to your father for almost two decades and I still don't know what the hell he says during Bratva meetings."
"Probably better that way," Nova said with a smirk.
"Exactly why I never learned," Elara said. "But now I'm bored and hormonal."
Nova chuckled and walked over to her father, kissing him on the cheek. "Morning, Daddy."
"Morning, sunshine," Nikolai replied, eyes still focused on the pan.
She ruffled Andrei's hair, earning a sleepy giggle from him, then crossed the room to Elara and kissed her cheek. "Morning, Mama."
"Morning, sweetie," Elara said, putting down the book.
Nova grabbed a plate and sat at the breakfast bar. "I'll be heading out to meet my designer after breakfast. I need something spectacular. I want people to gasp when they see me."
"You always look like a walking piece of art," Elara said.
Nova grinned. "I know."
After breakfast, she drove to the designer's downtown studio. The space was sleek and modern, filled with mannequins draped in luxurious fabrics and bold colors. Her designer, Bella, was already waiting with a rack of options.
They spent the next hour trying on outfits, discussing materials, debating over heels versus boots, and sketching adjustments. Nova finally chose a dramatic off-shoulder gown in deep emerald, embroidered with gold thread that shimmered in the light. It made her feel like a painting in motion.
She was just about to leave when her phone buzzed.
Exhibit Planner: Since you're officially 18 now, it might be nice to bring a plus-one to the exhibit. It adds a bit of charm and makes the press shots more personal.
Nova stared at the message and groaned audibly.
A plus-one? Really?
She rolled her eyes. It wasn't like she had a boyfriend. She never had, thanks to her overprotective father who treated every teenage boy like a potential criminal. No sneaky hand-holding in the halls. No high school crushes or secret kisses under the bleachers. Just art, family, and a fortress of bodyguards.
She sighed, leaning back against her car once she got outside.
Of course the one time she might need a plus-one, she was single as ever.
But then… a spark of an idea hit her.
Her mind flashed to the quiet boy with the warm eyes and sketch-stained hands. Andrew.
He seemed grounded, unlike the rich boys in her social circle who were all ego and designer sneakers. He was calm. Soft-spoken. And oddly calming.
She'd only seen him twice. Once while dripping wet and yelling at her phone, and once after accidentally hitting him with her car.
But somehow… it didn't feel too crazy.
He wouldn't be trying to impress anyone. He wouldn't use her name for clout.
He might actually be… perfect.
Nova smiled to herself as she climbed into her car.
Maybe it was ridiculous. Maybe it wasn't.
But one thing was certain—she was going to ask him.
Nova pulled up to the café Andrew worked at, her tires crunching gently against the gravel in front. The morning sun bathed the building in a soft golden light. It was still early—just after 10 AM—but the place was already buzzing with customers clutching their cappuccinos and laptops.
She stepped out of her car, adjusting her sunglasses, and headed inside. The familiar smell of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon pastries wrapped around her like a warm hug. She scanned the space for Andrew but didn't spot him behind the counter.
Her brow furrowed.
A guy in a green apron stood where Andrew usually was. Nova walked up to the counter, tapping her fingers gently against it.
"Uhm... excuse me," she said, flashing a polite smile. "Where's Andrew? The guy who was working here yesterday?"
The barista, a tall guy with curly brown hair and a name tag that read Benny, looked up from the order screen.
"Oh, Andrew? He's not in today. It's his day off."
Nova's lips twisted in a frown. "Do you know where I can find him? Is he at home?"
Benny shrugged. "I'm not really sure. He doesn't talk much. You could check his apartment, or maybe campus? He mentioned a design class this week."
Nova nodded. "Thanks."
She spun on her heel and walked out.
Once back in her car, she turned the key in the ignition and began the drive to the small apartment building she remembered from the night before. It wasn't in the best neighborhood—definitely not somewhere the Volkovs frequented—but it had its charm. Modest, quiet, and humble.
Nova parked on the curb, stepped out, and approached the entrance. There was no receptionist, no security, and definitely no directory. She frowned.
"Alright," she muttered to herself. "Time for door-to-door like it's Halloween."
She began her ascent, knocking on doors one by one.
The first door—a teenage girl with pink headphones and a scowl.
Second—an elderly man in a tank top who thought she was selling something.
Third—an awkward silence.
Fourth—a couple in the middle of an argument.
Fifth—no answer.
By the eighth door, Nova was beginning to question her sanity.
Then it opened.
Andrew stood on the other side, shirtless, a small pile of neatly folded clothes in his hands. He blinked at her in surprise, like seeing a hallucination he wasn't sure was real.
Nova blinked too. Then cleared her throat.
Because oh boy.
For someone so shy and quiet, he was... well-built. Not overly muscular, but lean and defined, with soft ridges along his chest and abs. A few faint scars trailed over his torso, telling stories she hadn't yet heard.
She stared. She really, truly stared.
Andrew shifted uncomfortably. "Uh… Nova?"
She shook herself from the daze, cheeks flushed. "Right! Sorry. I just… I've never seen a boy my age shirtless."
His brows rose. "Seriously?"
She nodded. "Yeah. I've seen my dad, my grandpa, my uncles, and like... Bratva men on private beaches, but not someone my age. So, you know. New experience."
He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you… want to come in?"
"Yeah."
He stepped aside, letting her into the small studio apartment. It was modest—tiny, even. One single bed in the corner, a small closet pressed against the wall, a couch that looked like it had survived too many naps, and a kitchenette barely large enough for two people to stand in.
No AC. No TV. A small fan rotated lazily from a plastic stool in the corner.
Nova's brows furrowed, her eyes drifting around the space.
"This is where you live?" she asked softly.
He nodded. "It's not much, but I manage."
She turned to him and smiled faintly. "It's neat. I mean, cleaner than Andrei's room."
Andrew relaxed a little. "Well, no one to mess it up but me."
Nova hesitated, then stepped forward, facing him fully.
"I actually came to ask you something," she said.
Andrew raised an eyebrow. "Okay?"
"So, I got a text from my exhibit planner today," Nova began. "Now that I'm eighteen, they said it would be a good idea to bring a plus-one to the opening night. You know... for the photos, for appearances."
His expression shifted slightly, eyes cautious.
"And?" he asked.
"I want you to come with me."
His eyes widened. "What? Me?"
She nodded. "Yes, you."
"Nova, we've literally seen each other twice."
"Three times, actually. The café, the hit-and-run, and now this," she said, counting with her fingers. "But that's not the point. I don't want some annoying rich boy who'll talk over me all night. I want someone who's real. Someone who doesn't feel the need to impress a room. Someone like you."
Andrew rubbed the back of his neck again. "I don't know, Nova. I'm not good with... attention."
"You don't have to talk to anyone," she promised. "You just have to stand next to me, smile a little, or don't. Wear a suit. I'll get one tailored for you. You can keep it too. All you have to do is be there."
He looked at her, uncertain.
"You don't even have to speak if you don't want to," she added, softly. "Just… be there."
A long pause.
Then, finally, Andrew gave her a small nod.
"Okay," he said. "I'll go with you."
Nova smiled, bright and triumphant.
"Great. Now, put a shirt on before I start asking more questions about those abs."
He laughed, and for the first time, Nova realized she kind of liked hearing him laugh.