The Great Alexei Vetrov was having the greatest crisis of his life.
No, it wasn't because his credit card had declined again. After the first time his father pulled that little 'lesson in humility' stunt, Alexei had learned to keep a few emergency accounts his old man couldn't touch.
Nor was it because someone had posted a less‑than‑flattering photo of him online. Those people didn't live long enough to post a second one.
So, no. It wasn't that either.
This was worse. Much worse.
The chandeliers dripped gold light over a sea of velvet and glass.
Laughter rang like coins clinking in crystal, the kind of expensive noise Alexei usually fed on. Tonight, though, it all grated.
Because, despite being at Anton's grand party, which was officially to celebrate Nikolai's recovery, unofficially to drink until they forgot how boring this world was, Alexei couldn't enjoy it.
Sure, they didn't let Nikolai touch a drop of alcohol. Uncle Anatoly's orders, you see.
