Page 92 of Porcelain Vows

Chapter Thirty-Six

Stella

It’s peaceful out here.

The gentle rustling of leaves and distant birdsong creates a natural symphony that feels worlds away from the tensions of recent days, weeks. With all that’s been happening, I barely had time to make sense of my own thoughts and emotions. But out here, a calm settles over me. A quiet contentment I hadn’t experienced since my parents’ death.

Maria pushes Bobik’s wheelchair with exaggerated care, navigating the specially constructed path that winds through the woods surrounding the estate. I follow a few steps behind, Polina nestled against my chest in her carrier, her weight warm and comforting.

“And this, my little scientist,” Maria says to Bobik, pausing to indicate a cluster of mushrooms growing at the base of an oak tree, “is what we calledlisichkiin Russia. Golden chanterelles.”

Bobik leans forward in his wheelchair, eyes bright with curiosity. “Are they edible,babusia?”

“They’re the best kind,” Maria confirms. “When I was a girl, my grandmother would take me foraging. We’d make soup that tasted like sunshine.”

I watch them together, this impromptu botany lesson another thread in the tapestry of family they’re weaving. In just a couple of weeks, Maria has become essential to us all— a grandmother to the children, and a mother figure to me. The irony doesn’t escape me: Aleksei took one mother from me through his actions, then gave me another through Maria’srescue. And now, he’s letting his guard down a little and allowing Bobik these extra moments of freedom in the care of his grandmother. Life at the manor is beginning to feel more and more normal.

If “normal” could even be a thing in the Tarasov empire.

These morning walks have become our ritual. While Aleksei handles business matters, we explore the extensive grounds, Maria sharing stories of Russia, Bobik asking endless questions, Polina sleeping or observing her surroundings with those dark, serious eyes.

Today we’ve ventured farther than usual, following the wheelchair-accessible path that Aleksei had constructed when we convinced him to allow these daily excursions. The forest grows denser here, the light more filtered, the sounds of nature more pronounced.

That’s when I see her— a figure standing motionless in a small clearing ahead, partially obscured by branches. Something about the solitary silhouette sends a chill through me despite the warm morning air. It’s like she’s asking for my help, calling me.

“Maria,” I say quietly, “would you mind waiting here with the children for a moment?”

She follows my gaze, her expression sharpening with concern. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure. Probably nothing, but…” I carefully transfer Polina to her waiting arms. “I won’t be long.”

Maria nods, her eyes communicating understanding beyond her simple response. “We’ll be right here.”

I move forward alone, instinct pulling me toward the figure despite the potential danger. As I draw closer, detailsemerge from the dappled shadows— a woman in an expensive but rumpled dress, her back to me, dark hair hanging loose and tangled down her back. Something metallic glints in her right hand, catching the sunlight.

Recognition hits with a surge of dread. Sofia Novikova.

Holy shit!

What is she doing here?

I step on a twig, the snap unnaturally loud in the sudden silence of the forest. The woman turns, startled, and I see her fully— her once-perfect makeup streaked by tears, eyes red-rimmed and wild. The metallic object is unmistakably a handgun, wavering between pointing at herself and at me.

I freeze.

“Sofia,” I say softly, raising my hands in a non-threatening gesture. “What are you doing out here?”

A bitter scoff escapes her. “What do you care? Come to gloat? The victorious rival checking on the defeated one?”

I remain still, maintaining the distance between us. Her unpredictable movements and the gun’s erratic trajectory keep me rooted in place.

“I’m not your rival, Sofia. I never wanted to be.”

“I used to love it here,” she says, gaze drifting around the clearing as if I hadn’t spoken. “When I was engaged to Aleksei, I’d walk here alone. It was the only place I felt… peaceful.”

The wistfulness in her voice contrasts sharply with the weapon in her hand. I take a careful step forward.

“Why don’t we walk back together? We can talk—”

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