𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑺 - 𝑹.𝑵𝑰𝑲𝑶𝑳𝑨𝑰

chapter 43

FOURTY THREE

The two of you returned to the reception, Nikolai immediately veering off to join the conversation between Fyodor and your father. You could already hear his animated voice mixing into their low, calculating tones, and you shook your head fondly at the sight.

Your gaze drifted back to where your mother sat, her expression surprisingly relaxed as she spoke with Sigma. Oddly enough, he seemed to be holding his own — though the faint sheen of sweat on his brow told you he was fighting for his life with every polite smile.

Curious, you made your way over, a soft chuckle slipping past your lips. "You guys are weirdly getting along well, huh?" you remarked as you approached, raising a brow in amusement.

Sigma let out a nervous laugh, his posture stiff as he adjusted the cuffs of his jacket. "Yeah... well... trying my best," he mumbled, the slightest quiver in his voice betraying just how hard he was working to stay composed. Your mother's piercing gaze had clearly kept him on high alert.

They had been discussing Sigma's casino, and naturally — being your mother — she had zeroed in on the one thing she always cared about: money. Her questions came sharp and fast, ranging from the logistics of running such a large establishment to the intricacies of profit margins. Sigma, ever the professional, had managed to keep up, but the relentless financial grilling had left him looking like he'd just run a marathon in a three-piece suit.

Every now and then, though, her sharp curiosity softened. Her eyes would narrow thoughtfully, and out of nowhere, she'd ask him about his hair routine. Each time, Sigma flushed a bright shade of pink, stumbling over his words as he tried to answer modestly. To be fair, he did have fabulous hair — smooth, glossy, and styled effortlessly. Even you had to admit you were a little curious yourself.

Your mother, of course, had no shame in prying. She seemed genuinely intrigued, occasionally nodding in approval when Sigma shyly admitted to a particular conditioner or serum he used.

You bit back a grin, folding your arms as you watched the unlikely pair. For someone who looked like he'd rather crawl under the nearest table, Sigma was handling himself admirably.

"Don't worry, Sigma," you teased lightly, leaning closer. "If she starts asking about your skincare routine next, just run. I won't hold it against you."

He huffed a quiet laugh under his breath, shooting you a look that was equal parts pleading and grateful. Your mother, however, merely smiled — the kind of smile that meant she absolutely would ask next, and soon.

It was strange, in a comforting way, to see everyone mingling like this. The chaos and tension of all your worlds — your dangerous friends, your sharp-eyed parents, your own complicated life — momentarily set aside in favor of simple conversation, laughter, and a celebration that felt more like family than anything else.

And as you glanced back over to where Nikolai was dramatically gesturing in front of your father and Fyodor, all of them deep in animated debate, you couldn't help but smile again. Maybe your world was strange. Maybe it was dangerous. Maybe it was messy beyond belief.

But tonight? Tonight it was home.

Meanwhile, with Fyodor, Nikolai, and your father, an entirely different storm was brewing.

Nikolai stood stiffly, his usual chaotic energy barely contained beneath his pristine suit. His boots tapped impatiently on the ground every so often, betraying the childlike urge to bounce on the balls of his feet and teleport around just to burn off the nervous energy.

Your father, in stark contrast, stood firm and composed. His wings arched behind him with quiet authority, glossy feathers shifting with every slight movement. The moonlight caught along the dark plumage, making them seem even larger and more commanding.