Page 71 of Bought By the Ruthless Pakhan

But seconds later, I heard the housekeeper's uncomfortable voice from the doorway. "Sir isn't home. Perhaps you could—"

"Ivan's not here? So I can't come in and wait? I'm the mother of his child!"

That voice was shrill and familiar, like nails scraping glass. My brow furrowed instinctively.

I looked up. Past the shoe cabinet, I saw the woman standing in the doorway.

She wore a designer dress I'd seen in magazines years ago, but now it was faded, the neckline pilling, her hair no longer sleek and glossy but dull and split at the ends.

Her once-perfect face showed faint bags and fine lines.

Victoria. Ivan's ex-wife.

And Victoria noticed me too.

She froze. The look she gave me was easy to read—

Jealousy.

Raw, naked jealousy, barely concealed, spilling from those pretty eyes.

"Anna?" Her voice shot up, disbelieving. "What are you doing here?"

So Ivan hadn't lied. They really hadn't gotten back together.

Otherwise, the woman who'd once shone so brightly in Las Vegas wouldn't have fallen this far.

Nadia glanced at me nervously.

"Mom..."

The word came out soft, but when she said it, her shoulders curled inward like a frightened animal.

My chest tightened. I moved closer to Nadia without thinking, putting myself between them.

I knew exactly what Victoria had done. I knew how much she truly cared about this daughter. I wasn't letting Nadia face her alone.

Nadia's forehead pressed lightly against my back. Through the thin fabric, I felt her trembling.

"Thank you," she whispered, so quiet only I could hear.

Victoria's face flushed crimson. She pointed at me and shrieked.

"Anna, get away from my daughter!" Her voice tore out of her throat, sharp and hysterical, pushed to its absolute limit. "Someone like you, a filthy poor girl—you're nothing but a walking source of germs!"

I didn't speak. Just shifted slightly, shielding Nadia more completely.

Her forehead pressed into my lower back, her small fingers clutching my skirt, knuckles white. The fabric bunched in hergrip like she was drowning and I was the last thing keeping her afloat.

She was terrified. Genuinely, deeply terrified.

I looked down, felt her rapid, shallow breaths against my spine.

A thought surfaced—what kind of mother makes her eight-year-old daughter this afraid of her?

The tightness in my chest sank down into my stomach, then burned its way back up.

I raised my head and looked at Victoria. "Shut your mouth! Can't you see Nadia's scared?"