Chapter 7. Good Morning

That night, for the first time in Roxanne’s sixteen years of life, she slept without dreaming. The luxury of the bed, the silence that blanketed the penthouse after years of farm noise, the fullness of her stomach, and the unexpected warmth of companionship over a late-night meal—all of it coaxed her into a rare, heavy slumber that erased the awkwardness of earlier hours.

Her body woke her naturally at six, just as it always had back home, and after washing, she stepped into the quiet of the penthouse. She then saw that Brandon was already seated at the dining table in the dining room, a dark suit neatly in place, coffee steaming at his right hand, and a tablet propped before him.

“Oh, you’re awake. I was going to have the maid wake you at seven,” he said, glancing up.

“What for?” Roxanne asked.

“We’ll go to your school today. I’ll introduce you to the headmaster, and you’ll start attending next week.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit.”

Roxanne obeyed, and as she did, Brandon snapped his fingers for the maid to bring her breakfast.

“I ate a lot last night,” she said quickly. “Maybe just fruit with milk will be fine.”

“A lot?” Brandon lowered his coffee, his gaze sharpening.

“Yes,” Roxanne admitted. “I was hungry, so I asked the maids for sandwiches. But… Ale—my mother—she brought me a whole feast instead. She even sat with me while I ate.”

Brandon’s expression barely shifted, but something in his eyes did. He leaned back slowly, as though weighing her words. “Alexandra brought you food,” he repeated, his tone clipped and unreadable.

“Huh, that’s new,” Brandon muttered, shrugging before returning to his coffee and tablet.

A maid appeared moments later, setting down a plate of fruits before Roxanne. In front of her is a plate filled with expensive fruits she has never tasted before: Ruby Roman grapes, plump blueberries, strawberries so large they look almost unreal, and slices of golden mango.

“Is it mango season?” she asked softly, almost to herself.

“It was imported from Thailand,” Brandon replied without lifting his eyes.

Roxanne picked at the fruit in silence, savoring the sweetness on her tongue. She liked silence; at least, she did when it was with Alexandra. With her, silence felt alive and warm, a space where breath and heartbeat were enough.

But here, across from her uncle, the quiet pressed down like a weight, suffocating and sharp. It made her want to lash out, to rebel, to hurl words just to shatter it. Yet she bit her tongue. That would be reckless and stupid.

She was drinking her glass of milk when the sound of measured footsteps drew her gaze to the hall. Alexandra emerged, and for a moment Roxanne forgot to breathe.

It isn’t just beauty that she saw, though Alexandra is almost painfully beautiful in the morning light, her silver hair tumbling loose and gleaming like threads spun from frost.

It's the way she wore her suit, perfectly cut to her frame, black fabric swallowing the light only to throw it back at the glint of gold at her belt, wrists, and throat. Every detail—the crisp fold of her collar, the glimmering cascade of necklaces, and the faint sheen of silk—made her look untouchable, as if she belonged to another world entirely.

Roxanne’s chest tightened. She’d grown up surrounded by mud, straw, and rough farm clothes; nothing in her sixteen years had prepared her for a sight like this. Alexandra looked like a figure from an old painting of queens and conquerors, elegant and terrifying, all at once.

When Alexandra’s pale green eyes swept across the room, Roxanne dropped her gaze to her plate, though her heart thudded so loud she feared it might betray her. Still, warmth bloomed inside her chest, a strange and reckless longing to keep watching, to memorize every sharp and perfect detail of the woman who so effortlessly commanded the room, her room.

“Oh, you’re an early riser,” Alexandra said, amusement curling in her tone as she moved toward the table.

“Another fight today?” Brandon asked dryly, not even looking up from his tablet.

“Yeah. They wanted the neutral ground. I’ll be late today,” she replied, plucking a strawberry from Roxanne’s plate with a casual intimacy that left the girl breathless.

Then Alexandra leaned down, fingers brushing through Roxanne’s hair before pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. Roxanne froze, the world narrowing to the warmth of that fleeting touch.

A moment later, Alexandra crossed to Brandon, brushing a brief kiss against his lips. “Let’s have lunch together, the three of us, if that’s possible? I’ll clear my schedule today,” he said.

“Yeah, I can do that. Just text me where,” Alexandra replied smoothly, already stepping toward the door. One man in a black suit fell in behind her, carrying a sleek bag as though it were a ritual.

Roxanne’s eyes followed her until the elevator doors closed, a small ache blooming in her chest. The room felt quieter without her, emptier in a way Roxanne couldn’t explain.

“Why are you two not sleeping in the same room?” she asked softly, almost hesitant.

Brandon set down his tablet, his expression hardening into something clipped and deliberate. “That’s an adult problem and not yours to think about.” He offered her a professional, too-perfect smile—the kind he probably used on clients and board members.

It made Roxanne’s stomach twist. Something about that practiced look always scraped at her nerves and made her fingers itch to hurl the plate straight into his face. Maybe it was because he’d been the one to rip her from her family, or maybe because he spoke of her life like a transaction with a price tag attached. Either way, every time she looked at him, anger simmered low in her chest.

“You can hate me all you want, Roxanne Romanov,” Brandon said, his voice calm but heavy with authority. “But you’ll do well as my heir.”

Roxanne’s jaw tightened, her teeth grinding against the words she wanted to spit back. Instead, she stabbed her fork into the fruit and muttered through clenched teeth, “I know.” The sweetness on her tongue tasted bitter.