Page 34 of Secret Heir

Every smile Daniel gives Maksim feels like one less for me.

Every story about their day together is a reminder that I failed to give him these experiences.

Every time Daniel chooses to sit next to Maksim instead of me, every time he asks “where’s Maksim?” before “where’s Mama?”—it’s another small death.

I’m slowly being replaced and there’s nothing I can do about it.

“Aria.” Maksim’s voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp and commanding. “Daniel asked you a question.”

I blink and focus on my son, who’s looking at me expectantly with those gray Sokolov eyes. “I’m sorry, Danny boy. What did you say?”

“I asked if you want to come watch me ride tomorrow.” His eyes are bright with hope. “Maksim—I mean, sir says I’m getting really good.”

Maksim’s jaw tightens. “Daniel. What did I tell you about calling me that?”

Daniel’s face falls. “Not to. But I don’t know what else to call you.”

“I’m your father.” Maksim’s voice is patient, but I can hear the frustration underneath. “I’m not a drill sergeant.”

Daniel looks confused, chewing on his bottom lip. “What’s a drill sergeant?”

“Someone in the military who—” Maksim stops and shakes his head, exhaling. “Never mind. Just…not sir. Okay?”

“Okay.” Daniel nods, but he doesn’t offer an alternative. He turns back to me. “So will you come watch?”

“I’d love to.” Another forced smile. “Of course I’ll come.”

“You don’t have to if you’re busy,” Maksim says impassively. But I hear the dig underneath. You’re not needed. We’re fine without you.

“I’m not busy.” I meet his eyes across the table, and I see my own reflection in those cold gray depths. I don’t like what I see. I’m inadequate and failing. “I have nothing but time, remember? Since I’m locked in this house.”

“You have access to the entire estate.” His voice is still pleasant, but there’s steel underneath. The flickering candlelight catches on his sharp cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw, making him look almost cruel. “Forty acres. The pool. The stables. The gardens. Hardly a prison.”

“A gilded cage is still a cage,” I retort, fingers curling tightly around my water glass.

“Mama.” Daniel’s voice is small and worried, looking back and forth between us with trepidation. “Please don’t fight.”

The guilt hits immediately and I reach for his hand across the table. “We’re not fighting, Danny. We’re just talking.” My eyes cut to Maksim and he watches the interaction carefully.

“You’re always just talking.” He pulls his hand away, and the rejection stings. “And it always sounds like fighting.”

I bite my lip. He’s not wrong.

Every interaction Maksim and I have dissolves into cutting remarks and barely concealed hostility.

We can’t be in the same room for five minutes without the tension becoming unbearable.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “You’re right. I’ll do better.”

Daniel nods, but he doesn’t look convinced.

He goes back to his dinner, chattering to Maksim about something else, and I’m left sitting there feeling like a ghost in my own son’s life.

I try to do better. I really do.

But the fights with Maksim are getting worse. And they’re happening frequently.

The first one usually starts when he brings breakfast.