2.

The first time I saw Yaroslav was when Dad had made enough money to join the elite of our city and got invited, along with the family, to a party at the Zaremsky family’s sprawling country estate. They were one of the most influential families around. I was thirteen at the time—an awkward teenager, all gangly limbs and long legs, looking more like a stork than a girl. But in my own mind, I was already super grown-up and incredibly attractive (I crack up just thinking about it now). And ridiculously overconfident, to boot.
So, when I was introduced to the Zaremsky heir, I was convinced this Hollywood-level hottie was destined to be mine! Who cared that he was eleven years older than me or that he seemed to already have a girlfriend? She couldn’t hold a candle to the unbeatable me! I flashed what I thought was a seductive smile, tossed my long chestnut hair over my shoulder, and, in what I imagined was a sultry voice, asked him to fetch me a glass of wine.
Yaroslav gave me an amused look, his eyes scanning me from head to toe before he smirked with a mix of disdain and mockery. “Sorry, kiddo, we’re fresh out of kiddie champagne, so you’ll have to settle for lemonade. And I’m not your waiter to cater to every little whim. Why don’t you head over to the other kids? I’m sure you’ll find both company and lemonade there.”
He waved a hand toward the children’s play area, where tiny tots were running around under the watchful eyes of nannies.
His friends nearby burst into laughter as Yaroslav gave me a mock bow. I was burning with embarrassment, completely lost on this unfamiliar estate, unsure where to hide. It felt like mocking eyes were watching me from every corner, and the laughter echoing around was definitely aimed at me. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole just to escape the witnesses to my humiliation.
Then, unexpectedly, I was saved by the last person I’d have expected to step in.
“Hey, don’t take that jerk’s words to heart!” A stunningly beautiful girl, maybe sixteen years old, approached me. “He’s actually pretty nice, but right now, he’s just showing off for his dumb friends.”
“Oh, thanks,” I said, her words soothing my wounded pride like a balm. “And you are…?”
“I’m his sister, Karina Zaremska. Come on, I’ve got a hidden bottle of wine. Let’s de-stress a little.”
From that day on, Karina and I became friends, and I managed to successfully avoid Yaroslav for the next four years.
Our next encounter happened on my turf—at my father’s estate. By then, Karina was studying abroad, and I was prepping for my college entrance exams. We kept in touch through video calls, so I was up to date on her life. But one day, she went radio silent for a long stretch, and when she finally called and asked to meet up, I knew something awful had happened.
And I was right on the money.
Karina showed up to our meeting with no makeup, dressed in a tracksuit, and with tear-streaked cheeks—completely out of character for her under normal circumstances. She told me a horrifying story: her parents and older brother had been in a terrible accident. Their car had veered off the road at high speed and plunged into a ravine. Her parents died on impact, and Yaroslav sustained severe injuries, with no guarantee he’d even survive. The weight of everything—organizing the funeral, fighting for her brother’s life, and managing a massive company—fell on her fragile shoulders, and she had no idea how to handle it all.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t the Zaremsky family’s business partners, including my dad, who stepped up to help, but ordinary people: company employees and household staff. Eventually, Karina managed to get a grip on the situation. Yaroslav, who somehow clawed his way back from the brink of death, took the reins of the company, allowing his sister to finish her studies. Much later, she took over a newly established foreign branch. Though inexperienced and clumsy at first, Yaroslav refused to let his parents’ legacy sink and didn’t lay off a single employee. The partners who had turned their backs on the young Zaremsky at the start of the tragedy were now bending over backward, groveling to secure a piece of the pie as the company regained its footing. At first, Yaroslav didn’t turn anyone away, desperate to keep things afloat. And that’s how he ended up at our estate.
The banquet at our place was strictly for adults, so there was no reason for seventeen-year-old me to be there. Thankfully.
I holed up in the attic, where I had my own little sanctuary, cut off from the world, complete with a small window that overlooked the front entrance. I couldn’t resist the urge to spy on the arriving guests, so I pressed myself against the glass, eager not to miss a thing. Some of the people pulling up were familiar faces, others vaguely recognizable, and a few I’d never seen before. Soon, the stream of guests dried up, and the noise shifted to the backyard, where tables were set up on the terrace and music was playing. I was about to move to another window to keep watching when a van pulled up to our gate. Whoa! Who’s this now?
A young, fit guy in a business suit hopped out of the driver’s seat, hurried to the back doors, opened them, and… helped another man out, someone sitting in an electric wheelchair designed for people with disabilities. As they turned toward our house, I recognized, with a mix of shock and dread, that the man in the wheelchair was Yaroslav Zaremsky. He looked gaunt, thinner, even older. My God, what had happened to him?! Were these the lingering effects of that horrific accident? Why hadn’t Karina told me about this? Though, come to think of it, it wasn’t surprising: after that embarrassing incident in their garden years ago, I’d strictly forbidden her from mentioning her brother even once. So, she’d kept quiet until now…
A pang of guilt hit me. I’d long outgrown that arrogance of mine and, I hoped, had started to see reality—and my own ordinariness—more clearly, no matter how much I wished otherwise. I’d wanted to apologize to Yaroslav for my idiotic behavior back then for a while now, but the opportunity never came up. Nor had I brought it up with Karina. Now, I felt awful that my stupidity had kept one of my best friends from fully opening up to me. I even regretted that today’s gathering wasn’t meant for kids, because if it were, I’d have gone straight to Yaroslav and said I was sorry.
Yaroslav and his companion (an assistant? A friend?) didn’t head into the house like the other guests. Instead, they took a path that circled around the building and led to the back terrace. I darted across the attic to the opposite window, where I watched as the attendees took turns greeting the newcomer, offering fake hugs and air-kissing near his cheeks. It was so over-the-top and insincere that I couldn’t help but grimace. From this distance, I couldn’t make out the expression on his face, but I had a feeling Yaroslav wasn’t thrilled to be there. So, what had compelled him to show up to this gathering of hypocrites?