Chapter 44: Home sweet home
The second leg of the flight was quiet, heavy with the deep hum of jet engines cutting through the upper clouds.
Isabella slept for most of it, buried under the soft cashmere blanket in the main cabin after her fever finally subdued into a gentle, warm tiredness.
Aaron stayed in the leather armchair across the aisle, his dark eyes trailing over her sleeping form, turning pages of financial reports with slow, deliberate care.
When the private jet finally touched down, the tires hit the tarmac with a low, smooth thud. The engines whined as they spun down, revealing the deep, quiet stillness waiting outside.
They had landed at a secluded airfield west of Moscow, nestled deep in the rolling pine forests near Rublyovka.
When the cabin door opened, air rushed in. It was cool, damp, and rich with the heavy scent of crushed pine needles, wet earth, and wild birch bark.
The late afternoon sun was beginning to drop behind the tall trees, casting long, golden shadows across the pavement.
Aaron wrapped a soft knit cardigan around her shoulders, took her hand, and guided her down the mobile stairs to where a long, dark SUV was already idling on the tarmac.
Isabella sat close to the window as the car pulled away. Even as her vision was nothing more than a soft, milky fog, however her ears picked up everything.
There were no honking horns. No loud city buses hiss-bleeding air brakes at intersections. No faint, distant roar of highway traffic.
Instead, as the heavy tires rolled over smooth asphalt, her sharp hearing caught the rustle of wind moving through thousands of pine trees.
She heard the distant, sharp calls of black crows circling the canopy, the rush of water from a nearby river, and the deep, steady crunch of gravel under tire treads whenever the car turned down private access roads.
The drive went on for twenty minutes. Then thirty.
"Where are we?" Isabella whispered, her blind green eyes turning toward the dark shape of Aaron sitting beside her. "We haven’t stopped."
"Home," Aaron replied softly.
"We’re nowhere near a city, are we?"
"No," he said, a faint touch of warmth in his voice. "Moscow is half an hour behind us. Out here, there’s only trees, water, and space."
The SUV slowed down. Isabella heard a low, mechanical hum as heavy iron gates swung open automatically.
There was a brief pause, the faint beep of a scanner checking the car’s undercarriage, and the quiet, respectful nod of security officers standing in small wooden guard posts hidden among the trees.
No one stopped them. No one shouted orders. The gate closed with a heavy thud, and the car accelerated back up the long, winding driveway.
It took another eighteen minutes just to cross the estate grounds.
They passed acres of dense, untouched forest where wild deer moved among the birch trunks. They crossed a wide, low stone bridge over a rushing private stream, passed the dark timber structures of horse stables, and swept past wide, glowing glass greenhouses where winter vegetables and fresh flowers were grown year-round.
When the car finally rolled to a smooth stop, it wasn’t in front of a cold, towering palace with golden lions or white marble pillars.
Aaron opened the door and stepped out, reaching back to take Isabella’s hand.
As her shoes touched the gravel, the house seemed to breathe around her. The air smelled of sweet firewood smoke, cedar planks, and the rich, clean scent of fresh lilies.
The mansion was built from massive slabs of rough dark stone, black steel beams, and heavy, honey-colored cedar wood. Huge, floor-to-ceiling glass walls looked straight out into the deep woods, letting the golden evening light flood into the rooms.
It had modern lines, but it was wrapped in a deep, Scandinavian warmth that made the vast building feel anchored to the earth, like an ancient lodge that had grown out of the forest floor.
Gravel crunched softly underfoot as two men in dark suits stepped forward to open the grand wooden doors. They didn’t bow or make a spectacle. They simply nodded quietly as Aaron passed.
"Welcome back, Mr. Kazarov," one murmured in a low, even tone.
"Is everything ready?" Aaron asked, guiding Isabella through the wide threshold.
"Yes, sir. The medical wing has been updated with the doctor’s notes. Her suite is prepared."
Isabella stepped inside, her breath catching slightly in her throat.
She had expected Aaron’s home to feel like a fortress... cold, sterile, and terrifyingly vast.
She had imagined marble floors that echoed every footstep, high ceilings that trapped the cold, and rooms that felt more like museum galleries than a place where people actually lived.
Instead, the moment the heavy doors closed out the evening chill, a deep, comforting warmth wrapped around her.
Underneath her shoes, the dark hardwood floors were heated from within.
A grand stone fireplace crackled quietly in the main hall, sending a gentle, rhythmic popping sound through the space.
From somewhere deep down the corridor, she heard the soft, faint strains of a record player spinning a smooth classical piano piece.
The air smelled of beeswax, old paper, vintage leather, and the sweet, rich scent of freshly baked berry tart cooling in a kitchen nearby.
"It’s... quiet," Isabella murmured, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her sweater as Aaron led her deeper into the hall.
"It’s peaceful," Aaron corrected softly, his palm resting flat against the small of her back, guiding her around a wide oak table.
"No one enters these grounds unless I bring them here myself."
As they moved through the main living space, the estate felt remarkably alive. It wasn’t a dead museum built for show.
There were stacks of hardback books resting on low leather side tables, old rolled-up maps sitting in brass buckets near the hearth, and crystal decanters of amber whiskey sitting alongside brass floor lamps that cast soft, golden pools of light against the timber walls.
Overhead, on the mezzanine level, she heard the light, cheerful sound of staff moving efficiently, talking in quiet, hushed tones, and the faint, unmistakable sound of a kitchen door swinging open as someone laughed softly before catching themselves.
It felt like a real home. A place where people ate, laughed, slept, and lived without the suffocating weight of fear hanging over every breath.
Suddenly, the quiet rhythm of the hall was shattered.
From down the long wooden hallway that led to the residential wing, a series of quick, heavy thuds sounded against the floorboards.
’Thump. Thump. Thump.’
Isabella froze, her hand instantly tightening on Aaron’s arm, her head snapping toward the noise. "What is that?"
First came a sharp, loud bark. Then another.
’WOOF!’