Craved by the Wrong Volkov

Lucien’s POV

Ronan was able to keep Natalia on the phone long enough for the police to arrive. No one expected her to jump off the bridge. She knew her fate was worse than death.

The weather was freezing cold, but it didn’t stop the search. Deep into the night, I had mobilised every asset and connection I had to hunt down Natalia’s body.

She wasn’t going to die an easy death, not after everything she did. My fingers were already starting to turn numb from the cold, but it didn’t bother me. I tucked my gloved hands into my pockets and stood by the riverbank, watching the search.

My mind was still processing everything I had found out. It felt like a joke. So Raphael was my half-brother. The more I thought about it, the more amusing it was.

We looked so much alike as children. Everyone assumed it was because the Volkov blood was strong. There was nothing strange about a half-uncle and half-nephew looking alike, but the truth was that we were simply copies of our father.

The search for Natalia continued. Every end of the river was being covered. The Orlov family wanted her found so badly, they even made their associated cartels work with the police.

Despite Ronan being the one to find Natalia’s last location, he didn’t show up for the search. Maybe he wanted her dead and never wanted to face her.

My mind drifted to Raphael for a moment, then to my childhood. Lynn once asked if I hated him. Honestly, I never really did, I just saw him as a annoying as children. If anything, my dislike for Raphael started after I met Lynn. I hated him for not valuing what he had.

But honestly, disregarding the past, I never wanted him dead.

Growing up in the Volkov family was hard. Although no one laid a hand on me or starved me, it wasn’t heaven either. As a child, the closest thing I had to family in that home, where everyone treated me with scorn, where I was constantly cursed and insulted, even to my face to the point that the maids started looking down on me, was probably Gregor and maybe Raphael.

Raphael and I had a complicated relationship.

Ronan was generally cold to me. He never insulted me or acted passive-aggressively like the women in the family who made it clear I was an unwanted bastard, but he ignored my existence. I always thought he hated me, but it turned out he couldn’t stand me because I was Nadia’s son, the woman he loved.

Gregor, on the other hand, mostly spoiled me. He made sure I was taken care of, but now that I think about it, he knew about the way the others treated me but never did anything to stop it. It even felt like Gregor’s blatant favouritism made me their target. Was he favouring me out of guilt, or just making me a target?

He always encouraged me to try to get along with the family, even when I was very little and had no idea I was a bastard.

Back then, I called Katerina "mum." Maybe that’s why she hated me more. The mistress’s child Gregor spoilt was calling her mum.

I remembered the day I discovered I was actually a bastard. It was Raphael’s 6th birthday. Natalia thought it was a lucky age and threw a big celebration.

From my memories, it was the grandest birthday I had ever attended and probably the first I truly remembered. I had been to a children’s birthday celebration until then, even though I was a few months older than Raphael.

On my birthday, Gregor would normally just get me a gift, whatever I wanted. It was more than enough for me then as a child. I thought I was loved, even though the woman I believed was my mother, Katerina, never wished me a happy birthday, nor did anyone else in the house aside from Gregor.

So that day, when Gregor mentioned going to a birthday party, I was stunned. The entire trip to Ronan’s place, Katerina didn’t say a word. Gregor’s villa wasn’t far from his son’s place, but I barely went over.

I was too young to notice anything wrong with Katerina and excitedly kept asking Gregor questions, which he answered just as eagerly. Katerina was probably annoyed that Gregor was taking his bastard to her precious grandson’s celebration.

When we arrived, from the moment we stepped inside Ronan’s home, I was mind-blown. I had never seen such a grand party. While I was busy gawking at everything, Gregor and Katerina had already left me behind.

I wandered through the venue, stunned, oblivious to the looks people were giving me.

"Does the birthday boy have a twin?" they whispered.

"That can’t be Raphael..."

The more they whispered, the more confused I became. I wasn’t Raphael. My brows furrowed.

Someone’s voice caught my attention. She whispered, but not low enough.

"That’s not Raphael. It’s the bastard."

Bastard. That word felt foreign to me. What did it mean? I had always been blunt. I walked up to the lady, my sharp gaze fixed on her.

"What is a bastard? Why did you call me a bastard? My name is Lucien." I asked directly. The lady’s face went pale. She hadn’t expected me to confront her, but the shock only lasted a moment.

Her expression turned ugly. "If you are stupid enough not to understand, blame your bastard genes, not me. You really have no shame showing your face here."

I might not have understood the word "bastard" then, but I knew what "stupid" meant, and I definitely recognised the venom in her tone.

She was insulting me. My small fists clenched, and my eyes stung. Before I could even process it, a tiny, fiery voice rang out.

"Bad woman!"

The party was huge, and only a few people noticed what was happening. I saw a little girl, barely three years old, in a green princess gown, with a cute chubby face. She had pitch-black hair and green eyes that glared daggers at the woman.

She pointed at the woman and spat, "Bad aunty. My daddy says only bad people call others stupid. That’s a bad word."

The lady’s face turned ugly. "Who do you think.."

Before she could finish or touch the girl, the child stomped on her foot, then grabbed my hand.

She pulled me, sprinting across the room with her tiny legs. Her grip wasn’t strong, but I was too stunned to resist. She led me toward the front of the hall, where the stage stood tall. Barely anyone paid attention to two small children.

She stopped running, her face flushed. Letting go of my hand, she patted her chest. "Don’t worry. The bad woman won’t hurt you," she said bravely, then flashed me the cutest smile.

"My name is Braelyn. Daddy said you will be my prince," she added with a grin.

She took my hand again and said, "You look like a real prince, Raphael."