Chapter 2: A Mask In the Private Ward

Vladimir's POV

“I’m not fucking doing that! You expect me to bring any woman into my home? I have a daughter, for fuck's sake, Lorenzo. Act like her grandfather for once!”

I shouted the words directly into my earpiece, slamming my palm against the steering wheel as the rain hit the windshield heavily.

My chest heaved with rage. Every single conversation with my father ended the exact same way—him demanding that I marry some high-society woman to fix our family's public image, and me telling him to go to hell.

“You need a proper family, Vladimir!” Lorenzo’s voice barked through the car speakers, cold and unyielding. “The board is watching you. The media is waiting for you to fail. If you don't present a respectable wife, I will personally strip your control over—”

“Shut up!” I snapped, my vision turning red as I jerked the steering wheel to take a sharp corner.

The tires lost traction on the wet road, screeching wildly. The car slid sideways across the slick asphalt, completely out of control. I slammed my foot on the brakes, turning the steering wheel until the vehicle finally jolted to a complete halt near the sidewalk.

Breathing heavily, I swore under my breath and reached up to disconnect the call.

But then my eyes caught something lying on the pavement just inches from my front bumper.

A blonde woman.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I shoved the gear into park, threw the door open, and stepped out into the freezing storm. The rain drenched my clothes in seconds as I ran to the front of the vehicle.

She was lying flat on her back, completely motionless, her blonde hair soaked and sticking to her face.

I leaned down and pressed two fingers to her neck. Her pulse was beating, but fast. Her body hadn't been hit by the bumper, but the shock alone had knocked her out cold.

A sudden feeling of anger and panic rushed through me.

If someone saw this, if the press got hold of photos showing Vladimir Vasily standing over an unconscious woman in the middle of the night, my father would use it to destroy me. Public emergency services would draw a crowd. I couldn't risk the noise.

“Damn it,” I growled.

I reached down, scooped her up into my arms, and carried her to the passenger seat. She was surprisingly light, her body soft and completely limp against my chest.

I shut the door, ran back to the driver's side, and sped off toward the Vasily Private Hospital, bypassing the city's general emergency rooms entirely.

Twenty minutes later, she was resting in the high-security private wing on the top floor.

I stood near the corner of the room, my arms crossed over my chest, watching her face.

Now that the rain had been cleaned off her and the lights showed her face clearly, I actually looked at her properly for the first time.

She was breathtakingly, effortlessly beautiful.

Her face was practically flawless, framed by soft blonde hair that fell in gentle waves across the pillow. She had high, delicate cheekbones, a small, straight nose, and smooth, pale skin that looked as delicate as glass.

Even completely motionless, resting against the pillows, there was a striking, quiet beauty to her that made it hard to look away.

The doctors had already checked her over, confirming that she only had a minor concussion and extreme nervous shock.

No broken bones.

No serious internal injuries.

I was caught off guard when her long lashes fluttered and her eyes finally opened. They were a striking, clear shade of blue, bloodshot and wide with initial confusion as she blinked at the ceiling.

She slowly turned her head toward me.

Her blue eyes searched my face, but there was no recognition in them. No gasp, no sudden shock, no greedy spark.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice raspy and faint, yet steady.

I froze, stunned for a second.

I stared down at her, waiting for the punchline, but her face remained completely blank.

Who am I?

Every major news outlet in the city ran my face on their front pages.

Billboards across Manhattan bore my name.

In this city, everyone knew who Vladimir Vasily was.

Yet this woman was looking at me like I was a total stranger.

I narrowed my eyes, stepping closer to her bed.

“You really don't know who I am?”

“No,” she said softly, clutching the thin blanket tightly against her chest. “Should I?”

A strange, dark irritation flickered in my chest, but I pushed it down, pulling a cheque from my jacket pocket.

“Well, I’m a well-known businessman, and the accident might have been caused by me. I’m giving you this not with the thought of buying you off,” I said, stepping forward as I handed it to her. “It’s about making things right.”

“You only care about your reputation,” she said, her voice cold as she swung her legs off the bed. Her body was visibly trembling, but her glare was lethal. “I won't go to the papers, but not because of your money. Keep it.”

Before I could answer, the door pushed open, and a nurse walked in with a warm tray.

Instantaneously, the girl’s anger vanished.

She turned toward the woman, and her whole face shifted. She gave the nurse a warm, reassuring smile that looked so real it made my skin crawl.

“I’m feeling much better, thank you,” Iris said softly, her tone dripping with gentle sweetness. “I'm sorry for being a bother.”

“You’re no bother at all, dear,” the nurse said, clearly charmed as she set the tray down. “You just take your time.”

I stood there, ignored in my own hospital, watching the exchange.

I felt a weird mix of irritation and unease.

The way she could just switch it on and off—it wasn't natural.

It reminded me of a woman I used to know. A woman who would smile at the cameras while her life was falling apart behind closed doors.

The moment the nurse walked back out, Iris turned her head toward me. Her face instantly returned to that polite, empty mask.

“You can leave now, Mr,” she said, her blue eyes devoid of any real warmth. “I’m sure you have more important things to do than stand around a hospital.”

“I’m not done with this conversation,” I said, my voice dropping low as a dangerous heat started to coil in my gut.

“I am,” she replied softly.

She stood up, pulling her coat around herself, and brushed right past me without looking back.

I turned and walked out of the room shortly after her.

I was frustrated, and my chest felt tight with that dark, violent feeling I had been suppressing for years. I didn't like her. I didn't like the way she looked at me, and I hated that smile.

That fucking smile that never reached her eyes—it felt like a personal insult, like a wall she had built specifically to keep the world out.

Standing in her presence, watching her force that control over herself, stirred something dark and twisted inside me. A possessive, cruel urge coiled deep in my belly.

I didn't just want to break that quiet mask—I wanted to pin her down, control her completely, and push her until her sweet composure snapped and she was forced to surrender to me.

Outside, the air was freezing, but the heat under my skin burned right through the cold rain.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Zev.

“Find everything on Iris Hayes,” I said, my voice dangerously low as I watched her silhouette leave through the hospital gate. “She has blonde hair... and a smile I'm going to tear apart.”

Zev paused on the line, sensing the shift in my tone, before simply replying, “Consider it done.”

I lowered the phone and stared out into the dark night.

She was a puzzle I didn't want, but looking at her retreating figure, I knew one thing for certain:

I wasn't going to stop until I owned every single piece of her.