The Game

Without giving them time to argue, she left. Avery blinked. "What’s with her? So grumpy." "She’s been close to Sergei for years. That pride? It’s thick," Lisa muttered, rubbing her face. Avery threw a pillow at her. "Look at this bump on my head. Your fault." Lisa grinned. "Still pretty with it." "You little—" Avery growled, chasing her around the room.

Later, following the headmaid’s instructions, they arrived at Velena Couture — a high-end boutique owned by the Kuznetsovs. From the gold-plated entrance to the rows of designer gowns, the place screamed money and power.

Inside, several women — clearly other wives — turned to look. Whispers followed. "Isn’t that the new wife?" "Yeah... She looks full of herself," sneered a blonde, loud enough to be heard. "I already hate her."

Avery heard. Lisa did too, grabbing her arm to prevent a scene. Hands in her pockets, Avery scoffed. "Some bitches don’t know when to shut up."

The blonde’s face darkened as she marched over. "Excuse me? Did you just talk to me?" "Yeah," Avery said flatly. "Got a problem?" Lisa whispered, "She’s the fifth wife... one of Sergei’s favorites. Be careful."

The blonde raised her hand to strike — but Avery caught her wrist mid-air, twisting it. The woman cried out in pain.

A sharp voice cut through the tension. "What is going on here?!"

It was the head of Velena Couture — poised, early forties, regal. “This bitch broke my wrist!” the blonde wailed, holding up her hand. The others rushed to her side. The head turned to Avery, who stood tall and silent, not bothering to defend herself.

The woman’s gaze swept between them, lips pursed. “Take care of her wrist. And you—” she nodded to Avery and Lisa, “—follow me. The fitting room is this way.” Avery and Lisa followed in silence, the blonde’s glare trailing them until they vanished into the hall.

“Are you okay?” asked an older woman. “Fuck off! You just stood there and watched her bend my wrist. I’m reporting you to Sergei!” the blonde snapped before storming off. The older woman—revealed as the fourth wife—hurried after her with apologies.

Inside the dressing area, rows of designer gowns lined the walls. Mirrors reflected every detail in flattering light. Lisa stood before a full-length mirror as staff bustled around her. A crimson gown clung to her, accentuating her waist and curves. A satin skirt rippled behind her, and a red mask with gold accents rested over her eyes. The tailor clapped her hands. “You look like a Korean goddess, madam!” Lisa blushed, tugging at her sleeve.

Ivan Kuznetsov had entered moments before to speak to Alena Kuznetsov, the couture head. As he passed the mirror, his gaze lingered on Lisa before he exited.

From the inner dressing room, Avery emerged, her fitted black velvet gown revealing one leg. The corseted bodice shaped her into a sharp hourglass, silver embroidery tracing the hem and neckline. A half mask added an air of danger. “I look weird, right?” she muttered. Lisa gasped. “Girl… you look dangerously hot.” Avery scoffed, hiding a small smile. The staff stared, stunned. “Whatever. Let’s just get this masquerade over with.”

After minor adjustments, both dresses fit perfectly. Lisa twirled before the mirror; Avery just looked relieved. “I need food,” Avery said. “There’s a small store nearby. Want me to come?” “Nah, I’ll be fast.”

Outside, the air was cooler, the sky dim. The grounds were quiet—eerily so. Avery paused, uneasy, but kept walking toward the shop.

She never made it. A sudden blow struck the back of her head. Hard. The world spun—then everything went black.

A splash of freezing water snapped her back. Avery jolted with a gasp, drenched and disoriented, her head throbbing. As her vision cleared, she found herself on the damp ground in a dim corner of the estate.

The stench of cigarettes clung to the air. Several men loomed nearby—laughing, sneering. One leaned against a wall, smoke curling from his lips. Another cracked his knuckles, eyes cold.

“Well, well. The tomboy wakes up,” one of them said. She remembered them—the same lowlifes who’d harassed her weeks ago before the marriage announcement. She hadn’t taken it quietly then, and they clearly hadn’t forgotten.

So this was payback.

Avery clenched her fists but stayed low, her body aching, head spinning. “Seriously? This is your idea of payback? Pathetic.”

They laughed. The leader stepped forward, cigarette between his lips. “Still mouthy. That’s what I liked about you,” he said, fingers brushing near her cheek.

Avery slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” He chuckled. “Feisty. Just how I remembered.” He exhaled smoke in her face. “I told you I’d get even.” “You don’t even know who you’re messing with.”

His smile vanished. He slapped her. Pain flared, but she didn’t cry out. She straightened and punched him square in the face. A crunch—his nose cracked.

“Damn it!” he yelled, stumbling back, blood dripping. “Get her! Don’t hold back!”

Avery threw herself into the fight, knocking two down before her strength drained. One grabbed her arm, another struck her ribs. She collapsed under fists and boots.

Just as they closed in—

A calm, cold voice cut through. “You’re being loud. Kinda ruining the view.”

The men froze, looking toward a figure crouched high on a ledge—hood pulled low, legs dangling, cigarette glowing faintly in the dark.

“Who the hell are you?” “Does it matter?” the stranger replied, flicking his cigarette away. “You’re in my way.” “Tch. Deal with him too,” the leader ordered.

Before they could move, the hooded man dropped from the ledge, landing like a shadow. In a blur, he struck—precise, brutal. One by one, the thugs fell.

The leader still clung to Avery, blood dripping from his broken nose. Kieran — it had to be him — walked toward them, hood low. “The chain,” he said. Avery scoffed. “Seriously? That’s what you care about?” He held out his hand. She pulled the silver chain from her pocket and dropped it into his palm.

Kieran’s gaze shifted to the man gripping her. “Let go.” The leader sneered, “You’re not—”

He didn’t finish. Kieran moved fast, taking him down and pinning him, fists landing hard and merciless. Avery’s vision blurred, and darkness took her again.

She woke with a throbbing head on a leather couch. “Where the hell am I?”

The door opened. Kieran walked in casually, black shirt half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Avery scowled. “Seriously? You don’t have to look that... effortfully hot.” He dropped a first aid kit in front of her. “Patch up, perverted stepmom.” Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?” “You were checking me out. Pathetic.” “I was not. I was wondering if you know how to use buttons.”

She pulled the kit closer while he examined the chain. Avery winced, cleaning a gash. “Those bastards. Stomping me like I owed rent.” “You were... disturbingly good back there,” she said. “None of your business.” “Dickface.” “I’ve been called worse.”

When she finished bandaging, she stood, scanning the stone walls and high ceiling. “Where is this?” “The off-limits room. You should leave.” “How’d you even carry me here?” “You don’t remember? You passed out.”

He motioned to a narrow high window behind a bookshelf. “Leave through there. Only fools use the door.” “That’s high. I could break my neck.” He smirked, shoved her.

Avery yelped, tumbling into a pile of storage bags. “Asshole!” The window was already shut. Dusting herself off, she muttered curses and slipped away unseen.

She crept through the halls, limping. At her door, Lisa paced in her red gown, shimmering under the light. “Avery! Where were you? I thought you were kidnapped!” Avery smirked. “Calm down. Just ran into… a situation. Handled it.” Lisa’s eyes widened at the bruises. “Handled it? You look like a train hit you.” “More like five idiots with shoes.”

Lisa dragged her inside. “You’re not going to the ball like this.” She covered the bruises, then helped Avery into a black slitted gown with laced sides. “You look hot,” Lisa said, fixing a black half-mask on her. “Dangerously hot,” Avery corrected. Lisa’s red gown and matching mask glowed under the light. They exchanged a final look—one soft, one sharp—and left.

In a dim room of surveillance screens, a lone figure watched only one feed. A sleek black cat sat beside him. He leaned forward.

Below, the grand hall glittered. Avery and Lisa entered, drawing stares—lust, spite, envy. Lisa spotted Ivan across the room. Their eyes met before she slipped away toward the ladies’ room. Ivan followed.

Avery joined the wives’ section, her sleek gown drawing whispers. The first wife glittered in gold; the blonde from the boutique glared. Avery smirked back. She noticed the powerful men were maskless—Roman among them, speaking to a slick Italian in navy who eyed her like prey.

Lisa hadn’t returned. Avery moved through the crowd, tension prickling. Turning into a quiet corridor, a hand yanked her into a dark room—Roman and the Italian. “Well, look what wandered in,” Roman sneered. “Hello, beauty,” the Italian drawled.

She fought, but they forced her toward a couch. Her mask slipped, her eyes widened in fury. Then— A sharp meow.

In the surveillance room, the man’s eye twitched. Popcorn hit the floor. BOOM.

The Italian’s head snapped back, blood splattering Avery’s face. Roman froze. “Sniper!” someone shouted. Another shot. Screams. Guests fled. Bodies dropped—Italians and even some Kuznetsov guards.

The watcher smiled. “Well. That escalated.” The cat perched on his shoulder as red lights blinked across the screens.

The masquerade had descended into bullets, blood, and shadows. The game had begun.