The Game

Without giving them time to argue, she turned and walked out.

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 the pillow at her again. "Look at this bump on my head. It’s your fault."

Lisa grinned. "You’re still pretty with it."

"You little—" Avery growled, chasing her around the room.

Later that day, guided by the headmaid’s instructions, they arrived at Velena Couture—a lavish, high-end boutique owned by the Kuznetsovs themselves.

From the gold-plated entrance to the rows of designer gowns inside, the place screamed money and power.

They both entered the building, instantly catching the attention of several women inside — clearly the other wives.

As Avery and Lisa walked in, a hush fell over the room. Heads turned. Whispers followed. But neither of them seemed to care.

"Isn’t that the new wife?" one woman muttered.

"Yeah... She looks so full of herself," sneered a blonde woman, her voice almost loud enough to be intentional. "I already hate her."

Avery heard it. Lisa did too. Lisa instinctively grabbed Avery's arm, as if silently begging her not to cause a scene.

Avery, hands tucked coolly into her jacket pockets, scoffed. "Some bitches just don’t know when to shut their mouths."

The blonde’s face darkened. She spun around and marched toward Avery, heels clicking like a war drum. "Excuse me?" she snapped. "Did you just talk to me?"

Avery didn’t flinch. She stood her ground, cool and unbothered. "Yeah," she said flatly. "I did. You got a problem?"

Lisa leaned in, whispering quickly, "She’s the fifth wife... one of Sergei’s favorites. Be careful."

But Avery didn’t even blink.

The blonde raised her hand to strike her — but Avery caught her wrist mid-air with a swift motion, twisting it sharply.

The woman cried out, pain flashing across her perfect face.

Suddenly, a sharp voice echoed from across the room. "What is going on here?!"

It was the head of Velena Couture, the prestigious fashion house owned by the Kuznetsovs.

She was a poised woman in her early forties, her posture regal and her expression unreadable.

“What’s going on here?” she demanded, her voice calm but firm.

“This bitch broke my wrist!” the blonde wailed dramatically, holding up her hand for sympathy.

“She just attacked me!”

The others flocked to her side as if she'd just been shot. The head turned her gaze to Avery, who stood tall and unmoved, not even bothering to defend herself.

The woman’s gaze swept between them, lips pursed. Then she said neutrally, “Take care of her wrist. And you—” she nodded to Avery and Lisa, “—follow me. Let’s get you both dressed. The fitting room is this way.”

As she turned, Avery and Lisa followed silently. The blonde’s deadly glare trailed them until they disappeared into the next hall.

“Are you okay?” a softer voice asked, this time from an older woman—possibly another wife or a servant.

“Fuck off! You just stood there and watched her bend my wrist like a twig. I’m reporting you to Sergei!” the blonde spat, storming off.

The older woman—revealed to be the fourth wife—hurried after her in a flurry of fabric and apologies.

Inside the dressing area, rows of designer gowns lined the walls—luxurious silks, rich velvets, beaded laces, and hand-sewn embroidery. Mirrors reflected endless angles of the space, catching every detail in flattering light.

Lisa stood in front of the full-length mirror, turning slowly as staff bustled around her. Her fitted crimson gown clung to her petite figure, accentuating her waist and showing off her modest curves.

A layered skirt trailed behind her in satin ripples, and a deep red mask, decorated with gold accents and feathers, rested delicately over her eyes.

The tailor clapped her hands, gushing, “You look like a Korean goddess, madam!”

Lisa blushed, tugging at the sleeve shyly.

Ivan Kuznetsov had entered just moments before to speak to the Velena Couture head—Alena Kuznetsov, a distant cousin of Sergei’s.

He turned to leave, but as he passed by the mirror, his eyes caught sight of Lisa.

His gaze lingered on her, lingering just long enough to be noticed, then quickly shifted away as he exited.

From the inner dressing room, Avery emerged. Her expression soured. The tight-fitting gown clearly annoyed her, but she couldn't deny the attention it drew.

Avery wore a sleek, black velvet gown with an asymmetrical cut that revealed one long leg. The bodice was corseted and off-shoulder, cinching her waist and lifting her figure into a refined hourglass.

Intricate embroidery in dark silver traced along the hem and neckline, shimmering faintly like smoke. A half mask—black and laced with silver thread—covered the upper half of her face, adding an air of danger and allure.

She scowled at her reflection. “I look weird, right?”

Lisa turned and gasped. “Girl… you look hot. No, like dangerously hot.”

Avery scoffed but couldn't stop the slight curl of a smile at the corner of her lips. The staff stared in stunned silence, some with mouths slightly open.

“Whatever,” Avery muttered, turning back toward the mirror. “Let’s just get this masquerade bullshit over with.”

They were finally done. The dresses fit perfectly after some minor adjustments. Lisa seemed thrilled, her excitement buzzing as she twirled before the mirror. Avery, on the other hand, just looked relieved it was over.

“I need food,” she muttered, stretching her arms lazily.

Lisa chuckled. “There’s a small store nearby, I think. Want me to come with?”

“Nah, I’ll be fast. Just wait here,” Avery replied, already heading for the door.

The air outside felt cooler now, and the sky had grown dim. The estate grounds around Velena Couture were unusually quiet—eerily so. Avery paused for a second, taking in the silence.

Something felt off, but she shrugged it off and kept walking toward the small shop nearby.

She never made it there.

A sudden blow struck the back of her head.

Hard.

The world spun—and then everything went black.

A splash of freezing water snapped her back to reality.

Avery jolted awake with a sharp gasp, drenched and disoriented. Her head throbbed violently, and a dull ache pulsed at the back of her skull.

As her blurry vision slowly cleared, she found herself on the damp ground in a dim, hidden corner of the estate—likely near the back ends of the Kuznetsov property.

The heavy stench of cigarettes clung to the air.

Several men loomed nearby—laughing, sneering, watching her like a pack of hyenas.

One leaned against a wall, smoke curling from his lips. Another cracked his knuckles slowly, eyes fixed on her with cold amusement.

“Well, well. The tomboy finally wakes up,” one of them said with a grin.

Her jaw tightened. She remembered them. The same lowlifes who had tried to mess with her weeks ago—before the marriage announcement.

One of them, their arrogant leader, had cornered her and tried putting hands where they didn’t belong. She hadn’t taken it quietly back then—and clearly, they hadn’t forgotten.

So this was payback.

Avery clenched her fists but stayed low, eyeing them cautiously. Her whole body ached. Her head spun with dizziness.

Avery scoffed, glaring at the group in front of her. “Seriously? This is your idea of payback? How pathetic.”

The men exchanged glances, their laughter laced with malice. The leader took a slow step forward, the cigarette hanging from his lips sending thin wisps of smoke curling into the air.

“You’re still mouthy. That’s what I liked about you,” he said, brushing his fingers near her cheek.

Avery slapped his hand away in disgust. “Don’t touch me.”

He chuckled darkly. “Feisty. Just how I remembered.” He leaned closer, exhaling smoke into her face. “I told you I’d get even.”

“You don’t even know who you’re messing with, you ugly wannabe.”

His smile faded. Without warning, he slapped her across the face. The sting hit sharp, but Avery didn’t cry out.

She blinked, dazed, then straightened and drove a punch square into his face. A crunch sounded as his nose cracked.

“Damn it!” he yelled, stumbling back as blood dripped down.

“Get her!” he roared at the others. “Put her on the ground—don’t hold back!”

Avery, already exhausted and bruised, threw herself into the fight. She managed to knock two of them down, her fists flying, but her energy was draining fast.

Her limbs felt heavy. One man grabbed her by the arm, another struck her ribs. She collapsed under the weight of fists and boots.

Just as they closed in around her- A voice rang out.

Calm. Cold.

“You’re being loud. Kinda ruining the view.”

The men flinched when they heard the calm, cold voice above them. Turning toward the sound, their eyes landed on a figure crouched high up on a ledge nearby — cloaked in a thick black hoodie, legs dangling, cigarette glowing faintly in the shadows.

He had been there the whole time.

"You’re being loud," the figure said lazily, taking another drag. "It’s annoying."

The leader narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

“Does it matter?” the stranger replied with a bored shrug, flicking his cigarette down. “You’re in my way.”

“Tch. Deal with him too,” the leader ordered, waving his hand.

Before the others could even react, the hooded man dropped from the ledge with ease, landing like a shadow among them. In a blur of motion, he struck — precise, brutal, and without hesitation.

One by one, the thugs fell with groans and shouts, completely outmatched.

But the leader clung to Avery, holding her arm tightly. Blood ran down his broken nose, but his eyes burned with stubborn rage.

Kieran — because she knew now that it could only be him — walked toward them, his expression unreadable beneath the hood.

“The chain,” he said simply, eyes locked on her.

Avery, still weak and panting, scoffed. “Is that seriously what you care about right now?”

He didn’t answer, just held out his hand.

Rolling her eyes, she reached into her pocket and weakly pulled it out, placing the silver chain into his palm. The second she did, Kieran’s cold stare shifted to the man still gripping her.

“Let go,” he warned.

The leader scoffed, “You’re not—”

He didn’t finish. Kieran moved like a storm — swift and vicious. The man screamed as he was taken down and pinned, Kieran’s fists landing with unrelenting precision. No pleas, no second chances. Just pain.

Avery watched through blurred vision as everything went dark again.

Avery stirred awake with a throbbing head, her limbs heavy like lead. She blinked slowly, disoriented, then realized she was on a leather couch. Her brows furrowed.

“Where the hell am I?” she muttered, squinting at the unfamiliar space around her.

Before she could gather her thoughts, the door creaked open. Kieran walked in casually, dressed in a black shirt—half unbuttoned—revealing a sliver of his toned chest.

The sleeves were rolled up, veins peeking beneath tanned skin. His curly black hair fell lazily over his eyes, and those lips—damn those pink lips—looked like sin wrapped in silence.

Avery blinked, her scowl forming before she could stop it. “Seriously? You don’t have to look that... effortfully hot.”

He didn’t respond. Just walked straight up and dropped a first aid kit with a loud thud in front of her.

“Patch up, perverted stepmom,” he said dryly, settling on the other side of the couch like she wasn’t even there.

Avery’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

“You were checking me out. Pathetic,” he added, not even looking her way.

Her cheeks flared. “I was not. I was just wondering if you even know how to use buttons properly.”

She pulled the kit toward herself and scoffed. “Besides, if I were checking you out, it would be out of curiosity. Like watching a car crash.”

Kieran still didn’t look at her. His fingers turned the delicate feminine chain in his hand—the same one she had handed him earlier when things went south.

He studied it like it held all the answers.

Avery hissed softly as she cleaned a gash on her arm. “Ugh, those bastards. Stomping me like I owed them rent.”

Silence.

She glanced at him sideways. “You pretend to be weak, but you were... disturbingly good back there.”

His eyes flicked toward her for a second, cold and unreadable. “None of your business.”

“Dickface,” she muttered under her breath.

“I’ve been called worse,” he replied flatly.

Avery finished wrapping the gauze around her wrist and stood up, still sore. Her eyes roamed the space again, noting the clean stone walls, high ceilings, and the eerie silence.

“Where is this?” she asked, narrowing her gaze.

“The off-limits room,” Kieran said simply, now standing too. “You should leave. Unless you have a death wish.”

“How the hell did you even carry me here?”

“You don’t remember? Oh wait, you were too busy passing out.”

Before she could retort, he motioned to a high narrow window, hidden behind an old bookshelf.

“You leave through there. Don’t use the door. Only fools do.”

Avery frowned, stepping toward it. “That’s high. I could break my neck.”

He gave her a lazy smirk. “Aren’t you the fearless tomboy?”

And without warning, he placed a hand on her back and shoved.

Avery yelped, tumbling out with a graceless grunt—but luckily, she landed in a pile of old storage bags.

“Asshole!” she hissed upward.

But the window was already shut.

Dusting herself off and muttering every curse she knew, Avery slipped away through the back passage, unseen and steaming with frustration.

—

She crept through the quiet halls, making sure no one spotted her limping back. When she got to her door, Lisa was pacing in front of it like a nervous wreck, already dressed in her red gown, a soft shimmer glowing under the hall light.

“Avery!” Lisa gasped. “Where the hell were you?! I thought you’d been kidnapped or… or ditched me!”

Avery gave a half-grin. “Calm down. I didn’t. I just ran into… a situation. Handled it.”

Lisa’s eyes swept over her and widened at the bruises. “You handled it? Avery, you look like a train hit you.”

“It was more like five idiots with shoes,” Avery muttered.

Lisa didn’t ask more. She just dragged her inside and sat her down.

“You’re not going to the ball looking like this,” she said firmly, opening the makeup kit. “Sit still.”

Avery winced as Lisa gently covered the bruises with concealer and shaded the swelling with a soft hand.

“Geez,” Lisa whispered. “I knew you were reckless but this is another level.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Avery said, smirking.

“Not meant to be one.”

They finished quickly. Lisa helped her into the sleek black gown—a bold piece with a slitted skirt and laced sides that hugged her figure perfectly.

Avery stared at her reflection with an unreadable expression.

“You look hot,” Lisa said with a proud smile, fixing the black half-mask on Avery’s face.

“Dangerously hot,” Avery corrected, lips tugging into a smirk.

Lisa adjusted her own red mask, the color perfectly matching her flowing gown that fit her cute frame.

Her hair was tied up with delicate red pins, and the shimmer in her cheeks gave her a soft glow.

The two girls glanced at each other once more—one glowing with innocent charm, the other radiating dangerous confidence.

“Let’s go,” Avery said.

And together, they stepped out into the night—the calm before the storm.

In a dimly lit room lined with flickering surveillance screens, a lone figure sat back in a leather chair.

Dozens of camera feeds buzzed softly, each showing different corners of the Kuznetsov estate. But his eyes—cold, unreadable—were glued to only one screen.

A bowl of popcorn rested in his lap, untouched. Beside him, a sleek black cat let out a soft meow, also staring at the same screen. Something in the air shifted. The figure leaned forward slightly, his hand tightening on the armrest.

Below, in the grand masquerade hall glittering with chandeliers and filled with masked faces and orchestral music, Avery and Lisa entered like fire through ice. The moment they stepped in, silence rippled through a few circles.

Eyes turned—some with hunger, some with spite. Lust-drunk men ogled. Jealous wives hissed under their breath.

Lisa, graceful in her red gown and crimson lace mask, scanned the crowd. Ivan stood near the back, dressed in a fine black suit, his eyes never leaving her. Their gazes met, and though she quickly looked away, the heat of it lingered on her skin.

“I need the ladies’ room,” she whispered to Avery and quickly slipped away into the crowd.

Ivan moved moments later, blending with the dancers, quietly tailing her.

Avery, left alone, strolled toward the wives’ section and took a seat, eyes darting beneath every mask. Her gown clung to her in all the right places, sleek and black, her mask sharp and mysterious.

She shifted, clearly uncomfortable in the feminine cut, crossing her arms with a scowl.

From across the room, the first wife—the same one she’d once seen draped over Kieran—wore a dazzling gold gown with a neckline that could scandalize the dead. Avery scoffed.

“Try again,” she muttered, unimpressed.

The blonde woman from the boutique sat nearby, glaring at her as if she could burn holes through silk. Avery met her stare, offering a wicked smirk and a slow blink that only stoked the flames of her fury.

Masked women whispered. Men chuckled. And Avery realized the only ones not wearing masks were the male figures of power.

She spotted Roman easily, chatting with a sharply dressed man who screamed Italian mafia—slicked-back hair, an expensive navy suit, and a predatory grin that locked onto her like a wolf’s.

She shifted uncomfortably. “Try anything and I’ll gut you,” she muttered under her breath.

Lisa still hadn’t returned.

Avery stood, weaving her way through dancers and chattering guests, tension buzzing in her chest.

The music roared around her—violins rising, chandeliers glinting, champagne flowing—but her senses pricked. Something felt off.

Just as she turned into a quieter corridor to look for Lisa, a hand gripped her arm tightly.

“What the—!”

Before she could react, she was dragged into a side room and the door slammed shut behind her.

It was dark. Too dark. But not silent.

Two men stepped from the shadows. Roman. And the Italian.

“Well, well, look what wandered into the lion’s den,” Roman said with a cruel smirk.

“Hello, beauty,” the Italian drawled, eyes trailing over her in a way that made her stomach twist.

“You clean up nicely.”

Avery jerked back. “Back off,” she growled.

But Roman grabbed her shoulders while the Italian pressed forward. She kicked, shoved, fought, but their grip was stronger.

They forced her back toward a low velvet couch. Her mask had slipped—her eyes wide with fury.

Then—

A sharp meow echoed somewhere above the cameras.

Back in the surveillance room, the figure’s eye twitched. His popcorn bowl hit the floor.

Beside him, the cat bolted as a soft click echoed under the screen.

BOOM.

The Italian’s head snapped back.

Silence.

Blood splattered across Avery’s stunned face. The man slumped without a sound.

Roman staggered, eyes wide. “Sniper!” someone outside screamed.

Avery ducked as another shot rang out. Chaos exploded in the hall. Screams erupted. Guests fled. Several of the Italian’s men dropped as precise shots took them down one by one.

Even a few of the Kuznetsov guards were hit in the chaos.

In the surveillance room, the man watching smiled slightly.

“Well,” he muttered, “That escalated.”

The cat climbed onto his shoulder, ears perked, watching the red lights blink across the screens.

And just like that, the masquerade descended into a rain of bullets, blood, and shadows.

The game had officially begun.