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17. Face off
Last Updated:
2025-03-02 03:17:04
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Retribution 39. The Price of Desperation
Valencia NightingaleMiracle.That was the only phenomenon that could explain why I was still alive right now. There was no part of my body that had been spared from the bruises, from the pain.And God, the pain.It suddenly doesn’t feel like pain when it’s everywhere.It’s heat, pressure, a blur behind my eyes, until it’s the only thing anchoring me to the world. Until it's the only thing I can feel. I lay still for a moment, tangled in the collapsed canopy, barely breathing as shouts thundered from above and the shriek of alarms cut into the night.I really did it. I really held the mother of the Prime Minister hostage and threatened Malcom Reece with her life.Where were the snipers? Why didn't they shoot me from behind? Or did Malcom Reece really value his mother that much? Enough to be humiliated by me?I barely even noticed what was going on in my surroundings until a bullet whizzed past my ear, exploding onto the gravel beside me. I flinched as stones tore across my face like a
Retribution 38. One step closer.
Vladislav MorozI had to stifle my laugh, forcing myself to take a gulp of my wine. I couldn’t draw attention to myself at this time—I needed to let her enjoy every bit of the spotlight.Anatoly sent me a sharp look, but I paid him no heed.Nothing could take my attention from the woman standing before me.Satisfaction.That was what I felt as I stood at the far edge of the rooftop, wine in hand, watching chaos unfold with a predator’s calm.Valencia Nightingale had a sword to the throat of Malcom Reece’s mother and a gun to his face—red and blotchy with suppressed anger.An entire ballroom full of diplomats, ministers, royals, and elites. The kind of people Malcom Reece strived to impress. Now they watched as his fiancée held a sword to his mother and a gun to his face. The perfect audience for a perfectly crafted show.I had to give it to Valencia. She really outdid herself this time. But the main question now...Could she make it out of here alive?Guards closed in, their black sui
Retribution 37. Desperation In Real Time (2)
Valencia Nightingale The moment the music began, I knew exactly where to look.There he was.Malcom Reece, seated like royalty in the center row of a crescent-shaped lounge of dignitaries, all tucked in velvet and arrogance. His suit was a perfect navy cut, tie straight, smile tighter. He laughed at something one of his guests said, head tilting just slightly—but he was distracted.On the other side of the room sat his mother, rigid and regal, draped in gold and pearls, her eyes flicking over the dancers with the disdain of someone used to blood diamonds and power.And then, the one person I was looking for.Vladislav.He leaned against a marble pillar at the far end of the rooftop with Anatoly behind him, standing with rigid intensity like some 16th-century bouncer. He still didn't have the decency to remove that wretched and horrifying mask from his face.Vladislav stood apart from the guests, away from the noise. He didn’t pretend to watch the dancers like the others. He observed.
Retribution 36. Desperation in Real Time.
Valencia Nightingale They moved like clockwork—silent, coordinated, and dangerously alert. What else would one expect from a Prime Minister's security detail?I was really walking into the lion’s den.From my spot behind a marble column, I watched the team flow across the rooftop like a single organism, each member synced to the next. Dressed in sharp black suits with discreet comms pressed to their ears, they weren't just bodyguards—they belonged to HEPPS. High-End Personnel Protection Service. Almost as dangerous as Nova Command. Just that they were authorized and formed by the government, while Nova Command was often referred to as a terrorist group with no ties to the government.It was overkill, really. I’d expected high-end security, sure, but this? This was military precision—armed personnel, snipers, surveillance drones, CCTV network, and even a freaking bomb-sniffing carnivore.Malcom Reece really went all out.I lurked in the shadows, a building away from the rooftop venue,
Retribution 35. Teeth Bared
Valencia NightingaleI ran.Barefoot, breathless, and boiling with rage. Vladislav had wanted me to escape. No wonder everything went so smoothly—he knew I was awake right from the moment at the infirmary. He had made that subtle joke at my consciousness as if hinting to me that he knew, and I foolishly underestimated him.The tarred road burned under my feet as I sped through the highway, sweat sticking down my bare skin. The only thing I wore above the waist was my bra. I’d ripped my shirt off and tied it around my face to mask my identity. Anastasiya Van Houten wasn't famous, but Valencia Nightingale was a fucking princess. I was very sure with the news spreading around, even your neighborhood butcher would be able to recognize me. And there were security cameras everywhere that might’ve caught my face along the highway.Malcom was very much searching for me with his eagle eyes pressed to the screen. Vladislav would have informed him that I had escaped by now.Two-faced, money-eati
Retribution 34. The Art Of Staying Still.
Valencia NightingaleThere’s a strange sort of feeling that comes with waking up mentally before your body does physically.Where was I?I must have passed out at the arena after Vladislav and Anatoly left. The exhaustion and blood loss must have caught up with me.A ringing hum pulses low in my ears. My limbs are weightless and tight. My eyes are closed, but I can almost feel the white of the room. Bright. Sterile. Artificial.This wasn’t the room I was held in before; this smelled more like a hospital or an infirmary."...still unconscious?" a rough male voice cuts through the haze.Anatoly.I don't flinch. Not even internally. Instead, I adjust my breath—slow, shallow inhales, mimicking sedation.“She’s exhausted physically,” comes another voice, docile and uncertain. “Her old injuries are flaring up.”Probably the doctor."Cut that bullshit," Anatoly growled. "She's not a weak girl."Hmm, that's a surprise. I'll take that as a compliment.“She could be playing dead,” another voice
Retribution 33. The Heart of It All.
Valencia Nightingale.The entire arena prickled with unsaid comments as I slumped by the metal cage. I could barely keep myself upright, the adrenaline slowly draining from my body like a temporary boost of strength.Well, technically, that was what adrenaline was.The hem of my joggers dipped into the blood pooling around me, bodies groaning and twitching while some lay completely still.My lips attempted to form another self-accomplished, shit-eating grin, but the muscles in my face refused to comply, and I was stuck somewhere between a constipated smile and a cry for help.Vladislav and Anatoly were still above the podium—or so I thought. I could barely see anything from behind the curtain of blood dancing across my eyes.God, I was so exhausted. But still, I had a chance of destroying Malcom Reece now. I had fulfilled my end of the bargain, and now Vladislav Moroz must fulfill his.The sharp clang of metal snapped me from my thoughts, the loud echo ricocheting through the bloodsta
Retribution 32. The Fire Beneath.
Vladislav Moroz There was always a moment before chaos, a moment so still that you could hear the faintest of sounds, could hear the thrum of your own blood as it pulsed through your veins. I could taste the fear in those moments. Valencia stood there barefoot on the slick concrete. Joggers, an oversized flannel, dried blood on her cheek. No shoes. No weapon. No chance. She stood still, barely moving as she glanced around, waiting for her test. Anatoly had already locked the exits. She didn’t bother to check them. I gave her a chance, a choice. She was brave—I had to give it to her. She would rather die at my hand than die at the hands of her traitor of a fiancé. A noble death, if I must say. I could spot the flaws in her stance already, weak spots that would get her killed. Her shoulder, her neck, her hair. It was long, all over the place, easily grabbable. But she stood strong, her dainty figure taut with anticipation. She should have been trembling. She should have b
Retribution 31. The Monster Beneath.
Valencia Nightingale Anatoly grabbed my arm, hauling me as we rounded the corner, through the only open space in the cage that gave way to a narrow stretch of steps that led to the podium where Vladislav was seated. My knees ached by the time we finally reached him. But I barely noticed. Because the moment my gaze locked on Vladislav’s… everything else faded. There was something different about him now. Something that wasn’t there before. He sat there like a king surveying his kingdom, his long fingers draped over the armrests, His legs spread wide apart as if anticipating something, The rich, tailored fabric of his dark suit stretching across his broad shoulders, the faintest glint of his cufflinks catching the swinging light above. He looked polished, poised, carved from marble like a war god lounging on his throne. But his eyes… They were alive. Not with amusement. Not with boredom. But something darker. Richer. Hungrier. For the first time since I’d met him, I cou
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